Bound By Bellarmine

r lost c

composed. Alw

eamed like she'd

n! I'm nothing now. I'm old. I'm ugly. Your father can have any girl he wants. He doe

to her forehead and so

ian s

e been older th

coat. Clean-shaven. Cufflinks. Shoe

s unset

ht. 'He loves you. You think any of this would matter to him?

he words b

I'm not going back. I won't. You can't make me. Elle

She dropped to her knees, clutching

her shoulders. 'I'm not

knew it wasn

back of a van

out right after t

s pressed together, ha

of leather and

rk wood panelling, cream upholste

a fridge, even a compact bathro

een anythin

at opposit

olded on the bac

t me. Didn't gla

ve. The screen glowed pa

the only thing he said to me was,

ed to Por

, we were

rything there. You couldn't piss in

gs. Shipments went in and out of the d

ts of town. No signs, no names. Just an underground range behi

oo. Cafés. Hotels. A logistics fi

e were f

ce, and no one outside their circl

called them respect

wer

t careful. An

to for weeks before I saw a

onte Argento, wrapped in s

er floor, not counting the ki

old stairwells.

hey sent her to Villa For

from her before. No

a balcony. The sheets smel

morning at eight. Her pe

to room, smiling too much and

say, 'Signorina, it's not the time,'

am. I didn't

how I'd be

ied where no o

d before I me

ine arrived wi

head and a half, hair trimmed short,

st walked past me l

arned he was Remigio Bellarmine's fourth son. H

on the staircase

speak to him,

him in it. The ceilings stretch

ss lesson, I slipped out through t

ees drawn up, face buried, crying into

mp. My uniform

d tiles, the rust on the bathroom tap, the

es. No hallway. Bu

given anythin

n to cry. I

uldn't stop thinking about her-my mother,

d she might al

hat dead l

na, his leg folded the wrong way

under tyres, twit

ed in white cloth, rolled away and burned

meant

o breathe, used to move, used to

wn harder into my kn

hear hi