Daybreak (Sorrowsong University, #2) — Chapter no 15

Chapter 15

OPHELIA

Sorrowsong has this way of convincing you that you’re losing your mind, like the fog that constantly hugs the turrets has infiltrated your brain and clouded your judgement.

Did someone really try my door handle last night, or was that part of my dream?

I clutch my phone to my chest, knife in my pocket as I climb the steep hill from the tarn to the thick stone walls of the castle.

Don’t let whoever is texting you stop you from living a normal life.

It’s advice that’s been given to me by Alex, Colette, Mack, Divya, Magda.

It’s advice that’s easy to give when you’re not the one in my situation.

When I found Alex in the kitchen of that ridiculous London mansion last weekend, blood tricking down his jaw, my willingness to listen to that infuriating piece of advice dwindled and died.

If it was Alex being texted, my life being threatened if he dared to spend time with me, I’m sure it’d be a different story.

My boots squelch in the mud beneath me, glossy ferns reaching out for my shins.

It’s been a week. I wonder what he’s up to. What he had for breakfast, what he did at work. I wonder what his mood is.

I wish so much that we’d been dealt a different set of cards. That we could spend weeknights together and go on a holiday and that I could take him home to meet my parents.

I wish I wasn’t scared he’ll get hurt because of me.

The clouds seem to cast a gray filter over the landscape, and over my mood. The campus around the castle is quiet, everyone either hungover, headed home early for the Easter break, or buried in textbooks ahead of the end of term exams next month.

Colette heads to Bora Bora next week, and Divya is off to some fancy beach resort in Sri Lanka a few days after.

I try not to think about going back to my parents’ house. I need to call the nursing home and beg for a job. My bank account is barreling back down toward zero.

A bush rustles somewhere behind me, too much to be caused by the wind. I wait for a deer to emerge from the foliage, but everything falls still.

A prickly sense of unease slickens my palms.

I glance over my shoulder for the third time in as many minutes, willing my tired legs to move faster.

I swear I hear a sharp inhale behind me. I whirl around to face the forest, fingers tightening around my knife as I scan the trees that shroud the path to the castle.

My voice sounds surer than I feel when I break the silence. This has always been my plan, hasn’t it? To keep this between the two of us? I’m tired of waiting around for other people to fix my problems for me. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Me, alone?”

I step into the dense foliage, trying to catch a glimpse of anything moving.

“Let’s do this like adults,” I say, into the dark shadows of the forest.

I can feel someone listening, feel someone’s presence.

My phone pings, echoing between the gnarled tree trunks. I scramble to turn it on silent, my pulse a hammer in the side of my neck.

Unknown Tag, you’re it.

Somewhere through the trees, a figure clad in black takes off running.

Before I can start to chase them, three silenced gunshots fire from my right. The figure falters for a moment before sprinting deeper into the woods, out of sight.

One of Vincenzo’s men steps out of the greenery to my right, a pistol in both hands as he fires two more shots into the trees. He lowers the gun with a sigh of frustration, like it’s not often he misses a target. “Are you all

right?”

“I …”

I’m not built for Sorrowsong. I’m not built for any of this.

My friends may not be disgusted by the guns and the danger and the fame and the wealth, but I am.

The man—I think his name might be Luca—plants a heavy hand on my shoulder, jolting me out of my trancelike state. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head, but he doesn’t look convinced.

“You saw him, right?” I ask, desperate for confirmation that Sorrowsong isn’t snatching my sanity.

“Didn’t get a look at their face,” he grunts, pressing a phone to his ear. I take a step farther into the woods, but he grabs my arm and shakes his head.

The air isn’t freezing, but my teeth chatter violently, the inside of my jacket like sandpaper against the goose bumps over my skin.

“Why did you have to do that?” I snap, suddenly frustrated that I wasn’t alone, that I couldn’t chase my stalker into the woods and finish this once and for all.

Luca stares at me for a beat, realizing I’m serious. “Save your life?”

“Intervene.” I sound manic, one hand flying up in the air as I turn to face the forest, but it’s no use. They’re long gone.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and curses in Italian. “Belladonna

wasn’t lying about you.”

“What?”

“Survival instincts of a moth.”

I stand on the forest’s edge for what feels like forever, until more of the Morello’s men have vanished into the trees to search and my anger has stewed and stewed until it’s reached boiling point.

I’m in a trancelike state as my legs carry me up the hill, storming across the overgrown lawns and back to the mansion with a plan taking shape in my mind.

Every other emotion inside me has been replaced by rage. I open up my texts and fire off my first reply.

Ophelia Winters You wanted me to hand myself over?

Unknown This could all be so simple.

Ophelia Winters Tomorrow?

A location pings through, a small patch of woodland not far from a petrol station near Lochinver.

Unknown 5am. Leave the gunman behind, this time.

Ophelia It’s a date.

Obviously, I’m not going to go alone. That’s literally the first mistake that every horror movie heroine makes. Instead, I dial the number of someone who is most likely going to ignore my call.

The line rings for so long that I think I’m right, until Belladonna’s smooth voice comes through the speaker.

I don’t think she likes me. I’m just hoping she likes Alex enough to help me.

“I really don’t think we’re close enough for you to start calling me, Winters. You’re more of a text contact.”

Charming. “Did you tell your men I have the survival instincts of a moth?”

“That’s the least of your worries. I’ve said much worse.”

“I need a favor.”

She must detect the seriousness in my tone because the background noise melts away, a door clicking shut on the other end of the line. “What is it?”

“I just need you to drive me somewhere tomorrow.”

“Do I look like I’m running a taxi service?”

“I just want you to drive me somewhere in the morning and be on standby. I can pay you for petrol.”

“Don’t insult me.” She sighs, like I’m a toddler asking her for another round of a game. “Ophelia, if you need someone to die just leave it with us.

You’ll make a fucking mess of it.”

I must be hormonal, because Belladonna being willing to kill for me shouldn’t be making me emotional. “I’m just meeting someone is all.”

“Who?”

“I … don’t know exactly who it is.”

The silence drags on, and I can practically hear her trying to make her

mind up.

“Does Alex know about this?”

“No. That’s why I’m asking you and not your brother. Listen, last week … last week I stayed a night with Alex in London, and someone smashed

into the house.”

“Were either of you hurt?”

“I was upstairs. It could’ve been bad for Alex. Whoever has been sending me these messages … they told me they’d hurt him, and I didn’t listen.”

Her voice carries a lethal edge when it next comes. “Okay, and your

plan is …”

“Can you shoot?”

She laughs like she’s offended by the question.

“Whoever it is, I don’t want them dead, but I want them captured. But I’m supposed to be going alone, and …”

“If you contact the police, they won’t show.”

“Yeah.”

“This is a bad idea, you know that?”

I do know that, but I also can’t keep going on like this.

“It’s like my life is being dictated by someone else. I just want to know that I did what I could. Whoever is texting me clearly isn’t traceable. Alex’s investigators would’ve found them by now.”

Her voice quiets, softens around the edges. “I understand that.”

“I’m not asking you to put yourself in any danger. If it looks unsafe, just leave.”

“I won’t be in danger. I am the danger. I’ll swing by your room when I’m back from Raigmore later.”

SORROWSONG’S WILD GARDENS are glistening in a thin film of dew when I meet Belladonna outside the Nightshade mansion at four in the morning.

She’s in black sweatpants and a hoodie, car keys dangling from her pinky as she types something on her phone. She doesn’t even look up, just bites out a frosty “Let’s go” and starts to lead the way up the gravel path.

We walk silently through the shrouded paths to the car park south of the castle, but I’m jittery, teeth chattering and hands clammy in my pockets. If there was any tiredness left in me when my alarm went off this morning, it’s been swallowed whole by the adrenaline that has my heart pounding beneath my ribs.

Belladonna unlocks her Bronco and slides into the driver’s seat, putting a steaming flask of coffee in the cupholder. “Still sure?”

“Yeah.”

Her fingernails tap against the large screen on the center console, the interior a combination of black and dark red. It’s a little over a thirty-minute drive when she presses the green button to start the route, pulling out of the parking spot and up the bumpy track to the gates.

I drum my fingers on my thigh, nervous in the awkward silence. I could do with a guidebook right about now. How to Make Small Talk with the Daughter of a Notorious Mob Boss For Dummies.

“How’s your family?” I try.

“I’m supposed to report anyone who asks about my family as

suspicious.”

“Alright, then.”

Silence resumes, Belladonna’s icy gaze constantly flicking to the mirror to make sure we’re alone.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my leggings, puffing a slow breath from my cheeks.

I just cannot cope with silence when I’m nervous.

“How’s Raigmore?”

“Fine.”

“Do you have a favorite … area? Of medicine?”

“Neuro.”

That makes sense, somehow. I can imagine her doing that. “Is that what you’re choosing?”

Her jaw tenses, lips press together. “No. Emergency medicine.”

“Oh.” It’s not often I see emotion from Belladonna, but I sense it now. I don’t pry further, even though I’m desperate to be distracted from whatever

may happen in thirty minutes’ time.

“It’s better for the family business,” she says, eventually.

“Emergency medicine?”

“Yeah. I’ll work as a doctor for the family.”

I wonder if she has much choice.

She clamps her mouth shut as we turn onto a less overgrown road. I take it as a hint that I am not someone she wants to open up to.

“How’d you get your hair so glossy?” I try.

“Genetics.”

“So, you’re telling me I shouldn’t be smearing flax seeds and bananas and coconuts on my head like that YouTube video told me?”

She bites down on a smile, glancing over at me. “Making granola on your head won’t fix shit.” She rubs the muscle in her shoulder and winces.

“The beauty industry capitalizes on the stuff you can’t change. That’s why it’s still an industry.”

She may see me as an irritating fly, but I think my attachment issues and I are starting to see her as a big sister.

“Why don’t you like me?”

“You looking to do some self-improvement, or something?”

“I am,” I say, genuinely.

She laughs, rubbing her hands together like, Where do I even start? “I think you’re immature. And that’s probably harsh, because I think I was like you at your age, too. But it’s still annoying. And you’re selfish, ignorant to

the way your actions affect others.”

“Like what?”

She sweeps her hand around her. “Like this. Doing this with seemingly zero thought on how it would affect Alex if something happened to you. I’m only going with you because if you went alone, you’d do something stupid like slip over and immediately get shot, and then he’d be moping around for

the rest of his life.”

She’s probably right.

I’m not used to having someone who cares.

“Maybe I’ll do something really cool, like … drop-kick them in the head.”

She laughs. “You’re literally that character in the movie that just fucking … dies.”

Great. Really filling me with confidence.

Oh God, this is a bad idea.

“I hope you and Alex can work it out,” she says, after a few minutes of silence, and I know how important he is to her, so it just might be the

kindest thing she’s ever said to me.

“So do I.”

“By the end of tonight, you’ll feel ten times lighter,” she says, with the same easy confidence Alex has about his own safety. Maybe it’s a byproduct of the dizzying combination of both money and power, but everyone at Sorrowsong seems to believe they’re invincible. “So what’s the plan? We deal with your stalker, and then you and Alex are fixed? Just like that?”

Not fixed, but maybe we’d have a chance to start to fix it, to begin building the giant ladders we’ll need to overcome the obstacles between us.

It feels like we have these great big boulders blocking our way, that there might be a happy ending for us somewhere down the road, but neither of us

can see it.

We just have to believe it’s there.

“That bad, huh?” she says, when the silence stretches on.

My fingers tighten around my seat belt when she skids round a bend way too fast. “We have a lot to adjust to. A lot of things that’ll make it difficult. But we’ll make it work. I know we will.”

The screen in front of us lights up, casting her frown and the flowers tattooed up her left arm in a blue glow. The sound of her phone ringing blares through the car speakers, cutting off whatever she was going to say.

“Dad,” she says, affectionately. “Always lovely to hear from you.”

Her father’s voice is deep, rough like he’s spent too many years smoking cigars. “Belladonna, my darling,” he begins, tone sickly sweet. “Luca has just informed me that your car isn’t in the castle parking lot.”

“He’s always been observant, that one.”

“What are you doing at four in the morning with no guards?”

“Just a favor for a friend. If we have an entourage, it won’t work.”

I try not to linger on the word friend for long, in case she takes it back.

The undercurrent of frustration in his voice is outweighed by the affection. “You turn my hair gray, Piccola.”

“I’m safe, I promise.”

“Who are you burying?”

She laughs, her usually sullen face brightening the same way Vincenzo’s does when he talks about his family. “I’ll tell you in about an hour.”

“Belladonna Luigia Francesca Morello.”

“What?”

“If I tell your mother, she’ll have your head on a platter.”

“Whoever it is, they tried to kill Alex last week.”

There’s a loaded pause, and maybe Alex’s stories of how his father treated him have scarred me, because I wait for the string of expletives, the cutting remark. But Rocco just sighs, like this is the third time this week that Belladonna has put her life at risk. “Don’t try anything clever. Just shoot for the heart and I’ll clean up the rest.”

Oh God. I think I’m having a panic attack.

I tune out for the rest of their conversation, staring at the inky landscape that juts above the bushes. The hills, fields, and pines of the Highlands are stained in dark shades of juniper and slate, ruffled by the wind beneath a cloudy, black sky.

Belladonna is watching me out of the corner of her eye. I’m sure she can see the panic on my face because she says, “Do you want me to turn

around?”

“I don’t know.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you. Alex is family, which makes you family. I think you’re a dumbass, but he clearly doesn’t.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, picking my nails. “I’m just so tired of having this looming over me. I can’t remember the last time I actually slept. Like, properly slept.”

“So we’re doing this,” she says, finality in her tone.

She dims her headlights on the deserted road, I know we’re not far from Lochinver, because I can just about make out the lonely curve of Suilven jutting out over the hills and lochs.

The screen says we’re a few minutes away, so she slows the car to a roll, leaning forward slightly to scan every shrub, rock, and tree that we pass.

It’s eerily quiet, eerily deserted.

The location from the text takes us off the narrow road and onto a grassy plain that looks like it leads to nowhere. The wind whips around the car,

churning the sea of sharp brambles and browning bracken that carpet the earth beneath us.

She turns all the lights off now, tires sinking into the marshy earth as we roll blindly toward a dense thicket of pines in the distance.

God, I hope the car doesn’t get stuck.

I don’t like this, and I can tell by the way Belladonna leans over me to open the glove box for her gun that she doesn’t like it, either.

She stops the car in the soft earth, pointing to something in the distance.

A car is parked at the edge of the trees.

“At least we haven’t been stood up,” I breathe, on a nervous laugh. I try to make out the silver car in the dark. It looks cheap, dented, and damaged.

“Can you make out the license plate?”

“No. Looks like a piece of shit car. They might’ve stolen it.”

My shaking hand pulls the door handle as quietly as I can, the soft whistle of the wind infiltrating the car. “I’m scared,” I whisper, as I push the door open. The thought of standing face to face with my tormenter is suddenly overwhelming. The list of suspects parade through my mind, a little procession of everyone I’ve ever pissed off.

“I’m not,” she replies, calmly. “We’ll handle it.”

“If it’s Cain?”

“It’s not. But if it is, we’ll deal with it.”

“If it’s Carmichael?”

“It won’t be. That’d be miraculously stupid of him. He loves this job.”

“Who do you think it is?”

Her eyes widen, like she’s one annoying question from leaving me to die in some thorny swamp in the Highlands. “How the fuck would I know? I

hardly know you.”

“Could it be Shawn?”

“I could snap Shawn in half. Are you gonna keep naming people all

morning?”

“Right. Uhh … no. I’m going.”

My boot sinks into the ground, the merciless cold sinking its fingers beneath the neck of my hoodie. “Wait here.”

Then I clutch my pen knife in my fist and push the car door shut.