ABSOLUTE INSANITY: A forbidden bond

Chapter 256: Elena

Chapter 256

KATYA POV

My steps slowed without me meaning them to. I stopped entirely. The portrait hung slightly apart from the others, larger, framed in dark wood worn smooth at the edges by time.

It wasn’t outrageous. It didn’t demand attention. It simply held it and I stared. I stared hard.

Nonna sat at the center, younger but unmistakable, her posture straight, her expression calm and composed even then.

There was a softness to her eyes I hadn’t seen before. Less guarded. Almost... hopeful. Beside her sat a woman with delicate features and warm eyes, one arm cradling a baby against her chest.

She was so beautiful in a quiet way, the kind that didn’t try to be seen but was impossible to miss.

A man stood just behind them, one hand resting on the chair’s back. His jaw was strong, his gaze steady. The resemblance hit me instantly.

Romeo.

Not as I knew him but there, in the line of the man’s mouth. In the shape of his eyes. In the way he stood like the world bent slightly around him without him asking.

I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until Chiara stopped beside me. "Oh," she said softly, following my gaze. "The Salvatore family."

She lifted her hand, pointing easily, like this wasn’t something heavy.

"That’s Nonna," she said. "And her son—Mr. Salvatore." Her finger shifted. "Mrs. Sabrina. Romeo’s mother."

Then, finally, she smiled faintly. "And that," she added, pointing to the baby, "is Don Romeo Salvatore. When he was a baby."

The name landed to my chest.

Don Romeo Salvatore.

A flicker of something cold curled low in my stomach before I could stop it. Instinct. Habit. The learned response of someone who knew better than to feel safe around power.

But my eyes were already drawn to the baby. He was small, wrapped in pale fabric, one tiny hand fisted in his mother’s dress. His face was open.

Soft. Completely unguarded. No mask. Nothing to hide what had clearly come later—the damage, the mark, the thing that had changed him.

There was no sharpness. No weight of expectation pressing down on him yet. He was just a child—carefree in the way only babies could be, unaware of the name he carried or what it would someday demand of him.

My gaze drifted back to the woman holding him. Mrs Sabrina. There was love written plainly on her face. Not restrained. Not hidden. The kind of love that didn’t know it would be taken away.

And Nonna...

I swallowed.

She looked happier there. Not weak—never that—but lighter. As if the world hadn’t asked everything of her yet. I didn’t realize my fingers had curled into the fabric of my sleeve until Chiara spoke again.

"He looks nothing like that now," she said casually. "But Nonna says he was a calm baby. Rarely cried."

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure what I was agreeing with. Seeing him like this—before the masks, before the walls—it unsettled me more than I expected.

Because it reminded me of something I didn’t usually allow myself to think.

That monsters weren’t born. And that power always came after innocence. I tore my gaze away at last, my chest feeling strangely tight.

"Come on," Chiara said softly, nudging my arm with the back of her fingers. Not impatient. Just enough to remind me I wasn’t alone in the hallway.

Her touch startled me more than I expected. I blinked and realized how long I’d been standing there, frozen between past and present.

"There’s more to see," she added lightly, already turning away as if she knew I’d follow. "And if we linger too long, Nonna will think I’m trying to lecture you on family history."

That earned a faint huff of air from my nose. Almost a laugh. Chiara took my wrist and led me away from the portrait.

My feet moved, but my eyes resisted, dragging back one last time. The baby’s face blurred as distance crept in. The woman’s smile faded into paint and shadow. Nonna’s lighter eyes disappeared behind the angle of the wall.

And just like that, the past slipped back where it belonged....out of reach, but not forgotten.

The corridor opened up again, warm light spilling across marble floors. Voices echoed faintly from another room.

Life continuing, unbothered by the weight I’d almost let settle too deep in my chest. "You okay?" Chiara asked, glancing back at me as she released my wrist.

I nodded. A little slower this time. "Yeah." The word felt thin, but it would do. She smiled like she knew better than to press.

"Good. Because if you think that portrait was intense, wait until you see Nonna’s study. That room judges people." Despite myself, my shoulders loosened a fraction as we walked on.

The hallway curved gently, the air shifting as we moved deeper into the house. I noticed there were no guards stationed at every corner of the place unlike Romeos estate.

The sharp grandeur I’d come to expect from places tied to power softened here—less stone, more warmth.

Fewer shadows that felt like they were watching. A low, melodic hum drifted toward us, threading through the quiet like something alive.

Soft Italian words followed, sung under someone’s breath, unpolished and intimate. Not meant for an audience.

Chiara slowed. So did I...mirroring her without thinking. She stopped at an open doorway, one hand lifting slightly as if to signal pause.

The music came clearer now, accompanied by the faint clink of metal against ceramic, the sound of someone moving comfortably in their own space.

I leaned just enough to see inside.

The kitchen was massive with high ceilings, wide counters, sunlight pouring in through tall windows that kissed the marble floors.

It felt lived-in despite its size. But only one woman occupied it.

She stood by the counter, her back to us, swaying faintly as she worked, humming the tune she sang.

Her brown hair was pulled back loosely, strands escaping to brush her neck. As she shifted to reach for something, her profile came into view.....and so did her stomach.

Round, full and pregnant. There was something profoundly gentle about the sight. No guards. No tension. Just a woman in a kitchen, carrying life, humming like the world was kind to her.

She turned slightly then, lifting a bowl—and her eyes met ours.

The humming stopped and I froze, thinking I had done something wrong until Chiara leaned in closer to me, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"That’s my elder sister, Elena" she murmured. There was something different in Chiara’s tone now. Softer. Stripped of mischief and ease. Pure affection.

"She’s... very pregnant but still choose to cook," Chiara added quietly, like it was a private joke meant only for me.

Elena smiled first. It wasn’t guarded or sharp, just surprised, then warm, as if strangers appearing in her kitchen was nothing worth hard edges.

She set the bowl down and wiped her hands on a towel, her gaze flicking briefly to Chiara’s face before meeting mine.

"You must be Katya." she said gently, her Italian accent smooth and unhurried.