C151 You Think I Am Crazy

Mikhail’s phone buzzed softly against the console, signalling the message had been sent.

He stared at the screen, his mind a whirlwind of disbelief and confusion.

The words he’d typed to Antonia felt like they belonged to someone else, not him.

“We need to talk. Urgent. Be home.”

He set the phone aside, its dull glow fading as the screen went dark, much like the thoughts clouding his head.

The game room would be where she waited for him.

It was fitting, in a bitter way.

A place where they had shared countless childhood laughs, now to become the stage for an unthinkable confrontation.

Mikhail leaned back in his chair, raking a hand through his hair as his mind spiraled.

Antonia. His sister.

His partner in so many things.

Could she really have done what Dante had claimed?

What Annabelle and that damning video had confirmed?

The image of Antonia poisoning Annabelle’s drink flashed in his mind.

Followed by Natasha’s confrontation and the unmistakable venom in his sister’s voice.

He shuddered, feeling the weight of disbelief pressing on his chest.

"It can’t be true," he muttered to himself, though the evidence was unrelenting.

His mind scrambled for explanations, for justifications, but each attempt only added to his unease.

Antonia had always been fiery, determined, and calculating, but murder? Betrayal?

He tried to rationalise what could have pushed her that far.

Was it because of Dante?

"She had a crush on Dante once," he thought.

He had thought it was a fleeting and childish infatuation.

But then his stomach twisted.

While they had all thought Antonia had gotten over it, his sister's crush had lingered, morphing into something darker, hadn’t it?

He recalled subtle comments she’d made over the years, dismissive remarks about Isabella.

He had brushed them off back then.

But now, those words felt like pieces of a puzzle he’d ignored assembling.

And even how she had made pointed observations about Annabelle while insisting that she loved him.

"Could it be that Annabelle had never even told Antonia anything like that?" he thought suddenly, the thoughts of many things that had been ruined because of that conviction niggling at his mind.

The thought of their father hit him like a punch to the gut.

Matteo had always trusted Antonia to keep the family grounded and to preserve the honour of their name.

Mikhail briefly felt relief that Matteo hadn’t lived to witness the truth.

But then, the crushing guilt returned.

His father’s death was already a wound that bled whenever he thought about it.

Would Matteo have even died if not for his stupid obsession and belief in her words?

He clenched his fists.

The weight of their father’s expectations, now coupled with his own failures, felt unbearable. He had to know the truth.

**********

The game room smelled faintly of polished wood and the citrusy cleaner their housekeepers used.

It was quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan.

Antonia was already seated at the small bar, a glass of something amber in her hand.

Her back was to him as he entered, but she turned slowly, her face carefully blank.

"You’re late," she said, her tone cold, a hint of annoyance creeping in.

Mikhail shut the door softly behind him, the sound echoing louder than it should. "We need to talk," he said evenly, though his voice betrayed his unease.

Antonia’s eyes narrowed, but she remained seated. "About what?" she asked, her tone feigned innocence, though the faint smirk tugging at her lips told him she already knew.

"You know what," he said firmly, stepping closer. "I know what you’ve done, Antonia."

Her smirk vanished, replaced by a flash of irritation.

She stood, setting her glass down with a sharp clink. "If you’re here to lecture me, save it," she snapped. "I don’t have the patience to sit through another sermon from my pathetic brother."

Mikhail’s heart sank. "Antonia, I’m not here to lecture. I’m here because... I need to understand. Why would you do this? To Dante, of all people? To Annabelle? Do you realise what you’ve done? What this means?"

She laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and mocking. "What I’ve done?" she repeated, her voice rising. "What I’ve done is try to take what’s mine. And don’t you dare stand there and judge me, you spineless idiot."

Mikhail flinched at her words, but his resolve hardened. "This isn’t just about you!" he said, his voice rising. "You’ve hurt people, Antonia. You’ve betrayed our family. Dante..."

"Dante!" she interrupted with a sneer, her eyes blazing. "Always Dante. Dante this, Dante that. You’ve been panting after him your whole life, Mikhail. Following him around like a damn dog while he takes everything that belongs to me."

"Belongs to you?" Mikhail echoed, stunned. "What the hell are you talking about? He’s not some prize you can claim!"

Her hands balled into fists at her sides, and tears glinted in her eyes, though they were filled more with rage than sorrow. "He was supposed to be mine," she spat. "Our parents said so. They said we’d be perfect together. I waited for him. I kept myself for him. And what did he do? He brought Isabella home like I was nothing."

Mikhail shook his head, trying to process her words. "Antonia, that’s… that’s not how this works. You can’t just..."

"And then," she cut him off, her voice trembling with fury, "He brings that little bitch into his life. And what do you do? Nothing. I told you to take Annabelle for yourself. I was willing to swallow the humiliation of having her as my sister-in-law. But no. You failed at that too. You failed at everything, Mikhail. You couldn’t even protect our father."

Her words hit him like a physical blow, and he staggered back a step. "Don’t you dare bring him into this," he said, his voice low and shaking with anger.

"Why not?" she said, laughing humorlessly. "He’s dead because of you, and now you think you have the moral high ground? Spare me your self-righteousness, Mikhail."

Mikhail stared at her, his chest heaving. "This isn’t just about you and your delusions of control, Antonia. What you’ve done... it’s a crime. Against the family. Against Dante. Dante is family!"

Her expression hardened. "I owe no one an apology," she said coldly. "Not you, not Dante, not anyone. I did what any jilted lover would do. And I’d do it again."

Her words left him momentarily speechless.

He searched her face for any trace of remorse, of humanity, but all he saw was bitterness and obsession.

The realisation hit him like ice water.

His sister wasn’t just angry or vindictive.

She was unhinged.

"Antonia," he said quietly, "You need help."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Help?" she repeated, her voice dripping with venom. "Don’t patronise me, Mikhail."

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I’m serious. You're... you’re not yourself. We can talk about this. Later. When you’ve calmed down."

Her lips curled into a cold smile. "You think I’m crazy," she said, her voice eerily calm.

"I think you’re dangerous. Even to yourself," he said honestly.

Something flickered in her eyes, and for a brief moment, he thought he saw a glimmer of regret.

But it was gone in an instant, replaced by something darker.

"Well, Mikhail," she said, stepping closer. "Maybe I am dangerous."

Before he could react, she struck him hard across the temple with the glass from the bar.

Pain exploded in his skull, and he staggered, the world tilting violently. He collapsed to the floor, his vision swimming.

As darkness closed in, he caught a final glimpse of her face as a single tear tracked down her cheek.

Then everything went black.