Capítulo 17: Selvaggio's Den.

Two nights after.

The air was heavy with the scent of mildew and decay. The shadows cast by the flickering candle danced eerily on the walls. Bianca's eyes fluttered open, blinking against the faint light of a single candle.

She was bound fast in a rickety chair, coarse rope biting into her wrists and ankles. The room was a damp, chilly space with stone walls that seemed to press in on her. Enzo Selvaggio's presence was a palpable, unsettling force, his eyes fixed intently on her, cradling a skull in his hands as if it were a precious relic.

"Awake at last, are we?" Enzo murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent shivers down Bianca's spine. He stroked the skull with a reverence bordering on obsession.

'Enzo Selvaggio, the Selvaggio family's notorious torturer,' she thought, a flicker of recognition sparking in her mind, 'and that's his weakness.' Maintaining a facade of composure, Bianca flicked a glance at the morbid trophy in his grasp before meeting his gaze head-on. "A charming welcome, Signor Selvaggio," she said coolly. "Is this how your esteemed family entertains all their guests?"

A flicker of surprise crossed Enzo's face, quickly replaced by a sly grin. "Only the special ones, signorina. And you, well, you seem to be quite the enigma. Not afraid, are you?"

Bianca raised an eyebrow, her voice laced with amusement. "Should I be?"

Enzo chuckled, a dry, humorless sound that echoed eerily in the cramped chamber. "Most would be. But then again, most wouldn't dare cross the Selvaggio family."

Bianca shifted in her chair, subtly testing the tightness of her bonds. "So, Signor Selvaggio," she purred, "what is it you desire? Answers? Confessions, perhaps a touch of persuasion?"

Enzo's eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion clouding his gaze. 'She knows too much,' he thought, his hand tightening around the skull. The urge to silence her forever warred with a morbid curiosity. With a shake of his head, he spoke. "No, signorina. Orders are to keep you docile, not broken. But that doesn't mean we can't have a little fun, now does it?"

Bianca's lips curved into a sly smile. "Entertain me, then, Signor Selvaggio. Why this… abduction?"

Enzo, captivated by her unwavering composure, felt a cruel amusement stir within him.

He ignored her question with a glint of sadistic pleasure flickered in his eyes as he said, "Let's play a game, shall we?"

Bianca pondered for a moment, her gaze shifting briefly before a smile tugged at her lips, betraying none of her inner turmoil. "Of course, let's play your so called game, signor."

Enzo leaned over her, a predatory gleam flashing in his golden eyes. "It's a simple question. Your life hangs on your answer." His tone grew more ominous.

As she spoke, her voice steady and calm.

"And if I answer correctly, you'll let me meet your underboss?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

'She doesn't even flinch. She knows who I am, and her voice is so steady,' Enzo thought. Her lack of fear only fueled his curiosity about her identity.

His voice softened to a purr. "I can't let you meet my underboss. He's my boss. How can a mere foot soldier like myself decide who gets an audience with the boss?" he replied.

She smirked, arching an eyebrow. "Oh really? That's plausible, I suppose."

She gave him a coy look. "So, I guess you'll release me so I can go find your underboss myself. Your underboss is here, isn't he?"

He paused for a second, pondering her words. 'Achille isn't in this building, although he did say he'd arrive soon.'

He glanced at the door, weighing the wisdom of letting her leave or simply ending her life then and there. His hand clenched around the skull involuntarily. 'She won't answer correctly anyway,' he concluded with another smirk. "Fine, if you answer correctly, I'll do that," he conceded, sitting down on the table behind him.

"Now..." he said quietly, "can you see her?" pointing beside him.

Bianca looked at his side and saw a woman who resembled him greatly, except for her completely black hair. Something about her seemed gloomy, miserable, and tormented, and her golden eyes were pale, not bright.

Bianca nodded solemnly. "Yes, I can see her."

Enzo scoffed inwardly. 'That's what everyone says, but it always turns out to be a big lie.'

He stood up straight, a hint of a satisfied grin crossing his lips. "Very well then!" he exclaimed, tilting his head to the side.

"Next question," he said firmly, his face suddenly serious. "Is she beautiful or not?"

His tone grew menacing as he moved closer to Bianca's chair. His expression morphed from friendly to predatory, his eyes glittering with the desire to kill. His smile widened as he thought, 'This is where they always crumble.'

Bianca's smile, though genuine, couldn't quite mask the tremor in her hands. "A beauty, indeed," she murmured, her voice a touch too sweet. "The resemblance is uncanny, like looking in a mirror, wouldn't you say?"

Enzo's smugness faltered. A flicker of confusion crossed his face. "Of course," he stammered, his voice rough. "Everyone knows that." But the doubt lingered in his eyes, a serpent slithering through his carefully constructed reality.

'Wait, when my sister was alive, I wasn't introduced to society because of my weak body. Even if she had seen my twin sister before, she wouldn't known she had a twin brother or that we resembled eachother ,' he hesitated, continuing to stare at her.

Bianca's smile faltered, replaced by a veil of melancholy. "Such a shame," she sighed, "that such beauty is marred by such sadness."

Enzo froze, the blood draining from his face. "Sadness?" he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.

A knowing glint flickered in Bianca's eyes.

The corner of Bianca's lip curved upward as she noticed Enzo's expression.

"Loss is a heavy burden," she said softly. "I understand more than you might think." A memory flickered across her face, a phantom pain echoing in her own heart. "But clinging to the departed only brings more sorrow. They wouldn't want that, would they?"

Enzo slumped back against the cold table, his mind a battlefield. Was she a witch? Those three crones are the only witches I know of.

Bianca then glanced at the skull, a cursed memento of a life lost.

"Letting go," she continued, her voice firming, "doesn't mean forgetting. It means cherishing the memories, not clinging to a decaying shell." Her gaze locked onto Enzo's, her eyes filled with a quiet strength.

"That thing," Bianca spat, her voice laced with sudden venom, "it's a cage, not a comfort. It binds you both, but brings solace to neither."

Before Bianca could finish, a deafening gunshot shattered the tense silence. A searing pain erupted in her cheek, a crimson stain blooming where the bullet grazed her flesh.

Her heart began to beat faster, panic rising inside her. 'Oh God, I almost died.' As she stared at Enzo in disbelief.

Enzo stood there, the pistol smoking in his trembling hand, his face a mask of rage and terror.

"I just asked a question!" he roared, his voice cracking. "Why all the theatrics?"

His voice rose with each word, the rage and fear evident on his face as he glared daggers at her. "You want to die so badly, don't you?!"

His voice dropped into a whisper as he stared deep into her eyes, his finger tensing against the trigger.

Fear gnawed at Bianca's insides, but her mind raced. She couldn't die, not yet. There was too much at stake. But how could she turn the tide now? She tried to think fast, but her mind refused to cooperate.