ONE HOUR AGO
Each daythat I spent with the Feras was another day of pure insanity.
For one, I still refused to believe they all just merrily lived in a cottage even though I was staring at a crackling fire, long fluffy blankets slung over the cream couches, and some random incense stick thing Fiorella had said helped with stress and had stuck in the center of a huge oak table. Brenno hadn’t appreciated when I’d asked her which flavor incense would help cure her Stockholm syndrome, but I didn’t really care. I needed to go home and so did my sister.
Though none of this was normal, and they were the worst kinds of people, Brenno had kept Cesare away from me, and nobody had hurt me, not yet anyway. It was the void in my heart that was causing me the most pain, throbbing in my body like a sickness. My ears were empty of Milan’s voice, my eyes blurry without the sight of his smile, my hands numb without his touch, and everything I felt was just too much without him here to anchor me to home and safety and love.
The entire situation was just one giant, domestic-looking nightmare.
“This is actual bullcrap,” Ezio mumbled as he sat cross-legged on the red rug in front of the TV, a gaming controller in his hand that was helping him murder zombies, but that wasn’t whathe was talking about;it was my sister who sat before him, painting his face with endless brushes and palettes of makeup.
“Shut up, Ezio.” Brenno sighed from the couch opposite me, staring at my sister and my sister alone.
I had to admit that the way he looked at her was fascinating, like he’d deluded himself into believing that he loved her as much as she ‘loved’ him.
Had the weak, pathetic Brenno Fera Stockholm-syndromedhimself?
Ezio rolled his eyes, not taking them away from the screen. “I’m just saying, it’s not like I’m gonna learn anything from having my fucking face painted for Halloween.”
I let out a snort, and as I did, I caught Brenno’s eyes from across the room, so similar to my husband’s but so distinctly not his. A wide smile spread across his lips like the fact that I’d laughed with them, or tried to anyway, pleased him.
“Stop swearing, Ez, I mean it,” he scolded, still with that dumb smile.
My heart clenched at who he reminded me of, of how badly I wantedmyperson who hated swearing. I’d do anything to go home, absolutely anything, but Brenno had said he was still figuring out how to do it safely.
What he really meant was how to avoid Milan waging a war.
“You’re not going to be the only kid in the school who hasn’t gotten his face painted for Halloween,” he continued. “So just let Fiore practice. She’s gonna make you look good. Be grateful, asshole. If we didn’t have her, I would’ve stuck an orange hat on you and said you were a pumpkin.”
“Iamgrateful for Fiore!” Ezio snapped like a puppy. “Why do I have to be a skeleton though? Why can’t I be something coollike…a clown?” He gave Brenno a pointed look, one that made Brenno’s lips twitch, but ultimately he shook his head with a very fatherly, “Don’t push me, kid.”
Kidnapping was fine, but clowns weren’t?Weirdos.
Ezio frowned. “Whatever then, some fake blood and bruises.”
Fiorella stopped her brush against his face, tilting her head at the immaculately clean and innocent skeleton she’d drawn on his face. She pushed his long, almost blond, hair back from his forehead, analyzing the kid as he looked straight past her to the TV. “We can do that. Ask Bren first.”
Bren.
I wanted to vomit in my mouth, but even more so when Brenno quietly and dreamily sighed like she solved all of his manythousandsof mental issues with the simple sound of her saying his name. I could see why Fiore had fallen for his charms; she had always wanted to be seen and chosen, and he was playing right into her weaknesses.
“Whatever he wants, baby,” he replied.
She raised a brow with a small smirk. It was the first glimpse of the sister I’d known since I’d been here. “Really? You’re gonna let him go to school and traumatize all the other kids with his face painted like one of your victims?”
“The other kids can grow a pair.” Brenno yawned.
“Yeah, fucking pussies,” Ezio supplied, causing her to laugh and Brenno to gently kick her thigh with a gentle tease of not to encourage him.
He didn’t seem mad that she’d challenged him, quite the opposite.
Fiorella wiped his face down with a makeup-muddy cloth and began to work on Ezio’s face again with reds and blacks instead of whites, and a tube of deep red fake blood.
It reminded me of when she was four and I’d just turned eight, and we’d found our mother’s makeup in her bathroom.She’d spenthoursteaching us how to use it, how to get the perfect shade on our lips and eyes, how to feel feminine and pretty. My chest tightened at one of the only good memories our mom ever gave us before we grew up and she started letting womanhood become about Dad.
By the time Fiore had shaped Ezio’s face into…thedead,which wasaccurate enough to convince anyone that his face was torn in half, I was done sitting downstairs hoping that Milan would come that night. That was the only reason I ever stayed. I didn’t want tohang outwith my captors.
I pushed to my feet, rubbing a tired hand down my face.
