Over my head, Vincenzo is breathing hard, and I see his hand curl into a fist. I wonder distantly if that fist is for me. I assume he likes to hurt women when he’s angry, just like Dad.
The seconds tick by in silence.
I don’t look up. I can’t. If I look at him now, I’ll see satisfaction in his eyes. Pleasure that I’m breaking, and I won’t give him that.
Vincenzo rips open the balcony door, jumps up and clings to something above, and then disappears over the edge into the night. This must be the route he took into my bedroom to avoid the soldiers in the garden. I hear a few faint noises that might be the whisper of rope, and then he’s gone.
Like he was never here at all. Except for the shattered glass, the torn photograph, and the hole in my heart.
“Stop sniveling,” Dad snaps, his words cracking over me like a whip.
Reaching down, he seizes me under my arm with bruising fingers and hauls me to my feet. The pieces of photograph flutter from my hands, scattering across the carpet.
I stand with my head bowed as Dad paces up and down.
“That Vici bastard is obsessed with you. God knows why, but I saw it in his eyes the other night when he kissed you. It was plain as day tonight.”
I don’t know how Dad thinks he saw obsession from Vincenzo tonight. I witnessed rage and destruction, and hatred for the Montonis that runs soul deep.
Dad rubs his hands together, the eagle signet ring glinting on his pinkie finger. “This is good, Adora. This is useful to us. Through this engagement, and as we plan your wedding, you will be able to get close to him. You can save this family.”
There’s a feverish look in his eyes, a manic gleam that I recognize. It’s the same look he gets when he’s planning something particularly vicious. He’s already anticipating a Montoni triumph.
“When he lets his guard down, you will strike.”
I wipe the tears from my cheeks and manage to ask in a strangled voice, “Strike?”
Dad stares at me like I’m an idiot for not immediately understanding his brilliant plan.
“Yes, girl. Strike. Lull him into believing you’re completely in love with him, and then kill him. Stab him. Shoot him. Put explosives under his car seat. I don’t care how you do it, as long as that man ends up dead. Because if we don’t kill him, he will kill us.”
He grabs my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“If you play your part right, Vincenzo will never suspect his smiling, adoring bride of treachery.”
I don’t answer, unable to summon up the strength, and Dad’s lip curls in disgust.
“Are these methods too much for your weak woman’s stomach? Wait here.”
Dad strides out of my room, his footsteps heavy and purposeful.
I stand there staring at the shattered glass. At the torn pieces of Mom’s face. My hands are already stained with blood. How much more blood will they soak in before this is over?
Dad returns a few minutes later. He holds up a small bottle made of dark glass that contains what looks like white powder.
“Potassium cyanide. Poison is a woman’s weapon. Devious and deadly, just like your sex.”
He seizes my hand, pries my fingers open, then forces the vial into my hand.
“Take it, Adora.”
I stare at it resting in my palm. The glass is smooth and dark. A little bottle of death that I’m supposed to use to kill a man after winning his trust.
Wind through my open balcony door scatters little pieces of my photograph across my feet. I shiver, and my fingers close around the vial automatically, listening without protest as Dad orders me to become a cold-blooded murderer.
“Do you understand?” Dad demands.
I nod, or I think I do. I feel my head move.
