Grabbing my purse, I drag myself out of the car and to the front door. My grandmother stands with her cane watching me with pursed lips and worried eyes, wondering why I’m here. She and I aren’t close, yet I still make the effort to visit her.
Family is important to me, especially since she’s my last living relative. My father died when I was younger of alcohol poisoning, and my grandmother and I both lost my mother atthe same time. I’ve never told her who ultimately killed Mom, because my stepfather is the one who shot her to begin with.
I still don’t understand what triggered him to kill her, but I’ve learned just about anything can set him off.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Grandma murmurs, her strong fingers pulling me inside.
I lost my hair pin to Rosa at some point, so my hair is tangled down my back. I’m usually perfectly put together, the habit a throwback from when my mother was alive. She never complained about my hair in front of others, but Mom wanted to dye it blonde so it would be “normal”.
My father was Irish, while my mother was Italian, leaving me with bright red hair that she hated. Rosa has always thought there was a double standard in the way my mother treated us, but I was too ashamed to admit that my mother hated me as well.
Nothing was ever good enough for Beatrix Accetta. May she rot in hell.
“I feel like I may have,” I finally reply to my grandmother. She walks me through the house to the kitchen, the thump of her cane loud beside her, before she pushes me into a chair.
She has staff somewhere around this large house, but she enjoys being on her own whenever possible. Instead, they are the ones who move like ghosts through the house, so she might know a thing or two about wraiths.
“Talk to me,” she insists, pulling random things out of the cupboard.
I don’t bother to tell her that I don’t need anything, and instead sigh heavily.
“Rosa’s dad is having an episode,” I explain slowly. How do I tell my grandmother I’m living in a mafia man’s home?
“If ‘episode’ is code for homicidal rage, then I think we need to work on your communication skills.” My grandmother snortsin amusement she doesn’t feel before placing something in front of me in a cup.
I refuse to touch it, because it could be anything. My grandmother is known for her odd herbal concoctions, and I don’t think anything can cure what I have.
“Grandma…”
“No,” she growls, sitting across from me in her expensive skirt and white shirt. She looks the part of someone who is part of the elite that live in Savannah.
My mother made me into someone who can survive in that space, but it’s not something I enjoy. I never complain, I rub elbows with “friends” who would gladly claw your eyes out rather than speak to you. Rosa is my best friend and scent match.
She’s the only one I’ve ever wanted to be with. No one else understands how that’s possible, so I simply don’t speak about it. Our love isn’t acceptable.
“Renzo Accetta is an evil man, and your mother refused to believe me. You’re an adult, have your own money, and don’t need to continue living there. Yet…you’re acting like a stupid girl.”
“Maybe I am,” I sigh. “I won’t leave Rosalia, Grandma. He… I’m worried about her.”
“You can’t save her,” she scoffs. “There’s nothing you can do. Drink what’s in front of you. It’s rude to ignore my gifts, Verona.”
I wasn’t aware whatever is in front of me could be considered a gift, and gaze warily at it.
“It may be rude, but I’m going to pass, thank you. I can’t?—”
“You can!” The old woman explodes from her chair, exasperated. The cane is hooked on the table, a reminder she only needs it occasionally. I push the glass away from me, tipping it over on purpose because I amnotdrinking it.
“Sorry, Grandma,” I say, completely unrepentant as I mop up the mess with a pretty towel. I’m careful not to get any of the liquid on my skin, since I have no idea what’s in her concoction.
“Sorry, my eye,” she mutters, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of my chair. She’s stronger than she should be, dragging me across the house toward the stairs. Her cane dangled from her arm, her anger giving her more strength than usual. “I lost your mother to that vile alpha, I refuse to lose you too. I know you believe I don’t know anything, but I do. I know about the twisted love between you and your sister, Verona. Why you insist on doing this the hard way instead of drinking the damn tea, I’ll never know.”
Shit. I didn’t think she’d legitimately drug me, but apparently that’s where we’re at on a Thursday afternoon. I attempt to dig my heels into the floor, my sandals aren’t a match against the highly polished wood.
“She’s not my sister, not by blood!” The hissed response doesn’t matter to her as she shoves me to my knees and yanks open the crawl space under her stairs.
“Ha! No one else cares, not when you grew up together.”
Her foot kicks at me, followed by her cane, forcing me back into the crawl space, even as I try to protect my face and ribs.
