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“Did you hear what I just said?” Lucia asked, gripping my arm and shoving me against the door.
“No,” I spat.
Her crystal blue eyes slimmed. “You were never taught any manners.”
“Must be the lack of parental influence,” I snapped. “Or maybe it’s because my parents were fucking demented Flowers in the Attic rejects.” Fuck. I rubbed a hand to my forehead. I was getting off course. I couldn’t show her how angry I really was. I needed to make her think I was on her side, but I was just so fucking mad. I couldn’t contain myself.
It had been so much easier when Anteros and I were discussing this in candlelight, so much easier to say, yes I could pretend to like Lucia until the right moment.
I was ready to apologize when she yelled, “Cazzo!” and stepped back, giving me space and putting her free hand to her head. “It’s not my fault you weren’t a boy and Lucio wanted nothing to do with us ever again!”
Shock filled my system, blood turning hot and cold like a badly heated shower. I almost laughed—all of this had been because I wasn’t a boy?
All this time, wanting her to be the grandmother I’d always wanted—not even realizing that she should have been the mother I needed—had been punishment for my second X chromosome?
My knees felt weak and I leaned against the door, focused all my energy on staying standing. It was always the same story. First Papa used me as a punching bag for his inner demons, now Lucia because I represented what she never got—her love, her empire. I wanted family but this wasn’t family. The family I wanted came with unconditional love. I was sick of being used as an effigy for other people’s demons.
My rational brain told me to stick to the plan. I needed Lucia close to me, but my rational brain was drowning under a tsunami of emotions I’d kept at bay for months—years.
“If you hated me so much then why didn’t you just kill me when I was a baby?” I screamed.
“I don’t hate you!” Lucia reeled as if I’d actually hit her and I wanted to scream even louder. Her words hurt, not mine. “I love you!”
A beat passed between us and I did my best to stay stoic. Muffled voices drifted into the room and I reminded myself of the reason I was doing this. Lucia was dead to me. Her love was nothing but poker chips. I pulled out the knife she’d stuck in my heart, getting back to the task at hand.
“You were going to ship me off to be a sex slave,” I said, coming off the door. “Not exactly winning mother-of-the-year awards.”
“I wanted us to work together, to take the throne I was always meant to have, but you just had to have him.” She flung her arm out in a violent thrust toward the door at my back. “A few years at The Institute and you never would have questioned my authority again.” I wanted to scream at her—she was going to make me a sex slave as punishment?—but I kept my tongue tied. I no longer wanted to walk along the sick, twisted pathways of Lucia’s mind.
“When my parents discovered Lucio and I together in the basement as children, they sent me to The Institute for a year and sent Lucio over to America.” Based on my existence, I was going to assume that the punishment didn’t really land. I wanted to be sarcastic and biting, but I held my tongue.
Lucia was pretty much impenetrable, Anteros had said. Except for one thing.
Her daughter.
Me.
I was the one person she could never kill, the one thing she could never hide or let go, because she had hope we would be a family—I knew a little bit about that. I needed to exploit her weakness, and so far, I was doing a pretty fucking terrible job. I swallowed all of my pride until it settled like stale bread in my stomach then I placed my hand on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” I said. It felt so wrong, but the corners of her eyes crinkled and I knew it was working. “I’m sorry, I just want to know the truth.” I focused on keeping my face sympathetic, my hand reassuring and not the claw I wanted to dig into her skin.
“I already told you most of it,” she said. “The rest is unimportant.”
I scoffed. “Are you kidding me? How do you expect me to stay with you if you won’t tell me the truth about where I came from?” At least it wasn’t so hard to act now because I did want to know. All of my anger at her lies and manipulation came bubbling to the surface, and I just redirected it in the right direction. Lucia said nothing, instead walking over to the vintage dresser, trailing a finger along the surface. I was even more angry, wanting to rip her finger off as I remembered the night of the dinner party when Anteros had thrown me on that very dresser.
“You can’t tell me lies and expect me to just follow you blindly,” I said, swallowing as I tried to sound steady. “I’m not a soldier, Lucia, I’m your daughter.” I stressed the familial word in hopes it would sway her to my side, even though it practically charred my tongue. She paused, red manicured nail pointed.
“When I was young, I had you,” she began. She folded her arms and faced the French windows I’d looked out so many times before. Some moments passed and I began to wonder if she would ever finish.
“Lucio wanted to kill you when he discovered you were not a boy,” she continued. “It was too much risk for him now that you weren’t going to offer him anything ‘substantial.’ I wouldn’t have it. I had no choice but to hide you, and I hoped to raise you without any knowledge of the Family.”
“You were the woman in the rumor,” I thought aloud. “You’re Isabella.”
“A lie is always more believable if it has some grain of truth, bambina.” She turned back to face me, a smile on her face that said she was way too fucking proud of herself. I wanted to yell that I wasn’t just some lie that she could fuck around with. I wasn’t a pawn on a chessboard. That was my life she was talking about. Instead I bit the soft, fleshy bit of skin inside my cheek until my pain clouded the rage.
“Why didn’t you run away with me?” I hoped the strain in my voice wasn’t noticeable.
“I wish that had been possible, but I was watched twenty-four seven by the Family.” She sighed, looking away as if losing herself in a memory. “I met your guardian when I was at The Institute and later hired her to look after you. She was supposed to provide you a good, stable life in America. She knew the circumstances of your birth. She knew the Pavoni Family. She had two choices: watch you or be sold to some man. I provided her enough money to care for you for years. I couldn’t keep track of you because I was under surveillance. I assumed she would care for you, but then she met Antonio Notte.”
