I haven’t looked back once since I started sprinting at the docks, but I can feel the presence of Dante’s family rising behind me like an unbreakable wall, ready to bounce at the first sign of trouble.
Dante’s voice is as lethal as the weapon he withdraws from a holster on his hip. “She lost any leverage she had when she turned up at the recital with her mother in tow. Camille is terrified of Carmela.”
My heart twists so painfully it tears. I understand exactly what Camille is feeling because I lived and breathed it. I only survived my childhood by the thinnest thread.
I refuse to let Camille go through another second of torment.
When Dante lines up his shot, I curl my hand over his as I did nights ago.
Camille is scared, but Carmela won’t be the only person Camille will fear if Dante goes through with this. I’ll never forget how one of my father’s fights with his mistress turned physical, and he stabbed her to death in front of me. Something like that taints young minds. It made me believe Carmela’s taunts were endearing.
The effects of seeing this murder will be worse for Camille since she believes Anna is her mother.
“I’ll get her out safely,” I say to Dante when he glares at me in shock. “I promise you. I just need you to trust me.”
He barely dances his eyes between mine for two seconds before he nods. His immediate faith swells my heart, but I don’t have time to relish in it.
Anna senses us before she sees us.
Faster than I can blink, she snatches up Camille’s arm soaggressively the girl’s face instantly pales. She digs her varnished nails into Camille’s arm and whirls her around so she can use her as a shield.
Coward.
“Stay back,” she snaps out, her shriek echoing even with the room filled with all the props children love.
I slowly lift my hands, palms open, then step forward. “Anna… this isn’t you.”
Her eyes flash with panic when they land on me. I’m the ghost from her past, the one person she can’t fool with a fake smile. I’ve always seen through her lies, and this is her biggest to date. “Don’t pretend you know me.”
“I know you.” I take another careful step forward. “I know you’re not this person. I know that deep down, where your mother can’t touch, you’re a decent person. You were just raised by the wrong woman.”
My words crack her mask, but the scratch-like indent seals over almost instantly when it is replaced with cold, brittle fury.
“Don’t patronize me,” she hisses, digging her nails in deeper. “You ruined everything. She was mad at me because you slept with someone! I only suggested a hen’s party because I wanted an excuse to go out and have fun. I wanted a reason to breathe.” She peers past my shoulder. “Then you methimand everything changed.”
Her eyes return to me, hot and void of emotions mine hold at her confirmation that what Dante said earlier is true. I knew it was. I was just too shocked to let it fully sink in.
“She blamed me. You know that, right? She said if I had kept a better eye on you, we wouldn’t have needed to scheme so many people while trying to work out who her father was. Four years it took to find him, Cici. Four long years I had to bounce from man to man, pretending I was the woman from their dreams.” She chuckles in disbelief. “When I finally found him, I thought I’d be free. But she told me I was stupid. That the deal I agreed to was chump change.” I can’t tell if it is the drugs talking or her when she murmurs, “Nothing I ever do is good enough for her! She said I wouldn’t even get this right, and she was right.”
“Carmela never takes the blame for anything. It is always someone else’s fault. And she never issues praise, but that doesn’t alter the facts.” Ignoring the red dot highlighting a wrinkle on her forehead, I continue. “She shouldn’t have blamed you for my actions that night. You were barely an adult.”
Her shoulders curve over her chest as she lets out a harsh, relieved breath.
It is redrawn when I add, “But you can’t keep using your mother to excuseyourmistakes. You’re not nineteen anymore. You know the difference between right and wrong. You know hurting a child is wrong.” As tears threaten to topple from her eyes, I appeal to the little girl who bandaged my cuts and bruises when I took the blame for her mother’s favorite dress being ruined so she wouldn’t get in trouble. “Let her go, Anna.Please.You’re hurting her.”
Nothing I say is getting through. I can see it in her lifeless eyes. She’s too tangled in the lies she’s been fed her whole life, so I have no choice but to shift my focus to Camille. She is an innocent in all of this, and I refuse to let the actions of adults continue to hurt her.
I can’t see Dante’s face, but I feel the tension rolling off him when I signal for him to get ready to take his shot before I start singing.
“Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool? Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full.”
Anna glares at me like I’ve lost the plot, but I don’t stop because Camille understands why I chose this song.
Her erratically panting chest stills as determination squares her shoulders.
“Onefor the master.”
At the “one” in my sentence, Camille’s shoe comes down hard on Anna’s exposed toes.
“Andonefor the dame.”
This time, Camille slams her elbow into Anna’s ribs.
“Andonefor the little boy who lives down the lane.”
Anna yelps when my last prompt sees Camille throwing her head back. If Anna wasn’t cowering in pain from the jab in the ribs,Camille’s headbutt would have missed its mark. Since she’s hunched over, she falls back with a groan, and her grip loosens enough for Camille to escape.
Camille doesn’t hesitate for even a second when I hold out my arms for her. She races for me so fast that Anna doesn’t have time to react, much less dodge the bullet Dante pops between her brows the instant his daughter is safe from danger.
Or should I say,ourdaughter.
