Is this all my fault? When Anthony finds out that I’m the weak link, will he dispose of me? Will this be the reason he gives when he extracts me from the family? Like a poison?
“They won’t give it to you, whatever it is.”
“Ah, but I think they will.” He leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “Seems Anthony is very fond of you.”
That makes my heart constrict. I hope he doesn’t do anything to save me.
I don’t want him involved. If this really is because of me, then I want to die down here.
I’ll miss them, but I’d rather not make this worse for any of them.
For Georgiy, too.
Oh.
Georgiy.
“He won’t give you what you want. Anthony puts up with me. Nothing more.”
“That’s not what I heard. But then again, maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you are unlovable after all.”
My mind flicks to Georgiy and the way we’d lie in bed, my body on top of his, the strong strokes of his fingers up and down my spine. How I confessed my adoration, and he was silent.
I love you.
He couldn’t even utter those three simple little words.
Maybe I am unlovable.
Maybe my father is right.
But those thoughts are whisked away as he adds, “That’s neither here nor there. Before I send the pieces of you to Anthony, I’d like to give you time to ask any questions you may have. I know you have so many. Brains are tricky little things. Forgetting reality, numbing you to what really happened all those years ago.”
My hands flex behind me, straining against the constraints around my wrists once more, wanting to sink my fingers into his eyes and feel them burst, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m stuck.
“Go on, Ara. Ask. We always encourage closure. Even if it’s brief.”
I hesitate, wanting to stay silent, but it’s too much. Iwantto know.
“What’s your name?”
“What do you think it is?”
I say nothing, and he grins. “You can’t remember, can you? What do you call me in your head?”
I refuse to say, just clamp my lips together. He can never know he’s Death. That would just feed his sick little ego far too much.
“I’m Emin. You were named after my father. What a shame to have given you such a name when you ended up such a disappointment.”
I shake my head and then ask, “Where’s my mom?”
“Dead.”
My lungs sharply inhale.
“You probably don’t know her name either. It was Deborah. She was lovely until I realized she made you soft, and that in every way, you were like her. So, I took you away, wanted to make you both stronger, less emotional. But it didn’t work out as planned. The stress of the separation did a number on her and her heart.”
The thought of it makes my eyes water, but I hold them back, not giving him any more than I want to.
