My mouth tastes metallic, and I realize it’s from biting my lip too hard. An apology can’t wipe away everything I had to endure. It can’t rebuild the self-confidence that was ripped away from me as a child.
“Since Elena left, I realized something” she continues, and that statement pinches at my heart. Even in her apology, I’m still being compared to Elena. “Absence has a way of”—she exhales shakily—“making your heart ache. You start to notice what’s missing, what you had and you now miss. Even if you never admitted you loved it.”
Something inside me folds carefully, the way you fold a letter you’ve read too many times. I don’t want her regrets, or half-baked apologies, and I should say something. But memories of all the vile things she’s done somehow weaken me.
Weakly, I lift my hand to wipe my tears. I can’t do this right now. I end the call while she’s still talking and squeeze my phone tightly in my hands.
I shove the phone into my pocket and storm out of the library. For the first time in years, I let myself miss my mother so badly it physically hurts. She never made me feel like I was too much or not enough. She just loved Elena and I the same, and worked twice as hard to keep us equal, even when it was clear Father had already chosen a favorite.
I’m rounding a corner at the back of the west wing when I hear my name. I press against the wall and lean just enough to peek around. Three men stand close to the service door. I only recognize one—he’s one of the groundskeepers.
“She thinks she’s queen of the fucking castle now,” he mutters with disgust. “Prances around like she’s better than everyone.”
The man beside him lets out a dry laugh. “Master will get tired of her soon enough. He always does. Then maybe I’ll take a turn.”
“Better hope he leaves something worth taking,” the third one adds.
The groundskeeper spits on the floor. “She looks weird to me. I mean, nerdy glasses, and that red hair. Maybe if she dyed her hair she could actually look better.”
“Yeah, and her pale skin?” the third man cuts in. “She looks like a doll someone forgot to paint properly.”
A sharp sting pricks my chest as I continue to listen. I’ve never directly interacted with these men before. But as usual, I don’t need to do anything for people to perceive me wrongly.
“Doesn’t matter. Once the boss is done, bet I could fuck the attitude right out of her.”
The men laugh, then continue with a few more crude comments I wish I could unhear. Each word pierces into open wounds I pretend don’t exist. My eyes sting. I take one blind step back to retreat and thud into a wall.
Except it exhales. I whirl around, blinking furiously, and meet Dominic’s eyes. His hands close over my shoulders, and the dark, lethal look in his eyes tells me he heard, too. Shame floods me. I try to shrug off his hands, to stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks, but my attempt is useless.
His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, catching a drop. The gesture is startlingly gentle, so at odds with the violence I know brimming inside him. His jaw ticks twice, before he speaks.
“They’ll pay for every fucking tear.”
“Dominic, I—” I don’t even know what the sentence is. I’m okay. I’m not. Don’t make this worse. Please make this better.
His eyes cut past me, over my shoulder, and whatever lives there in his gaze makes the air thin. When he looks back down, the softness is gone, replaced by something cold and scary. Hishands fall away, and for an absurd, humiliating second, I want them back on me. And I hate that I do.
I instinctively start walking to my room, softly shutting the door behind me, and leaning my forehead on the wood as I try to breathe.
Then the gunshots begin.
One. Two. Three. Four. My hands cover my ears like that will make me unhear the fifth and the sixth. Between them, there are voices screaming, the clatter of something metal, and then another shot that ends whatever was still moving.
I slide down the door until my knees are tight against my chest, and count the seconds after the last echo dies. My mind does two things at once: recoils in horror, and unclenches with relief. I hate both. I hate that I feel safer, knowing those men will never say my name with their filthy mouths again. This is what protection looks like in Dominic’s world, and I hate even more that I crave it.
Hours later, I hear whispers about the bodies strung up in the hall, a warning message carved into their flesh.
I don’t ask what the words are.
Chapter fourteen
Dominic
The bodies are still hanging in the hall when Matteo and I sit down with another fucking pile of useless reports. I don’t bother cleaning the blood from under my nails. Let them all see it. Let every man who walks past choke on the reminder of what happens when they put my wife’s name in their filthy mouths.
But fear doesn’t give me answers. Fear doesn’t explain why we’ve not been able to find out anything. No answers from Benny. No accomplices, or even anything on James. Whoever is behind this knows how to cover their tracks well. I wonder what their aim is. Revenge? Power?
Something about your empire is upsetting the powers that be.I recall Benny’s words.Who the fuck are the powers that be?
