“Because my brother loves her.”
She rears back just a little. “It’s that simple? I don’t believe it.”
“Loyalty ’til death is what I vowed to her and you. That may not mean anything to you, but to any member of the Silvestri family, it’s a promise for life. Unless that trust is betrayed.”
Violetta’s gaze widens and although I’m the one with the power, the revelation in her eyes is unsettling. I don’t ask what conclusion she’s arrived at, and I also don’t fully acknowledge the unease coiling around me.
“Your mother,” she says, barely above a whisper. “It wasn’t that she left…she broke her vow to your father, you, your brothers, and the entire bloodline of your family.”
My gaze is immediately drawn to the tattoo on the top of my hand, the one I had done in honor of my mother’s death. It’s thought to represent transformation, but I can’t follow that trail of thought and apply it to my mother. She hasn’t changed and never will.
No matter how much a part of me wishes for that.
I pull away from Violetta and take a step back as her words hit me like a bullet to the chest. She’s not saying anything I haven’t already thought of, yet hearing someone else give voice to the depth of betrayal my family and I’ve experienced is different. My personal narrative never voiced it quite like that, and definitely not with threads of compassion, sympathy, and heartache twining around it.
My entire body locks into place as layer after layer of tension and anger rise from within that dark place I try to keep hidden from the world. The part of me that Rafael calls “the beast.” From the way I’ve acted in the past, knowing the number of people I’ve slaughtered, he’s not wrong.
And I don’t want to unleash it on Violetta.
Violetta
Tristano’s gray eyes are like the ashes left behind once a fire has died.
What I said about his mother killed any warmth, any burning emotions he was allowing me to see. It was the first time he expressed his opinion of my sister, and anyone who speaks about her the way he did can do no wrong in my mind. Tristano revealing his thoughts on Carina helped me see him in a different light. I was also beginning to think he was viewing me in another one too.
But I ruined it.
Now Tristano works his jaw from side to side and a muscle ticks every other second, showcasing his anger. And his gaze, once like a polished silver, is now a dismal gray. I shouldn’t have said anything and I can’t believe, after nearly two years of silence, that I’d just let anything fall out of my mouth.
Especially something so personal for him.
“Tristano…” I reach for him and abruptly halt, my hand still suspended in the air. His icy expression is harsh and unyielding. “I’m sorry. That was…” I let my arm fall to my side and blow out a breath. “You’d think I’d know to avoid painful subjects after what happened to me, but I—”
“What?”
My stomach plummets and I press my lips together, hoping to keep the nausea at bay. My sister’s attacker is the last person I ever want to discuss with anyone, let alone Tristano. Would he judge Carina like our father did, accusing her of wanting what happened? The very idea makes me shudder. If Tristano ever said anything like that about her I’d want to kill him.
And I’d hate myself for letting it slip.
“What. Happened. To. You.”
I stare at Tristano with my mouth slightly ajar. The way he spoke was clipped, biting, and every word was punctuated with a hint of rage that makes me tremble inside. And it wasn’t even a question; he voiced it as a demand.
His glower deepens to a murderous expression and I snap out of the mental paralysis weighing me down. “Nothing happened tome,” I say. “It’s something I witnessed.”
Tristano tilts his head just so and I’m quick to speak, knowing that small movement means he’s close to his breaking point. And I don’t blame him. First he’s burdened with watching out for me because his brother was detained, then his mother reveals her betrayal, and now I’ve thrown that painful truth in his face, as well as acted out during my breakdown.
I’d want to strangle me too.
“Two years ago one of my father’s men, his cousin to be exact,” I say with a grimace, “assaulted…someone I care for and I witnessed it. Just the beginning because I ran to get help before it could continue further.”
Hearing myself speak of this disgusting, traumatic event has the nausea already roiling within my stomach intensifying and my vision becomes blurry. I wrap my arms around my middle and breathe in and out slowly, hoping it’ll all go away. I have to refrain from closing my eyes because I know it’ll only produce unwanted images which will only make things worse.
When that happens, it’s the one time I don’t want to be trapped in my mind.
The feel of Tristano’s hand on my back has me turning my head. I’m not willing to acknowledge him right now, not until I’ve fought my demons and locked them back up in the prison I’ve created for them. Except his soothing strokes along my spine cause me to break, to crack a little and some of my internal battle leaks into the atmosphere.
“I hate myself for not doing something,” I grit out, still fighting the waves of guilt slamming into me. “I should’ve killed him. It would’ve prevented seconds or maybe even minutes of her suffering.” I slap a hand over my mouth, nearly vomiting, and blink away the tears filling my eyes. The dampness floods them and runs over my cheeks, then cascades over my hand that’s futilely trying to hold back my sobs.
