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Her beautiful eyes fill with tears, but I can’t stop the rage bubbling out of me like poison.
“When did you find out? After he died?”
She presses her lips into a line and draws a breath before she answers. “I’ve always known.”
Her reply hits me like a punch to the gut. I stare at her in total shock. “What?”
I can’t believe it. I’ve always trusted her, and she’s been lying to me my whole life. She married a man in the mafia? I suppose it explains why she’s so seemingly calm about marrying Nataniele. I can’t stand him, but maybe to Mom he’s not that bad of a guy. Do I even know her?
I can’t be around her right now. If I stay in this room a moment longer, I’m going to say something I’ll live to regret. She’s already hurt, and despite my anger, I still love her, but I’m hurt and confused, and I need some space.
I jump to my feet and run for the door, tears streaming down my face. I have no idea where I’m going or who I want to see. All I know is I have to get out of here.
“Please, Mackenzie,” my mother’s voice chases after me. “Your health!”
I know what she’s saying—that I need to keep myself calm in case I have another episode, but I don’t even care about that right now. A tiny, spiteful part of me hopes I do have another seizure. A really bad one. And I hope she blames herself for it.
Tears streaming down my face, I head for the stairs, and as if my legs are carrying me there without my mind being involved, I run for the basement…and the Devils’ den.
Chapter 34
Mackenzie
The minute I reach the door to the den with those hellish red, glowing glass panels, I realize what an idiot I’ve been. They won’t want me here, and my tormentors are the last people on Earth to give me comfort.
I can’t go to Camile, though. Not yet. I’m angry and humiliated at my lack of knowledge about the situation here. I have no other friends. At least Tino is sometimes kind to me, though I’m perfectly aware of how desperate that makes me, especially after what he did with the video.
A faint grunt reaches my ears, and I pause, hand on the door. What if they have a girl in there? Are they having sex with her?
My phone beeps, and I take it out of my pocket, glancing at it disinterestedly, expecting to see a plea to come back and talk from Mom.
It’s not; it’s a text from Tino. I don’t even question where he got my number. These guys get whatever they want.
I turn, about to go and join them, and damn it all to hell. If I’ve got to stay in some lawless, moral vacuum of a mafia college, I might as well at least enjoy myself. I’m pretty sure I’ve just been invited to a threesome with two hot men, and it might stop the spiral of despair my mind is on. My fingers hover over the buttons to type a reply when I hear that sound again. A grunt, almost pained. From inside the room.
Tino and Kirill are at the bar, but Dom isn’t. Is he in there with Verity?
Part of me doesn’t care because I think I hate him now more than ever, but there’s a part of me that is curious.
Dom is going to be my stepbrother, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Quietly, taking care not to make noise, I gently push open the heavy door on the right and peer in. There’s no one in sight. I step inside and creep into the room.
I can’t see anyone in this main space, but there’s an area behind the projection screen, which is turned off now. The only thing lighting the space this time is the burning flames of the glass fronted furnace. What kind of place has a huge furnace like this in the basement with a massive safety glass door?
It reminds me of something out of a horror movie. As I stare at it, a sense of dread fills me. Do they put their…enemies in there? Is it used as a way of getting rid of people?
I shake my head. I’m letting my imagination run away with me.
“Fuck.”
The soft swearing comes from behind the screen, and I pivot away from the red door and the flames licking at it, to stare at the place where the sound emanated from.
That’s Dom. I know his voice. I ought to leave. I imagine Verity giving him a blow job. The next sound is strange, it’s like a pained groan. Not a sexy one, though. It sounds like he’s hurt.
Wondering why the hell I care, I move toward the screen and step around it only to stare in disbelief. In a corner of the far end of the room, there’s a huge mattress—super king, maybe—and it’s covered in soft blankets and pillows. Propped up on it, like some mad king of old, trousers around his ankles, is Dom.
