“You may go. Keep an eye on Rosalie until she goes to bed. I’ll find an excuse for your absence in the evening,” Eivor says.
“Thank you.” I stand and brush my hands down the front of my suit before I turn for the door. I feel uncomfortable having my back to the man but I do nevertheless.
I exit his office slow but not too slow. Trying not to appear eager to leave him.
With a knot in my stomach and lump in my throat, I head back into the family room to keep an eye on Rosalie, and Patricia as it were. They’re both still reading, except now Rosalie has a mug of tea with her and a small light has been turned on beside her.
I look at the side of her face. It glitters slightly, as though wet.
Has she been crying? Is it because of the story she is reading or some other reason?
I shouldn’t care, not really. It’s not my job to care, but I find myself curious.
The story of these families is becoming a tangled web in my head. I want to know more about them.
Unfortunately, I know more about the Dresvanni than I’d like to know now.
Later, when Rosalie has gone to bed, and Patricia and Eivor have followed to their own bedroom, I find myself alone finally. There are others in the house, cousins and other guards that roam about, but I don’t pay much mind to them. I remember where they all are. The kitchen, the library, the dining room… but I don’t waste anytime talking to them.
I head to my own room and after closing the door, I pull a shoe box out from under the bed.
I open the lid for just a second to see the photographs inside. I don’t actually look, not wanting to see the vile things again, but just checking out of paranoia that they’re still there.
When I see that they’re still there, I close the lid and then tuck the box under my arm. I stand up and carry it out of the room as quickly as possible, ignoring the urge to turn right back around and stuff it back underneath the bed.
I manage to avoid running into anyone while going down the stairs and into the family room. There’s still a fire burning hot in the fireplace, thank God, and I rush over to it.
There are cameras set up in the house—one of them in this room. I’m well aware of that. Fortunately, I know for a fact that they go down for maintenance at 11:30 p.m. every single night. I have exactly two minutes to get this done.
I kneel by the fire and open the box.
I’ve long since made my decision, but still, I hesitate for just a second before reaching into the box and grabbing a handful ofphotographs. I toss them into the fire and watch them become quickly engulfed by the flames.
I grab more until I reach the bottom of the box. I can smell the burning paper and film, but I don’t care. If anyone asks, there will be nothing left for them to find anyway.
I try not to look at the actual images as I burn them, but it’s difficult.
Anger builds inside of me, hotter than even the flames that I’m tossing the pictures into. My chest is tight with emotion and all I can think about is how much pain and suffering Alessio must have gone through. Carmine too.
Of all the evil that have seen in my life, all the darkness… When it comes to children, I believe this is the worst of them all.
I can understand a man killing, maiming, and blackmailing—but this? To take the innocence of a child and play with it like a toy… That is a sin that must be wholly unforgiveable under any eye.
One by one, the pictures are destroyed. All of this happening in just under two minutes.
I hear the faint beep of the cameras about to come back online, and I stand up with the box tucked under my arm. My eyes are stinging.
I make my way out of the family room, back upstairs, and put the box back under my bed. If I’d had enough time, I would’ve burned it too.
I have somewhere to be now, though. Somewhere that Eivor has given me the perfect excuse for.
As I’m heading back downstairs, I run into Nikolas. He’s holding a book from the library in his hands, and looks at me as though he’s surprised to see me.
“Oh, Mr. Rossi,” he says quietly, looking to the side like he’s trying to escape.
At least, I think so, until he looks back up at me curiously.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at Rosalie’s door?” he asks.
