The whisper came again, right behind my ear.“You killed her.”
My breath caught. “No,” I muttered. “No, it was an accident.”
I spun around, scanning the hall. Nothing. Empty shadows.
I stumbled forward toward my father’s office. The door was still open, firelight moving inside, painting the walls in shades of red and orange. His body was still there, slumped beside the chair, his face twisted into something almost like a smile.
“You’re dead,” I whispered. “Stay dead.”
But as the words left my mouth, he moved. Just a twitch.
I walked to the table, grabbed the phone, and dialed Enzo’s number.
“I need your help,” I whispered. “I need help.”
My palm hit my forehead, again and again, until my vision blurred.
My knees gave out. The world went black.
1. My dear
2. child
XV. LIAR
Two months earlier
Enzohelpedmecleanthe mess. We placed Maria in her bed, covered her with the sheets, and left my father at the office on the table where I smashed his head.
After we met with the lawyer and signed every paper that handed the Ricci fortune to me, I had more than enough to buy the House of Clowns.
When we left, Enzo went into the kitchen. I watched him turn on the gas. I could hear the hiss in the silence. Then he lit a match. Flames crawled up the walls, eating everything. Maria. My father. Even the lawyer we paid enough to stay quiet for life.
And while the house burned, we walked behind the house, where we first met almost a year ago. Enzo and I made a pact. We slid our palms open and pressed them together. Warm blood ran between our fingers.
“In better and worse, we promised, we would always stay together.”
And one thing was certain.
We would end this as it began.
With a hunt.
I was back in the House of Clowns, and lately, it wasn’t the best. Clowns started leaving after too many people died. They were scared they’d be next. Rocco hadn’t paid anyone in months, stacking bills and debts with the locals who kept us fed and supplied.
Ever since the Circle fell apart, he had been starving, and people who starve are the most dangerous ones.
I knocked on his office door and walked inside. For him, it was just another day drowning in whiskey and regret. For me, it was the day I took everything he had.
“Hey, Rocco,” I said. “Can we talk?”
“Sure.” He lowered his feet from the table, bottle still in hand.
“Would you be interested in selling the House of Clowns?”
His eyes widened, then narrowed. “To you?” He laughed.
I cleared my throat. “No. But I have someone interested.”
