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I flinch at her coldness. “You don’t mean that.”
She glares at me. “You have no idea what it is to take on another man’s sins and wear his shame as your own.” She glances at her son. “I warned you to keep your distance from her. I tried to protect you.”
“You should have told me,” Sean hisses through clenched teeth.
She shakes her head, ever proud. “Absolutely not. They were my iniquities, and I was willing to pay for them. As it is, the bulk of it landed on me.”
Sean snaps, his voice cuts through the room, piercing my ears, “THE BULK OF IT LANDED ON AVERY! You did this to her! She killed her brother because of you!” Sean is in his mother’s face, snarling. I’m up and at his side, my hand on his arm.
“That was inevitable and would have occurred without me.” Constance explains, coolly. “I did what I could. I know you can’t see it from where you stand, but Sean—”
The tension in his body nearly cracks his jaw. “I don’t want to hear it. You lie. You’ve always lied about everything. You put Avery in the middle of this. You’re the one responsible.”
Constance drops her gaze and replies softly, “I am. This entire nightmare was my fault. There’s nothing I can say to prove to you my motives were pure. You’ll see what you see.”
Sean stops breathing. He doesn’t respond.
I ask him, “Can I talk to your mother alone for a moment?”
Sean’s eyes shift to the side, glancing down at me as if I’d asked for a monkey or something else equally insane. But he doesn’t protest. “Of course.” He peers at his mother, pointing a finger at her as he chides the woman. “And make sure you tell her what you said to me.” He retreats without another word, leaving me standing in front of his mother, studying her sickly form.
After the door closes I pad over to the wing chair opposite Constance and lower myself carefully into the seat. Everything is sore and hurting. “What did Sean want you to tell me?”
“That I’ve accepted you into the fold.” She stares at me as the firelight dances across her face. Her expression screams that this acceptance was coerced, rather than sincere. She flicks her hand into the air and smirks at me. “Welcome to the Ferro family.”
I laugh bitterly and pace in front of the fire. I stop after a few steps and cross my arms over my chest. I finally say, “You know something. Something that you didn’t tell Sean.”
She snorts. “I know a lot of things.”
I glare at her. “You don’t know everything.”
A smile snakes across her face as she regards me. “Fine, we can trade. One piece of information that I’m not privy to for one secret relevant to you.”
I sneer at her. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Yes, I do. Your brother didn’t put you in his crosshairs because of repressed mommy issues or jealousy—although the sick bastard had both those in spades.” Her refined mannerisms are reemerging in front of the glowing flames. “There was a particular reason why he hated you so fiercely, and I’m confident that you are unaware. So if you want to trade secrets, you better have something of equal significance to trade.”
I glower at her and fold my arms over my dress, smearing the blood across my pale skin. “I have a secret that will affect the Ferro fortune in perpetuity.”
She scoffs at me, laughing. “No, you don’t. There’s nothing that could possibly…” she trails off and her brows knit together. “Tell me.”
“You first.” I don’t trust her and probably never will. We stare at each other in a standoff until she finally rolls her eyes and swats a hand at me.
“Fine, but I’m tired of seeing you in that disgusting dress. It’s dripping blood all over the carpet.”
Looking down, I study the rug before lifting my eyes back up at her. “Why should I care? The cops will show up soon and—”
Constance laughs like fairies broke free in her concrete soul and are tickling her ribs. She swats a hand at me. “Cops. That’s funny, dear. The police aren’t coming. Ferro’s clean up their own messes. Well, except for Sean and I suspect there’s a story behind that event.” She's talking about Amanda and I realize there’s another secret she doesn’t know.
“Really? You’re not sure of your son?”
“Did you see how many men he killed to save you? He’s a murderer.”
“I suspect we all are after tonight.” I meet her head-on and look her square in the eye. I tell her point blank, “He did not kill his wife. He loved her, he still does. You owe me two secrets now because you didn’t know that.”
Constance frowns at me but doesn’t contest the addition of the second secret. She also doesn’t try to tell me that she already knew the answer. “The carpet.”
I glimpse at the rug under at feet. “What about it?”
“You don’t want to drip blood everywhere because this is yours.”
CHAPTER 17
Constance makes no sense. Why would I want Vic’s rug? The confusion must be apparent, because she adds, “And you don’t want the police here because you’ll end up spending the rest of your life in jail.”
I blink at her, still not getting what she’s trying to insinuate. “Too late on that front—Gabe’s already here. Dude is with the FBI.”
“He is not working for the police,” Constance explains with exasperation coursing through her tired body. She doesn’t roll her eyes or snap at me. There are no visible signs of contempt, other than the unamused death-stare she’s shooting my way at the moment.
I shake my head. “I’m too tired and have no clue what you’re getting at, Connie, so spell it out.”
She bristles at the informality with which she’s addressed but doesn’t comment on it. “Gabe was working in a different capacity tonight. That man hasn’t worked for the FBI for a long time. He was on my payroll along with the rest of his new team. Surely, you’ve noticed how many unfamilia
r faces are present this evening?”
No, not really. I had other things on my mind than playing spot the new guy, so I don’t respond to any of that. Instead, I bounce back to her other statement. “What do you mean this carpet is mine? Are we rolling bodies out in it later?” I’m too tired to decipher her subtleties right now and wish she’d just tell me.
Constance snorts in derision. “No, little girl. This isn’t that simple. Don’t ask what happened to the bodies. You don’t want to know. The carpet, though, that’s a story you’ll want to hear.” She stares at the creamy rug and the sprawling pattern of blues and grays.
“So tell me. Why should I care?” I’m waiting for her to say something ridiculous or berate me, but her mood tempers and her voice sounds wearier than anything else.
“It’s the reason why your brother took a nose-dive off the sanity bridge and pressed Black to the breaking point to secure you. He wanted to see you suffer. When the executor of his father’s will explained things to your brother, he didn’t take it well.”
My brow lifts as my lips part. I finally shake my head and say, “What are you talking about?”
She snaps, waving a filthy hand in the air. “You’re too obtuse. Your father knew about you and your mother—your birth father. Victor. He spent two decades trying to track you down. I knew you had a tie to the Campone family, but I didn’t know what it was, so I had an eye on you too. His entire estate was left to the sole child of his first wife. That’s you, my dear.”
I stand without realizing it. “What? That’s not possible. Mom and Victor weren’t married. She wasn’t his wife.” I spit out the last word as if it’s a curse.
“They were,” she replies plainly, as she examines her filthy nails. “What you were told was a lie. I suspect your mother didn’t realize that she got into bed with someone as evil as that man. Victor Senior had a way of sweeping a woman off her feet. He was charming when he wanted to be. When your mother figured it out, she took you and ran, then shacked up with your father.”
