Chapter 3 - Night Terrors and White Lilies
At 2:00 a.m., the mansion woke up to a sound that made Meline’s blood curdle. It wasn't gunfire, and it wasn't an explosion. It was a high-pitched, agonizing scream that pierced through the silence of the night, originating from the children’s wing.
Meline threw off her duvet, not even bothering to grab her robe as she sprinted across the dark hallway. She burst into Sophia’s room, her eyes adjusting to the dim moonlight filtering through the window.
The six-year-old was thrashing violently in her bed, her sheets tangled around her small legs like vines, her eyes wide open but completely unseeing. She was locked in the vice grip of a night terror, reliving the fiery nightmare that had consumed her mother.
"Fire!" Sophia shrieked, her tiny hands clawing at the air. "Daddy, help her! Mommy's inside! It's too hot!"
Standing by the edge of the bed was Matteo, his face pale as paper, his hands trembling as he tried to touch his sister’s arm, his selective mutism rendering him completely helpless to comfort her. He looked up at Meline as she entered, his eyes wide with a desperate, silent plea. Fix it. Please.
Meline dropped to her knees beside the bed. She didn't grab the thrashing girl, knowing that physical restraint during a night terror could make the panic worse. Instead, she began to sing.
It wasn't a modern lullaby, but an old, traditional Italian folk song her grandmother had sung to her in the orchards of Sicily when she was a child—a song about the wind carrying the rain to cool the burning summer earth. Her voice was steady, low, and rich, filling the tense, terrified room with a soothing, hypnotic rhythm.
"Sophia," Meline murmured between verses, her voice projecting absolute safety. "The rain is here, sweet girl. The fire is gone. Look at me. Look at the white lilies."
Slowly, the thrashing began to subside. Sophia’s breathing turned from frantic gasps to ragged, exhausted sighs. Her unseeing eyes blinked, finally focusing on Meline’s face.
"M-Meline?" Sophia whispered, her voice tiny and broken.
"I’m here, Sophia," Meline said, gently reaching out to untangle the sheets from her legs. She sat on the edge of the mattress, pulling the small, shivering girl into her lap, rocking her back and forth as she continued to hum the Sicilian melody. Sophia buried her face in Meline’s shoulder, her small chest heaving with quiet, relieved tears.
Matteo let out a long, shuddering breath, his shoulders dropping as he sank onto the floor beside Meline’s knees. He didn't speak, but he extended one small hand and gently touched the hem of Meline’s nightgown, a silent gesture of absolute alignment.
The door to the bedroom opened wider, and Dominic walked in. He was still wearing his trousers and a white shirt, his tie undone, looking like a man who had rushed back from a war zone. He froze at the sight—his traumatized daughter clinging to the woman he had bought to be a ghost, his mute son seeking comfort at her feet.
Dominic walked to the bed, dropping to his knees beside Meline. He reached out, his massive, scarred hand covering both Meline’s shoulder and Sophia’s small back, pulling them both closer to his chest.
"She hasn't calmed down that quickly in two years," Dominic whispered, his voice thick with an emotion he rarely allowed himself to feel. His blue eyes locked onto Meline’s, a profound, heavy gratitude burning within them. "Thank you."
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"She’s safe now, Dominic," Meline said softly, her cheek resting against Sophia’s soft hair. "They all are."
As the children drifted back into a deep, peaceful sleep, Meline looked out the window into the dark courtyard below. There, sitting beneath the security lights, was a black sedan that didn't belong to the Romano detail. A single cigarette glowed behind the tinted windshield. The shadows of her past were circling the house, and Meline knew that the fragile peace she was building inside would soon have to be defended with blood.
