“Your mother’s right,” Dad says.“This is no time for being wild and reckless.In time things will calm down again and then we’ll?—"
“Right, then everything will be all right again,” Chiara cuts in.“Am I seriously the only one who thinks things were never all right to begin with?”
Mom and Dad start eating, Lidia too, while Chiara glares at us all.We’ve had this conversation so many times before, no one’s in any hurry to take the bait she’s dangling for us.
“Fuck it, I’m done,” she says once the silence filled only with the clinking of spoons against porcelain starts to drag.She stands up and slams her wine glass on the table, hitting the edge of her plate.
Wine mixed with her blood lands on the white tablecloth, extending over the fabric like lava rolling over snow through a crack in the ground.I saw that once, on a trip to Italy.It was Etna erupting over pristine white snow plains.That was beautiful.This is heartbreakingly horrible.Mom and Dad rush to Chiara’s side, who looks on the verge of passing out as she looks at the blood welling from her palm.Lidia does too.
I go over and pick up the pieces of broken crystal, cradling it in my palms, muttering, “I’ll just throw this out.”
But I don’t take it to the trash can in the kitchen, I go out into the hall to use the trash chute.Because I need some air that’s not filled with broken dreams, and spilled blood, and questions that have no good answers.Only more pain.Only more blood and tears.
Chapter12
GIANNA
The smellof blood mixed with the sweet wine is still in my nostrils as I exit the apartment.I didn’t notice it back in the dining room, but out here in the clear, almost sterile air of the hallway it explodes in all its nauseating glory.It reminds me of summertime and death.Was I drinking wine when we heard that my brother was dead?
“Where are you going?”a man asks from behind my back in a clipped, menacing tone that is nothing like I’m used to hearing from people who work for my father.Even random strangers on the street have never used such a threatening tone with me.
I turn and if I didn’t see him with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe it was Matteo who spoke.His voice is so different from the way he spoke to me last night, before my dad’s men dragged him away.Or even this morning and his tone was already plenty cold then.
He’s partially obscured by the shadows of the hallway, which is lit only by demure, golden lights in sconces.It makes his features look skeletal and his otherwise glowing eyes black and dead.Even the tattoos on his hands—and neck, I see now—are blacker than I remember.Not inviting.Just scary.
“I’m just taking this to the trash,” I stammer, showing him the broken glass in my hands.
He walks closer, into a pool of light cast by one of the sconces, but the shadows seem to follow him, flowing after him like a cloak, like they have him and will not let him go even if he stands in bright noonday sunshine.
Oh, God, am I seeing the physical manifestation of my curse that had swallowed him last night?
My hands are shaking by the time he reaches out to take the broken glass from me.“I can do that for you.Go back inside.”
The command in his voice shifts even my panic somewhat.I may be just a woman in a world where men rule, but no one commands me.I glare at him, wishing the shadows would lift just a little from his face.Because he has a very nice face.And a nice smile.I saw it last night and I want to see it again.
“I got it,” I say and stalk away from him towards the trash chute.
It’s as though hot darkness is following me, that’s the only way I can describe it.He walks about half a step behind me the whole way, and by the time we reach the trash room, my whole back feels like it’s on fire.I wouldn’t call it pleasant.I wouldn’t call it unpleasant either.I’d just call it strong.Too strong.Strong enough to burn away everything I know, everything I am, leave me bare, if I stand in it too long.
He holds the chute open.“Get this over with and go back inside.”
I take my time tossing the shards down the chute.He may be my bodyguard now, but that in no way entitles him to bark orders at me.
He’s keeping the door to the trash room open with his foot and keeps glancing down the hallway towards the apartment doors.Clearly, our guards have figured out the trash run escape, so we won’t be using that one again anytime soon.
“Don’t you have servants to do this for you?”he asks once I’m done.He releases the chute door and the bang echoes deafeningly in the small room.Before then, a little part of my mind was thinking about how good he smells, even here in the trash room.But the sound brought me back to my senses.He’s just insolent and disrespectful and the room smells just of trash and rotting food now.
“You’re one of my servants now,” I snap at him and am in no way ready for the heat and darkness that blasts from his eyes.I actually stumble back a little.
I can’t look away from his eyes, no matter how much I want to get this encounter over with.Because that’s not me.I don’t go around calling anyone my servant and I certainly don’t go around admiring the way men smell and look.He has me all twisted.
What is this insanely strong pull he has on me?Am I so drawn to him because he escaped the first brush with my curse and it now desperately wants to claim him?
“I’m not your servant,” he says in a voice so cold goosebumps erupt all over my arms despite the heat of his gaze.
“That’s right, you’re not,” I say, surprised that my voice isn’t weak or shaky.“But you don’t get to order me around either.”
He laughs.It’s a harsh sound, too loud for the small room we’re in.And his eyes are saying something that I can’t understand, but I know I’m meant to.
