They All Wished Me Dead , So Why Did They Go Insane?

The night I was kidnapped, my family was gathered around the long table, raising their glasses to Valentina's birthday.

The kidnappers demand a ransom. I knew it was useless, but with him forcing me, I made the call anyway.

The first call, no one picked up. The second, it was declined.

The third, it finally went through.

"Elena, you've been struck off the Castellano family. Hear me clearly: even if you die, it has nothing to do with me."

On the other end came the sound of a champagne cork and cake being cut. His tone was thick with impatience.

When they said those words, no one could have guessed they would come true.

After I died, my ashes were scattered into the sea.

And every one of them who wished me dead? They all went insane.

——

"If this number doesn't pick up again, I'm taking a finger off first."

The man gripping my hair hauled me half off the ground, twisting his wrist, and my scalp felt like it was being ripped open from the back of my neck.

"Please… don't…" Before I could finish, blood and tears flooded into my mouth together, bitter and metallic.

Trembling, I dialed my brother, Dante Castellano.

The last time I'd dialed it was four years ago. The summer I'd just been brought back to the Castellano family.

Back then I'd gone into the back hills to gather leaves, wanting to make bookmarks.

When Valentina heard, she pulled me toward the woods, saying the leaves over there were prettier, that they'd make the finest specimens. I believed her.

I kept my head down, picking leaves, absorbed in it. When I looked up, there was no one behind me.

I hadn't noticed at all when she'd slipped away.

The sky suddenly darkened, and it began to rain.

I panicked, tried to run back, my foot slipped, and I tumbled all the way down the slope, breaking several bones, my clothes shredded to rags.

I lay on the hillside, inching along bit by bit searching for signal. When it finally connected, what I got wasn't rescue, it was a scolding.

"Elena, when is this little act of yours ever going to stop?"

"Can't you be more like Valentina, and give us a little less to worry about?"

He was the family's legal counsel, had handled countless cases. For every stranger in a case file, he had endless patience. Only for me—he wouldn't spare even a proper look.

The phone had been put on speaker. I clutched it, begging over and over in my heart.

Pick up, Dante, please.

Save me.

The flat of the blade pressed against the back of the hand holding my phone.

The kidnapper sneered, and the edge bit down little by little. "Let's see if this dear brother of yours is worth all this blood you're spilling."

The pain was so bad I could barely hold the phone.

Just when I thought it would snap—the call connected.

The kidnapper snatched the phone and, in the same motion, threw me to the floor, dust flying up into my face.

"So you're the Castellano heir, right? That sister of yours, what's her name… Elena, yeah, Elena's in our hands. If you don't want anything to happen to her, three million dollars, not a cent less."

"Why should I believe you? You're not just conning me?"

"Just listen and you'll know."

He grabbed my hair again. "You. Say something."

My throat tightened, and all I had left was a thread of air. "Dante, save me… I don't want to die…"

"You hear that?" the kidnapper said loudly into the phone. "She's at my feet right now, like a dog. Three million. You paying or not?"

On the other end—the clink of glasses, laughter, waves of toasts and well-wishes, drowning out almost everything I said.

That day was my birthday too. And I knelt on the cold concrete, dragged, thrown, slapped, like a stray dog nobody wanted, humbly begging the person on the other end of the line for my life.

His tone was impatient without even trying to hide it. I could almost trace the way his brows were knitting together right then.

"Elena, what trick are you playing now?"

"Dante, I'm not… I really am kidnapped, they're going to kill me, listen to them—"

In the distance Valentina was urging him to cut the cake. He answered her offhandedly, then turned back toward this side, and said, word for word:

"Whatever you're acting out, go ahead. Elena, listen well—I have only one sister. Her name is Valentina."

"You say you're going to die? Then go die. Today is Valentina's birthday. Don't you dare ruin it."

"No, Dante, save me—"

The call was cut off, clean and final.

It was like I'd been thrown into an ice cellar, the cold running up from the soles of my feet straight to the top of my skull.

I pulled out a smile uglier than crying. "You two, kill me and you won't get a cent. Better to let me go. There's a thousand dollars in my bag—my entire fortune—it's all yours."

"A thousand dollars? The Castellano heiress, and all she's got in her pocket is a thousand dollars?" The kidnapper froze for a second, then bared his teeth. "You're fucking playing us for idiots."

"Your brother doesn't want you, and you've got no money on you. So tell me—what use is there in keeping you alive?"

Before the words even landed, a slap cracked across my face, burning hot.

They still weren't satisfied. Two burly men forced my head down and slammed it into the floor, once, and again, as if only that could ease the anger inside them.

"Weren't you just begging for your life? Go on, yell! Scream! See if your brother comes!"

How long passed, I don't know. I stopped moving. Someone bent down to check my breathing, and then panicked.

"Boss… she—she… she's not breathing…"

"What's there to panic about. Even her own brother wishes her dead." He spat. "Dump her in a trash can. By the time it's hauled off to the dump, who's going to trace it back to us?"

That night, out in the dump outside the city, there was one more dusty, unremarkable old trash can, buried under piles of garbage.

That night, New York got its heaviest snowfall since winter began.