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But she leaves the door open anyway.
Chapter 12
Elio
Valentina nearly collides with me in the hallway on her way out of my bedroom. I’m not sure I like how comfortable she’s gotten going into my room whenever she pleases, but it was necessary for her to be able to get Deirdre’s room ready when I wasn’t around.
“Wondered where you’d gotten to,” I mutter. I go to move past her into my bedroom, but she plants her hands on her hips and stares at me.
“What?” I grunt.
“I met Deirdre.”
“And?”
“And she’s sweet.”
“Hmm. Haven’t experienced that side of her myself,” I reply as I step past her and into my room. I’m sure Deirdre can be sweet to other people. To me she’s been a bit of a viper. I’ve got the teeth marks in my scarred finger to prove it.
“I’m serious, Elio.”
Something in Valentina’s tone makes me stop and turn. My cousin is smart as hell, but she hides it well when she wants to, behind loud laughter and inane conversation. But she’s not laughing now. She suddenly looks about ten years older than she really is, her face sober.
“You’re serious about the fact that she’s sweet? Fine, I believe you,” I snap. But something prickles along the back of my neck. Dread.
“She’s not cut out for this. She’s not from our world.”
Fucking hell, I need another drink.
“Her father’s an accountant for the Irish mob. Not exactly a white picket fence family,” I remind her.
I can tell by the mulish fucking set to her mouth that she’s not done with this conversation.
“You know what I mean! You need to be careful with her! I just went in there and she looked fucking shell-shocked! She’s gonna have PTSD or some shit.”
“She’ll get over it.”
Valentina gives a short, brittle laugh.
“Oh, like you and Curse did? You gonna tell me your brother doesn’t torture men before he kills them just to keep his demons quiet?” Her voice lowers, but doesn’t soften. If anything, it sharpens, like a knife. “You gonna look me in the eye and tell me you don’t still have nightmares?”
Valentina’s the only woman in my family I’ll let talk to me like this, but even she can tell she’s gone too far. She snaps her mouth shut at my expression and crosses her arms. I take a moment to compose myself before I explode. When I speak, my voice is icy with control.
“I asked for your help with soap and girl clothes and fucking bedsheets. That’s it. I don’t need your advice beyond that, and if I want to hear another word out of your mouth, I will fucking ask for it.”
She hesitates, but because it’s Valentina who couldn’t keep her trap shut even if she tried, she has to get in the last word.
“All I’m saying is, if you’re not careful, you’re going to have agonized over music books and strings and stands for nothing. There will be no one to use them because she’ll be dead. You wanted no sharp things in the bathroom? Fine. No razors, no nail clippers, there’s not even a pair of goddamn tweezers. But there are other ways to hurt yourself if you really want to do it. Other ways to make it end.”
In a second, I’ve got her, my hands wrapping around her upper arms and squeezing.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I’ve never laid a hand on Valentina like this. But what she just said about Deirdre dying has snapped something inside me. Some vital thread of control.
She glares at me for a long moment, as if considering if she should answer me.
“Valentina,” I growl, her name a warning. I don’t like to be kept waiting. And she knows this.
My cousin lets out a short breath then says, “When I went in there, she was in the bath. Under the water. Not moving.”
