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The box is plain, but when I open it, what I find inside surprises me. It’s a switchblade.
“What is this for?”
“Like I said, protection. I know what my brother’s capable of.”
“Which brother?”
She smirks. “As if you need to ask. I saw the bloody sheets. I’m sure he took pleasure in that.”
I feel my face burn but don’t reply. Something about her visit rubs me the wrong way so I don’t tell her he didn’t hurt me anymore than anyone else would have the first time.
It’s not only that I don’t trust her. I don’t like this woman.
I set the box aside and take the hilt of the small switchblade in my hand. I touch the tip.
“Careful,” she says.
It’s sharp. Deadly.
I look at her. “Why are you giving me this?”
She turns around, showing me her back, and I swallow. “This is how Damian welcomed me home a few years ago.”
Like earlier, I gasp at the sight, and take in the slightly raised lines of skin. There must be a dozen on her back.
She turns to face me again. “They go all the way to my ankles.”
My stomach turns.
“Why would he do that?”
“Because in his eyes, I betrayed the family when I ran off with the man I loved. Bennie’s father. It’s all about the family to him. To all of them.”
“But you hate each other. Anyone can see that. You all hate each other.”
“That’s not true. It’s Damian who sows hate. You need to be careful with him.”
“I think I need to be careful with all of you.”
She gestures to the knife in my hand. “I wouldn’t give you that if I had any intention of hurting you, Cristina.”
“You took Simona.”
“Because he made me. I would never have done that to any child. I’m a mother, Cristina. And I didn’t hurt that little girl.”
“You scared her.”
“I know.” She looks down momentarily. “And I’m sorry about that.”
For some reason, I believe her. Maybe because she’s a mother too. Or maybe it’s those lines on her back. She’s not lying about those.
“Why did you come back here? To this house?”
“Bennie’s father died. I had to. I had nothing and Bennie was just a baby.”
Her eyes glisten and I can’t help but feel for her.
“I couldn’t make it on my own. We’d be on the street and I couldn’t do that to my son.”
“Damian hurt you like that?”
She nods.
“Your father asked if he’d welcome me like he had you.”
“Like father, like son. Just be careful. You can’t trust anyone in this house.”
“Does that include you?”
“I’m a victim too. Just like you. Just like my mother. All women are to them. Everyone but that bitch Elise. You watch her too. Just watch your back.” She walks to the door. “I need to go before he sees me. Hide it from him, or he’ll punish me again, okay? Promise me.”
“I won’t tell him you gave it to me.”
“And use it if you have to. Don’t hesitate.”
I swallow and feel the weight of the dagger as Michela slips out of the room.10CristinaOnce she’s gone, I sit down, wincing, as I remember why everything hurts.
My wedding night.
What a hell of a wedding night.
The switchblade open, I set it in my palm. It’s a little longer than my hand with an intricate handle carved from wood. The initials M. D. S. are engraved in the hilt. Michela Di Santo.
When I close it, it fits in my hand. I should be able to hide it in a pocket easily. As long as he doesn’t search me, that is.
I get up to turn out the light in the room, take the bottle of whiskey, and sit back down, facing out the enormous window. I don’t want anyone who might be outside to see me in here, so I need to keep the light out.
Liam is right. I need to be strong. I can’t give up, not if I want to survive. I can’t let them break any other part of me.
I take a long sip from the bottle, having to force the burning liquid down. My fingers trace the pattern of the wooden hilt absently as I stare out into the dark night. I want to know what’s out there in those woods. Both Damian and his brother know about whatever it is.
Did Damian know what would happen tonight? Did he know about the little welcome party? About the bloody sheet being shown to them all.
God, the humiliation.
And the little boy. Bennie? I glance back at the wrinkled, discarded drawing on the bed. I didn’t even look at it really. How afraid must he have been tonight to see his uncles at each other’s throats. To see me as I was.
Does he wonder about the skin of his mother’s back? He’s too young. He wouldn’t know, not yet, but he will ask when he gets older. What will she tell him? That his uncle is responsible?
