So that’s the story that’s going around Malus. How like Dad to shift all the blame onto someone else.
“Lucy, that’s not what happened at all.”
Her eyes widen. “What do you mean?”
We pause for a moment as the waitress brings us our coffee. A caramel macchiato for me, because I’m hoping the sweetness will help settle my churning stomach, and a black americano for Lucy, no sugar, because she says the bitterness feels like home.
I hold my steaming cup between hands and lower my voice, even though my father’s guards are standing outside and can’t hear us through the glass. “Dad invited them to an engagement party. My engagement party. And then…” My throat feels tight as the sound of bullets clashes in my mind. “Then Dad’s men killed them all. It was a trap. I was the bait.”
Lucy’s face goes white. Her hand trembles as she sets down her coffee cup. “Adora. Oh my god. You werethere?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
“Did you see…” She can’t finish the question.
“Everything,” I whisper. “I saw everything. I tried to help the Vicis, but Dad’s men dragged me away. They all died horrible deaths.”
Lucy’s hand finds mine again, gripping tight. “That’s not your fault. You know that, right? None of that is your fault.”
But it feels like it is. I was part of it, even if I didn’t know how Dad was going to use me.
“Vincenzo survived,” I continue, my voice hollow. “He wasn’t at the engagement party, and now he wants revenge. He wants Dad to give me to him as penance for murdering his family.”
Lucy’s eyes go wide with horror. “Adora, he can’t give you to a murderer. You’ll be in so much danger.”
“I know.” I meet her gaze. “What if he marries me only to slit my throat on our wedding night? Or at the altar in front of Dad?”
Lucy’s eyes flicker with fear. It’s a real possibility. The only thing we know about Vincenzo is that he enjoys killing and craves revenge.
The sunlight streaming through the windows suddenly feels too bright and cheerful for this conversation. Around us, students laugh and chat about papers and parties. Normal problems. Normal lives.
Lucy is quiet for a long moment, studying my face. Then she says carefully, “Has Vincenzo tried to kill you yet? Has he hurt you?”
The question catches me off guard. My lips tingle at the memory of Vincenzo’s mouth on mine, and I feel a guilty flutter that I’ve left this detail out of our conversation.
“No,” I admit, thinking about the balcony where he could have left me to perish. He handed over his knife so I could kill my tormentor, and used his body heat to warm me. Then there are his kisses. So many heart-pounding, possessive kisses.
I must be blushing, because Lucy watches me shrewdly for a moment. “I feel there’s more you’re not telling me.”
I take a deep breath and tell her about Vincenzo saving me from hypothermia, giving me the chance to kill Dad’s capo, about the laundromat. How Vincenzo’s stolen kisses make me feel despite the fact that he’s a brutal killer.
To Lucy’s credit, she’s surprised, but she’s more thoughtful than horrified. She contemplates her coffee for a moment.
“So maybe…” Lucy hesitates, choosing her words carefully. “Maybe Vincenzo doesn’t want you dead, Adora. Maybe he wants something else entirely.”
“Like what?”
“You.” She says it simply, like it’s obvious. “If Vincenzo has fallen in love with you, maybe he’s not the ruthless avenging angel you’re afraid he is. Not toward you, at least.”
I stare at Lucy, wondering when my rebellious, defiant friend turned into such a romantic. This is the same girl who once told me she’d rather die than marry some stranger her parents chose for her.
Lucy laughs and shakes her head. “Why are you looking at me like I’ve grown two heads?”
“Because this is completely unlike you,” I say. “You never speak so idealistically about marriage.”
Lucy gives me a rueful smile, but there’s something painful behind it. “Maybe I’ve learned that love doesn’t always look the way we think it will. Sometimes the person who makes your heart pound is exactly the person you’re not supposed to want.” She looks away, her smile fading as she stares out the window. “And sometimes wanting them anyway is the only honest thing you can do.”
My mind races as I wonder what, or who, could have inspired Lucy to feel this way. I’ve never seen her like this. Vulnerable, almost wistful. Lucy doesn’t do wistful.
