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“Francesca?” Lucia peered at me, grip tightening on my hand.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “This is all very overwhelming.” It wasn’t a complete lie, and Lucia herself had said the best lies have a grain of truth. She placed a hand on my back, rubbing it gently, maternally. I saw what I had to do—what she would expect of the daughter she’d built in her mind, the little girl held captive. In a flash, I shrugged her off and stood up off the bed. Taking the clock off the nightstand, I let out a harsh, frustrated-sounding scream and threw it to the ground. It shattered on impact, jagged glass shards splintering across the floor.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” I lied, pretending I was just some child who couldn’t handle her emotions. I went over and pretended to pick up the pieces, grabbing a jagged piece and hiding it in my fist. “We’re in the room where I was held captive and the monster who kept me here is out there. I’m tired of pretending to love him to survive. I just want to be with you. How much longer do we have to wait to be a family?” I spun around to face her, wiped away invisible tears from my cheek.
The corners of her eyes crinkled and she stood up as well. “I know a thing or two about pretending to love a man to survive, Francesca. I loved Lucio, but the Family insisted I marry others. After the fourth died, they stopped insisting.” She came to me, arms opening up in a hug. “When we’re together, it will just be us.”
This is it. I thought I’d feel more scared or hesitant. There was definitely a small part of me that shook, but it wasn’t from worrying if it was right or wrong, it was because Lucia was a kingpin. She was the head of the snake, and I was about to cut it off.
Her thin, bony fingers grasped my back, pulling me deeper into the embrace. Her creamy pantsuit pressed against the gown she’d forced on my body. Her breath was like swamp air on my neck.
I’d always wanted a real hug. I’d stayed in her hell hoping she would give me this hug and I’d be complete, but her hugs were a lie, her promise of family was a lie, and I was so done with lies. Anteros was family. His arms around me didn’t complete me, they helped me find completion within myself.
This was more than cutting off the head; this was pulling out the roots of a rotted family tree that had been stunting my growth so I could finally blossom.
I gripped Lucia back, holding on to her neck, and said low in her ear, “I’m not Francesca Valeria Notte. I’m not Francesca Valeria Pavoni. I’m just fucking Frankie.” Then I drove the jagged edge into her gut.
I shoved the glass deeper, gripping her neck tighter, the hairs at the nape curling into my grasp. Lucia made a harsh, swallowing sound, like she was breathing water from the oxygen in the room. She dug into my back and cut my skin. Then she let go and I was the only thing holding her up.
Still in our twisted hug, I fell to my knees with Lucia. I had a brief, fleeting thought: this was the only type of hug Lucia and I should ever have. Bloody. Deathly. A final ending.
I pulled the glass from her stomach, watching the cherry red blood run down my hands. I couldn’t really believe it. I’d done it—I’d killed Lucia.
When I’d told Anteros I needed to be the one to kill Lucia, I’d never really believed I could do it—sort of like dreaming to be a rock star. You could try and try for fame, but once you become famous, you wouldn’t believe it. Our entire plan hinged on hope when our entire relationship had always had none, when my entire life had been devoid of it.
Yet I stared at the cherry red blood seeping onto my hands, forcing myself to acknowledge that for once I had hoped and that hope hadn’t been shattered.
“Francesca…” I looked down. Life was stuttering out of Lucia, a light bulb flickering and about to die. Red stained her creamy ivory suit, and I thought it was fitting that at least she would die wearing the Pavoni colors. She raised her hand off the floor, using all of her strength to get me to bend down to her.
I really didn’t want to do it. I wanted to walk out and leave her—leave everything she represented. She was the old life, a life without hope. Hoping to find family. Hoping to belong. Hoping for safety. Hoping and always ending up shattered. I bent down, though, because even after everything, a small part of me was still curious.
“What?” I spat, putting my head closer to her lips.
“You were my reason for everything, bambina.” She reached her hand to me, bloody from her abdomen. It was sticky and wet against my cheek. I didn’t immediately pull away, struck by her words. When the light faded from her eyes, I sat back.
At the angle I sat, my dress stretched, the seams groaning but not ripping. I was mesmerized by Lucia. Even death couldn’t take her grace. Then I remembered Anteros in the library. Our plan wasn’t finished yet; we still needed hope.
There was a gun gleaming in a holster attached at her waist. It was gold—of course it was gold. It was so small, barely the size of my hand. I didn’t even know they made guns that small. I quickly grabbed it and tucked it into my breast, inside the lingerie she’d also forced me to wear. Standing to my feet, I smoothed my hands over the lines in my dress, trying to see if the gun was visible.
If you really looked, you could see it. It was impossible not to with such a tight, semi-sheer dress, but I hoped again that no one noticed. All we had was hope, after all.
I looked back at Lucia. Red blood had stained almost all of her cream jacket. Even though she was dead, I needed to say the next words. It had to be in the world, in the universe, so the atoms, molecules, fate, Jesus—whatever—knew.
“Reason is just another word for excuse. There is only one person who has ever been family, and he’s in the library prepared to die for me. That’s fucking family.” I finished on an exhale, not even realizing I’d bent over her. The gleam of the Pavoni pendant caught my eye and I quickly snatched it off her dead body. Just as I’d clasped it, the door opened.
Nikolai leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. “You’ve just made my job easier,” he laughed then walked to me and grabbed me by the elbow, pulling me out of the room. I nearly tripped over the length of my gown, but steadied myself just in time.
We walked down the shadowy hallway, past huge abstract paintings that had terrified me before I knew the meanings of the furious red and black slashing of paint, before I had felt the essence to my core.
“It’s just like old times,” Nikolai hissed as he dragged me back inside the library. I didn’t say a thing in response, just glanced out of my periphery to see if he had any hint of the gun in my dress—by all indications, he didn’t. It wasn’t like old times, not in the least. Nikolai had played all-knowing before, and that had scared me. It had seemed like he had all the answers, but he was just a little boy t
rying on his dad’s ties.
“Except this time,” Nikolai said, throwing me to the library floor, “I have the power.”
I rose to my hands and knees, gun still in place. I wanted to tell Anteros, wanted him to know the plan was working, but he and Crazy A were in the middle of a heated conversation.
“I don’t believe a word you’re saying,” Crazy A said. “So you might as well shut the fuck up.” I’d only been gone a few minutes, but in that time something had gone down between them. I desperately tried to put the pieces together.
