Silence greets me as I park and approach the half-open gate, its creak echoing into the cloudy sky, scattering the crows. I swing my leg over my motorcycle again, riding the last few meters that separate me from Yolanda.

The erratic beating of my heart in the background, I pound on the door, calling out her name. After a few seconds of silence, I hesitantly grip the handle and turn it. Fear grips me as the door creaks open slowly, revealing what lies beyond.

Darkness meets me with its cold embrace, and a strange, pungent odor assaults my senses. With one hand covering my nose, I stumble blindly through the manor.

After a few steps, at the corner leading to the dining room, I freeze, my gaze landing on a foot protruding from behind the table. Guided by the trembling hand of fear, I move closer, tears welling up. Without thinking, I rush toward Yolanda's lifeless body, shaking her and screaming her name.

Blinded by emotion, I don't immediately register the coldness of her skin. My hands, now soaked in her blood, press desperately against the gaping wound in her chest. After what feels like an eternity, reality finally shatters my denial, and I am forced to confront the truth. Sitting next to Yolanda's corpse, my mind drifts back to memories from three years ago, replaying scenes from the Condore manor.

Paola's body replaces Yolanda's, the dining room morphs into a kitchen. Three years have passed, and yet the same weight of guilt resurfaces. Today's loss may not carry the same intensity, but the guilt is just as strong. Like Paola, Yolanda lies dead by my doing.

Bent over her body, I whisper endless apologies before standing to leave. I barely take three steps before coming face to face with the barrel of a gun pointed directly at me.

Squinting against the blinding beam of light, I raise my blood-stained hands and freeze, though my heart pounds wildly.

"May Madini, you're going to need to come with us. We're taking you in for questioning," says the voice, its gravity tightening around my throat, leaving me breathless. I comply, as another officer steps forward to cuff my hands.

My body and mind no longer seem to be in sync. I let the officer guide me to the car, its flashing lights cutting through the dusk. With one hand on my head and the other on my back, he ushers me into the backseat and slams the door, jolting me back to reality.

Hands bound behind my back, face turned toward the window, I remain silent for the entire ride.

Seated in the stark interrogation room, I glance at my wrists, where the metal cuffs have begun to cut into my skin. Chained like some common beast to the oversized table, I stare at the mirror in front of me. Despite the distance, I can't help but notice my reflection, streaked with blood, the expression on my face resembling that of the worst criminals. I close my eyes and lower my head, trying to focus on my breathing, swallowing each emotion that dares to surface.

The harsh slam of the door snaps me out of my concentration. A stern-looking man in uniform enters, a file in hand. With deliberate movements, he sits down opposite me, slapping the file onto the table. I meet his dark gaze with neutrality, aware of his silent judgment.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Madini. I'm Inspector Repano. We've brought you in today to discuss what happened earlier. Do you understand why you're here ?"

"Anything else would be surprising."

"Before we begin, I must remind you that you have the right to remain silent and to request an attorney. Anything you say may be used against you in court. Do you understand these rights ?"

"Yes."

"Good. We're simply trying to get a clearer picture of what happened. You were at the crime scene—could you tell me what you were doing there ?"

"A bad feeling that, unfortunately, turned out to be right."

"Meaning ?"

Feeling the weight of his suspicion closing in, I clear my throat to buy myself time, carefully choosing my words as I step onto the treacherous path laid out before me.

"Despite leaving the region, I kept in touch with Yolanda, one of the maids. During a previous visit, she confided in me that she didn't feel safe. I had to leave for other commitments, but we stayed in contact. When I lost touch with her, I had this terrible feeling, so I went to check on her—only to find her dead."

"So, according to you, you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"That's right."

He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, jaw clenched, his weathered features hardening with suspicion. His experience is etched into every wrinkle on his face, every gray hair on his head. His sharp green eyes scan my face, as if trying to pry the truth from beneath the surface.

"I'll give you the benefit of the doubt this time. But tell me, if you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time, how do you explain the fact that your gun was found at the crime scene?"

With that, he tosses a photograph of my gun onto the table, and I barely stop it from sliding off the edge. Frowning, I alternate my gaze between the glossy image and his piercing eyes.

"That gun was confiscated from me months ago," I say calmly, though my pulse races wildly.

"Are you suggesting one of our officers is responsible ?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm just telling you that I no longer had it in my possession."

"We're running fingerprint analysis as we speak. It won't take long to determine the truth, Ms. Madini," he replies, emphasizing my last name.

"This is all a setup, I assure you. Why would I kill Yolanda ?"

"She wasn't the only victim. Every one of the household staff was shot dead."

I swallow hard, struggling to process his words. I take a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart.

"Please, Inspector, believe me. I've been framed. Why would I dispose of the gun, then stay at the scene ? It doesn't make any sense !"

"We found the weapon in the storage compartment of your motorcycle," he reveals, his gaze unwavering.

It's at that moment I realize that Isabella has covered all her tracks. She's orchestrated this game down to the last detail, and now I find myself on the brink of losing it all. I don't know how she pulled it off, but I know she has plenty more tricks up her sleeve. As much as I want to expose her, her words echo in my mind:

"I've got as much dirt on you as you do on me—except when I fall, I'll survive, and you won't."

Clenching my fists and jaw, I suppress the burning urge to call her out.

"I want a lawyer," I finally declare.

Repano's face breaks into a deep, knowing smile as he stands up to leave.

"Understood."

Head bowed, all I want is to flip the table and scream. Knowing I'm being watched helps me keep my composure, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing me break. Seconds stretch into minutes, and minutes drag into hours. Time crawls by, but my anger only grows.

Cornered like a rat, I seethe with hatred for Isabella and the twisted game she's dragged me into. I've become her new puppet, a mere distraction for her madness. Lost in thought, torn between who I despise more—her or myself—I jump as the inspector reappears, the same smug smile on his face.

"May Madini, you are under arrest for the murders of Yolanda Orso, Filippo Pepelio, Michele Ceccarini, Graziela Scalappeli, and Antonio Begara."