CHAPTER 13
The scream ripped through the stillness, a primal sound that sent shivers down my spine. It came from the direction of the abandoned mill, its skeletal frame looming ominously in the distance. My breath caught in my throat, and for a fleeting moment, everything else faded away.
Elena's eyes widened in alarm, mirroring the terror that gripped me. "Marco?" she gasped, her voice barely a whisper.
The urgency in her voice snapped me out of my momentary paralysis. Without waiting for another word, I bolted towards the source of the scream, Elena close behind.
We raced through the uneven terrain, the sound of our ragged breaths mingling with the rhythmic pounding of my heart. The closer we got, the more the stench of decay and neglect assaulted our senses, a grim reminder of the mill's long-abandoned state.
As we rounded a corner, the full picture came into view. A lone figure lay sprawled on the ground, illuminated by the pale moonlight filtering through the gaps in the decaying roof. My heart lurched in my chest - it was Marco.
Or that's what she thought.
He lay motionless, his face pale and contorted in a silent scream. Blood stained the tattered clothes clinging to his emaciated frame.
Elena stumbled to her knees beside him, her cry of anguish echoing through the desolate landscape. I knelt beside her, my mind reeling, the truth of Marco's fate crashing down upon me like a tidal wave.
He was alive, but barely. The years of captivity, the harsh conditions, had taken their toll, leaving him a frail shell of the vibrant young man I once knew.
As I stared at his ravaged form, a wave of nausea washed over me. This wasn't the revenge I craved. This wasn't the satisfaction I'd envisioned. This was a nightmare, a grotesque culmination of my meticulously crafted plan, and the weight of it threatened to suffocate me.
Suddenly, a flicker of movement stirred beneath my trembling hand. Marco's eyelids fluttered open, revealing eyes clouded with confusion and pain. He looked at me, his gaze unfocused, and then, in a raspy voice, barely audible above a whisper, he spoke.
"Zoey...?" His voice was a mere echo, yet it resonated through me like a thunderclap.
Elena's hand shot out, grabbing mine with a grip that spoke volumes of her desperation. "Marco, can you hear me? Who did this to you?"
But Marco's eyes fluttered shut once more, and he lapsed back into unconsciousness. His single, uttered word hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the consequences of my actions.
I had sought vengeance, but in the process, I had become the very monster I'd sworn to destroy. Now, as I stared at the broken man before me, a single question echoed in the desolate emptiness:
What had I done?
The air hung heavy with the weight of his unspoken word, "Zoey...?" It echoed in the cavernous space of the abandoned mill, bouncing off the decaying walls and amplifying the hollowness in my stomach. The man lying before me, a gaunt figure barely clinging to life, was not Marco. Not the Marco I knew, the vibrant and carefree soul.
A cold dread slithered down my spine, coiling around my heart. This elaborate scenario, this carefully constructed web of lies – it had all been orchestrated for this very moment. To see the genuine flicker of recognition in Marco's eyes, the confusion and pain mirroring my own.
But it was a lie, a cruel performance orchestrated by me.
Elena's anguished cries reached my ears, but I barely registered them. My focus was solely on the man I'd wronged, the innocent pawn caught in my twisted game of vengeance. This wasn't Marco. This was Ivan, a loyal member of my father's security detail, his face meticulously sculpted through plastic surgery to resemble Marco's. A calculated move, a bridge for me to infiltrate the very heart of the Montefalco family.
Guilt gnawed at me, a relentless predator feasting on the remnants of my justification. The line between vengeance and monstrosity had blurred beyond recognition. I had become the very thing I sought to destroy, manipulating and exploiting the innocent in my quest for retribution.
It was Ivan, not Marco, lying before me, his pale complexion and fabricated injuries a product of elaborate makeup and careful staging. The plan, the entire elaborate charade I'd meticulously crafted, was still in motion.
Elena's anguished cries continued, her genuine concern for Marco's well-being. I squeezed her hand, offering silent comfort while maintaining my facade of shock and grief.
"We need to get him help," I whispered, my voice choked with feigned emotion. "There might still be time."
Elena scrambled to her feet, her eyes red-rimmed and voice trembling. "You're right. We need to get him to a hospital."
Together, we carefully lifted Ivan, his body light as a feather, and carried him out of the abandoned mill. The weight of his unconscious form felt heavy in my arms, a stark reminder of the line I had crossed and the consequences I now faced.
As we emerged from the shadows, a figure stepped out from behind a nearby tree. My heart lurched in my throat, my breath catching in my chest. It was my father, his face etched with concern as he surveyed the scene.
"Zoey? What happened?" he exclaimed, his voice laced with urgency.
Before I could formulate a response, Elena interjected, her voice surprisingly steady. "Mr. Hart, we found Marco unconscious inside the mill. It looks like he might have been attacked."
My father's eyes widened in shock. He rushed over to us, kneeling beside Ivan and brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead.
"Marco? Can you hear me?"
Ivan remained motionless, his carefully rehearsed injuries creating a convincing picture of a near-death experience. My father's concern fueled a pang of guilt within me, a constant reminder of the web of lies I was weaving.
"We need to get him to the hospital," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper.
My father nodded, his gaze lingering on me for a fleeting moment. A flicker of suspicion crossed his features, but it was quickly replaced by concern for the seemingly lifeless form of Ivan.
With my father's help, we loaded Ivan into his car and raced towards the nearest hospital. The drive was a blur of adrenaline and trepidation. Every bump in the road, every sharp turn, felt like a potential threat to my meticulously constructed facade.
At the hospital, the medical staff swarmed around Ivan, whisking him away into the sterile emergency room. Elena and I sat in the waiting room, a tense silence hanging heavy between us. The charade had to continue, at least until I could ensure Ivan's safety and solidify his position within the Montefalco household.
Hours ticked by, each minute stretching into an eternity. Finally, a doctor emerged from the emergency room, his face etched with a mixture of concern and relief.
"He's alive," he announced, his voice grave. "He's sustained some serious injuries, but we managed to stabilize him. However, he's going to need extensive treatment."
Relief flooded my veins, washing away the gnawing anxiety. Ivan was alive, and with him, my carefully orchestrated plan. But the doctor's next words sent a shiver down my spine.
"We need to speak with his next of kin," he said, his gaze shifting towards Elena and me. "Do either of you know how to contact his family?"
A cold sweat prickled my skin. This hadn't been part of the plan. Ivan, under the guise of Marco, needed to be seamlessly integrated into the Montefalco family, not ostracized by the lack of readily available kin. My mind raced, searching for a plausible explanation.
"I am his mom," Elena said.
"Mrs. Montefalco," he began, his gaze shifting between Elena's mother and me. "Mr. Montefalco is stable for now. However, he has sustained serious injuries and will require extensive treatment."
Elena's mother lifted her tear-streaked face, her eyes filled with a desperate plea. "Can I see him, doctor? Please?"
The doctor hesitated for a moment, his gaze flitting towards me. "I'm afraid that due to his condition, only immediate family members are allowed in the ICU at this time."