“Let me hold him, Mr. Varric. Please… I know how to quiet him,” I begged, my voice shaking against the echo of his infant’s scream.
The marble swallowed the wail, then a hush fell as the baby’s cries dissolved into a soft coo.
My hands trembled, and the silver locket on his chest caught the light—identical to the one hidden beneath my apron.
I slipped the blanket a little, feeling the cool metal against the baby’s skin. My fingers brushed the tiny clasp, and a flash of memory surged: the night I first slipped the matching locket into my own pocket, the sound of distant gunfire, the promise I’d never keep.
“It’s alright, my angel. You’re safe now,” I whispered, hearing Matteo’s stare harden into stone.
When I adjusted the blanket, my fingers brushed the polished silver locket again, and my breath caught. The twin glimmered, its engraving—a tiny rose—mirroring the one I conceal.
My mind raced. The Varric crest, the family’s ancient sigil, etched on the back of the locket I’d inherited from a woman I never thought I’d see again.
“You… you have the same one,” Matteo’s voice cracked, a tremor breaking his usual command.
A cold shiver ran down my spine. For a heartbeat I saw the rotunda’s columns as veins, pulsing with a secret that bound us together.
Confrontation in the Marble Hall
Matteo stepped forward, his eyes locked on the twin heirlooms. “Explain,” he demanded, voice raw with something I could not place.
I swallowed, the locket heavy against my heart. “I once loved a Varric,” I said, the words slipping out like a confession in a chapel. “He vanished the night he promised to return.”
His jaw tightened, the scar on his cheek catching the light. “You think a lover’s memory can justify this?” he barked.
“It’s not just memory,” I pressed, feeling the infant’s soft breath against my cheek. “Your brother… he was there that night. He… we… a secret birth.”
The baby’s cry erupted again, a sharp note that made Matteo flinch. “You’re lying,” he snarled, but his voice trembled, betraying a hidden fear.
I could see the flicker of something behind his eyes—recognition, perhaps, or a terror he could not name.
“The locket was my mother’s,” I whispered, the words tasting like ash. “She gave it to me before she… before they took her.”
Matteo’s hands clenched into fists, the marble floor beneath us humming with tension.
“What are you saying, Liana?” he demanded, his breath shallow.
Before I could answer, the chandelier sputtered, the bulbs dimming to darkness. A collective gasp rose from the gathered staff.
“—”
In the sudden black, a soft rustle echoed, and a shadow slipped forward. A trembling hand extended toward Matteo, dropping a crumpled photograph into his palm.
Blackout in the Rotunda
The chandelier sputtered, then went out, swallowing the marble dome in a sudden, suffocating black.
My breath hitched; the infant’s soft sigh turned into a whimper.
“Matteo, what—?” I whispered, feeling my own pulse thrum against my temple.
A low murmur rippled through the darkness, like cloth being drawn across a floor.
“Did you hear that?” Matteo’s voice cracked, a jagged edge to his usual steel.
I strained, the scent of oil and old stone filling my lungs, and caught a faint rustle—like a veil being lifted.
From the edge of the shadow, a figure slipped forward, silhouette barely discernible.
His hand, gloved in black, brushed against the infant’s chest and then—
—produced a crumpled photograph, the paper trembling as though it held a breath.
I stared, the faint outline of a woman’s face emerging under the faint glow of a distant lantern.
My heart seized; the woman’s eyes were mine.
Before I could react, the figure slipped the photo into Matteo’s shaking hand.
“What is this?” he demanded, his voice a low growl that echoed off the marble walls.
The darkness held its breath, then a soft gasp escaped my lips.
Truth Unveiled
Matteo’s grip tightened on the photograph, his knuckles whitening.
“Explain yourself, Liana,” he snarled, the fury in his tone a storm waiting to break.
I lifted my eyes, the dim light catching the tears that still clung to my cheeks.
“It’s my mother,” I said, voice barely above a whisper, “the one you all thought dead.”
His brow furrowed, confusion swirling with rage.
“Your mother… the woman my father—”
I cut him off, the memory flooding back as vivid as the marble beneath our feet.
“He killed her, Matteo. He buried the truth with the lies of the Varric name.”
Silence stretched, heavy as stone.
“And Nico?” he hissed, the infant’s heartbeat a frantic drum against my chest.
“He is my son,” I confessed, the words tearing through me. “Born from an affair with your brother, before he vanished.”
A gasp escaped Matteo, the world tilting on its axis.
Before the accusation could settle, the rotunda shuddered.
Salvo burst through the darkness, his gun drawn, voice booming: “Police raid! Everyone down!”
Gunfire cracked, reverberating off the marble, as the massive doors slammed open, steel frames splintering.
A single, sharp gunshot rang out, echoing through the chaos, leaving me clinging to Nico, the twin lockets heavy in my hands, as the darkness swarmed with flashing lights and shouted commands.
Salvo Storms the Rotunda
“All right, everyone, drop your weapons!” Salvo barked, his voice ricocheting off the marble as a squad of armed men spilled into the dome.
The heavy doors slammed shut, the echo a thunderclap that made Matteo’s head spin.
“Salvo, what the hell—?” Matteo roared, his hand still on Nico’s blanket.
“The police are on our doorstep, Don,” Salvo snarled, brandishing a flashbang. “The whole Varric empire is under raid. They’ve got a warrant for the murder of—” He paused, eyes flicking to the silver locket glinting against Liana’s breast.
“You— you’re hiding that?” Liana’s voice trembled, her throat a raw rasp.
Salvo stepped closer, his breath hot. “That little trinket is the proof they need. It ties the Varrics to the blood‑money laundering of the old city council. You thought you could keep it hidden under that apron?”
She felt the weight of the twin lockets, one on Nico’s chest, the other pressed to her heart, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
“Give it to me,” Salvo demanded, fingers inches from the necklace.
Matteo lunged, but a squad of officers burst through a side entrance, guns blazing. The rotunda erupted in smoke and shouts, the marble walls trembling with each report.
Truth Shatters, Anger Fires
Liana clutched both lockets, the cold metal biting her palm as the world narrowed to the burning heat of her pulse.
She remembered the lullaby her mother sang, the night she fled with a baby swaddled in a blanket the color of blood. The memory slammed into her: she was that mother.
“I’m the heir,” she whispered to herself, the words a knife in her throat. “I’m Matteo’s half‑sister… the true matriarch of the Varric line.”
Her mind raced—if she could expose the dynasty from the inside, Nico could be the bargaining chip that toppled Matteo’s empire.
“Matteo, you’ve been a brother you never knew,” she hissed, eyes flashing with steel. “And I’ll burn this house down if you try to keep me silent.”
She turned the locket, the engraved crest reflecting the flickering torchlight, a silent promise of retribution.
Suddenly, a deafening crack split the air. The rotunda doors burst open, a plume of dust and blood spilling into the marble.
A gunshot rang, the echo ricocheting off the columns, and Matteo slumped, his hand still clutching Nico’s tiny fingers.
🔓
The rest of this article is lockedWatch one short ad to unlock and keep reading.
Pam
I cook these recipes at home before they ever land here — simple ingredients, clear steps.
Save
