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When she spoke again, her voice was back to the quiet, wistful tone, but this memory was ugly. It was stained. “You don’t know what it’s like to be the daughter of the woman who ruined the Family line.”
“It wasn’t your mother who did that!” I beseeched. “Your father told Alessio about Emilio so they would kill each other. The story is all wrong. Your mother died in the arms of Alessio.” I wanted so desperately for Gabby to learn the truth. She’d been force-fed a false narrative her entire life. I knew a little bit about that, about having someone tell you lies about your family, but Gabby just wouldn’t have it.
“You don’t know anything,” she hissed. “You don’t know what it’s like to be given to an ugly, evil man because of your mother’s past.” Gabby hovered over the knife handles. She wouldn’t look at me.
A beat of silence passed before I responded. “You’re right.”
“I thought you were different.” She yanked a knife from its hold and spun to me. “I thought you were hope.” The knife in her hand reflected the overhead lights and I couldn’t help but stare at it. What was she going to do? I was all but out of energy. If she came at me, I wasn’t sure I could take her.
“Gabby.” I tried to figure out how to phrase my next words. She had always put all of her hopes and dreams on the Pavoni Princess, but I wasn’t the princess. I was dark, twisty, and fucked up, but I was still just Frankie.
“Gabby, I’m not who you think I am,” I finally said. Who you need me to be.
“I know that now.” Her glare darted to me, venomous. I was reminded that Gabby had killed before—her husband. I gripped the counter, eyeing the knife in her hand. As if she could sense what I was thinking, she glowered, but then her brown eyes softened.
“I’m not going to kill you,” she said quietly. “I’m not like you. Anyway, you’ll wish you were dead soon enough.”
I propped myself up on the counter and put my head on one arm, trying to breathe. I felt like I had the flu. I wanted to go lie down. I hadn’t intended to stay out of bed for this long. I’d just wanted to get a glass of water and see if there was anything left to eat in the kitchen.
“This knife is for my protection,” she emphasized. “Now Levi is never going to learn anything about his mother, you realize that, right? It will all have been for nothing. You of all people should understand what it’s like to want to know your family.” I did know, but sometimes when you go looking for something, you don’t like what you find.
“Who’s coming for me?” I deflected.
“I’m not going to wait with you anymore.” Pushing up off the counter, she walked toward the center of the kitchen. “You think you’re a sweet girl,” she continued. “You think you’re the good guy in this. You think you’re the victim—you’re not. You’re the bad guy.”
There are no bad guys. There are only winners.
Nikolai’s words distracted me until I noticed Gabby was walking—no, practically running—right toward the spill. With a knife. In heels.
“Gabby wait—” She’d hit it dead on at the rate she was going.
“He makes you forget who you are,” Gabby seethed. “He’s chloroform to your soul.” I stopped completely, feeling slapped. I’d begun a journey with Anteros, and without him I was a boat without an anchor, drifting in a dark, black ocean. So I wondered if the journey had been a lie, if the entire time I’d simply been drowning.
And she fucking poked at the insecurity, dragged thorns across it until it bled.
But I shook it off, because I had to. She didn’t realize the danger she was in.
“Gabby you have to stop!” I stumbled over to her, reaching for her just as crashing sounded near the front of the house—the people Gabby had said were coming for me. I should have run, but Gabby was still heading toward the liquid, knife in hand, pointed stilettos seconds away from impact.
“Do you hear that?” Gabby asked, waving the knife around perilously. “They’re coming for you.”
“Gabby shut up and listen to me!” It was like I was watching it all in slow motion. Gabby running toward the spill, my arms stretching to reach her before she did so. Everything was so poignant, so perilous. Her heels, the knife. Bright, oily spill. I reached my hand out.
“No you shut up—” Her right foot made contact with the invisible liquid and she fell forward. I fell with her, trying to grasp her wrist, but it was too late. She hit the floor just as the knife went straight into her gut.
“Gabby!” My knees hit the ground with brutal impact. “Oh God, Gabby.” The sharp, stinging scent of chemical laced with whatever lemony aroma they tried to hide it in singed my nostrils. Cool liquid tickled the skin at my knees. At first I thought it was the cleaner, but then with horror, I realized it was her blood.
I rolled her over to see the damage. The knife had gone straight into her abdomen, right above her bellybutton. I didn’t know what to do. My hands hovered over her. I heard people barreling into the house—people coming for me, Gabby had said.
I didn’t care.
I couldn’t care.
“They’re here.” She laughed, but it transformed into a cough as blood sputtered out her mouth. I put my palm next to the knife in Gabby’s stomach, trying to stop the blood. Gabby’s chin was red, both from hitting the floor and from spurting blood. It was like an oil painting dripping red paint, just too much blood.
Like Big O…like the man at the gas station.
But this shouldn’t have ha
