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"Whatever you want, please just let me or one of the staff members know," I say to her. "I'll have someone visit you tomorrow to help size you for a new wardrobe."
She doesn't turn around to face me. She just stares straight ahead. "No need. What I have on me will suffice."
"Don't be ridiculous," I say to her. "You're going to be staying here for some time. You're going to need more than one…” I hesitate, looking at her dress, "outfit."
"How long do you intend to keep me here?" she asks.
I sigh.
I hate to admit it, but I'd dreamed about seeing Raven again. She was one of those girls who never really left my mind. Whenever I dated, nothing seemed quite right with the girl. My therapist told me it was because none of the girls were Raven.
He also told me that I'd built her up in my mind to be something she probably wasn't, but honestly, what does he know? He's not even a real doctor.
"As long as necessary to make sure you're not in harm's way," I finally respond.
"It's interesting that you don't think keeping me locked up as your prisoner is a form of harm," she remarks. She says it in a completely flat tone, as if accusing me of harming her isn't the most painful thing for me to hear.
"Maybe you can't see it now," I say to her. "But, I'm only doing this so that I can keep you safe."
I'm about to say something else, but she cuts me off.
"Or, are you doing it to keep me?"
Her questions are too pointed and I'm way too emotional to try and think through this situation right now.
"You're tired. I'm tired. We should both get some rest. Goodnight, Raven," I say, sadness coating my voice.
"You should know," she says as I am about to close her bedroom door behind me. "That I don't go by that name anymore."
"Oh?" I ask. "Then what name do you go by?"
"Sister Neriah."
"What does that mean?" I ask.
"Light of the Lord," she replies.
"In that case, goodnight, Darkness," I say and close the door behind me, locking her inside.
* * *
I sit in the kitchen eating whatever I can find in the fridge. It probably belongs to someone working at the mansion, but I don't really care.
My brother, Primo, and the firstborn among the four of us, walks into the kitchen. He sits down opposite me and steeples his fingers.
When Giovanni all but flung the reins of the family onto me, Primo promised he would act as an advisor for me, but only until the time his wife, Isabella, gives birth. When the baby comes, he said he's out of the business for good.
I always wished us brothers were better friends. The older three were always at one another's throats growing up, which made it hard. All of my brothers look like they are related. Just like Primo, they have dark, almost black, hair, Roman-looking nose, and stern features. Primo's eyes are so brown they almost look black in some lights.
He can be a scary motherfucker when he wants to be.
I, on the other hand, did not pop out the same way. Photographic evidence of my youth suggests that I used to have bright blond hair, but it has dinged somewhat to the more dirty blond situation I have going on now. I still have bright blue eyes, though, which is always a winner with women.
"I heard there's a visitor in the mansion," he says.
I'm currently stuffing my face with a burger that one of the guards was clearly saving for tomorrow. I get why they'd want to save it. It's really good.
I shrug as I chew my food, not opening my mouth to respond.
