The house was silent, but Carmen couldn’t sleep. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her body tense, her mind racing.
Something was wrong. Every night, the feeling grew stronger, a tight coil of dread that never loosened.
Her instincts were screaming at her. Something terrible was coming. And no one was listening. Her fingers tightened around the knife under her pillow.
She had started keeping it there two nights ago, when the fear had become too much to ignore. If Marco wouldn’t protect them, she would. Even if it meant doing it alone.
She turned her head, her breath hitching slightly as she listened carefully. Soft murmurs.
Carmen’s chest tightened.
She slipped out of bed, barefoot, silent, her pulse pounding in her ears. The hallway was dark, the faint glow of Matteo’s nightlight spilling through the cracked door.
She moved closer, careful not to make a sound.
Then she heard it.
“You have no idea what’s coming.”
Carmen froze. Her entire body went rigid. The voice was low, whispery, almost melodic. Ella. She was talking to him.
But it wasn’t her usual warm, motherly tone. This was something else. Something dark.
Carmen’s throat tightened, her stomach twisting violently.
She pressed herself against the wall, trying to breathe through the panic. Matteo’s small voice followed.
“What do you mean, Nanny?”
Ella let out a soft hum, stroking his hair.
“You’ll see, my love,” she whispered. Carmen’s heart nearly stopped.
She had heard enough. She turned on her heel, rushing back to her room, her hands shaking violently.
She climbed into bed, gripping the knife beneath her pillow.
Her breaths were ragged, uneven.
She needed to get rid of Ella.
A loud knock shattered the silence. Carmen bolted upright, her heart slamming into her ribs. She grabbed the knife, her hands steady, ready.
Another knock. Louder. Frantic.
Marco groaned beside her, half-asleep, rubbing his face. “Who the hell is knocking this late?” he muttered, throwing the blanket off.
Carmen didn’t answer.
She was already moving, already reaching for the bedroom door.
A third knock, this time weaker. Carmen rushed down the hallway, her pulse pounding violently.
Marco followed, tense and irritated.
She reached the door, yanked it open—
And gasped.
Luca stood there, barely upright, his face bruised and bloodied, his lip split, his shirt torn and soaked with sweat.
His breath was shallow, his knees shaking like he could collapse at any second.
“Luca!” Carmen lunged forward, gripping his arms before he fell.
Marco’s eyes widened, the sleep completely gone from his face.