“She wanted me dead, Onyx,” I whisper, the words hanging in the still air of the library.
Onyx blinks up at me. I know he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. But that’s never stopped me from discussing life with him before.
The click of the door latch breaks my reverie. Raffaele stands in the doorway, his powerful frame silhouetted against the light from the hallway. His eyes find mine across the room, and I see the question in them before he speaks it.
“Are you ready?” he asks, his voice gentle but firm.
I take a deep breath, gathering my courage. Despite our conversation on the yacht, despite my insistence that Icouldn’t condone what he planned to do, we both know this confrontation is inevitable. I need answers before Sabrina pays for her betrayal.
“I want to get it over with,” I say, surprised by the steadiness in my voice.
He nods once, holding out his hand to help me up. I rise from the chair, careful not to disturb Onyx too much, though he meows in protest when I stand.
“I’ll be back,” I promise, pressing a kiss to his furry head before walking to the door where Susan waits.
“He’ll be fine with me,” she assures me as I reluctantly hand him over. “Take all the time you need.”
Time.
Such a strange concept now. How much time does my sister have left? How much time do I have to make peace with what comes next?
The stairs to the basement seem to descend into another world entirely. Each step sends a jolt through my healing body, but it’s nothing compared to the tremors of dread rippling through me.
I’ve never been in this part of the mansion before—this hidden underbelly. Only, it doesn’t look like I expected. I was sure I’d find the basement to be dark and dank, but it’s bright and expansive with multiple doors.
As we walk, Raffaele shows me the gym and the security room. “Are you certain you want to do this?” he asks when we stop in front of the last door.
I nod, not trusting my voice. The truth is, I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to look into the eyes of the woman who shares my blood but wanted me dead. But Ineedto. I need answers.
Raffaele unlocks the door with a code rather than a key. The lock turns with an ominous click that echoes. He pushes it open, and cold, sterile light spills out to where we’re standing.
“Remember,” he says, his fingers tightening slightly against my back. “You’re safe. She can’t hurt you anymore.”
The interrogation room is exactly what I expected, and nothing like I imagined. Bare concrete walls. A drain in the center of the floor whose purpose I don’t want to contemplate.
Bright, unforgiving lights that leave no shadows to hide in. And in the center, bolted to the floor, a metal chair where my sister sits.
Sabrina’s head jerks up at our entrance, her eyes wild and red-rimmed. Her usually perfect hair hangs in limp strands around her face. Her designer blouse is wrinkled and stained, her makeup smeared across her cheeks like war paint gone wrong.
Metal chains secure her wrists to the arms of the chair, her ankles to its legs. She looks broken. Defeated. Until she sees me.
“Well, well,” she sneers, her voice hoarse but still dripping with contempt. “If it isn’t little Miss Perfect.”
The words hit like physical blows, but I hold my ground. Raffaele tenses beside me, his entire body coiling like a predator preparing to strike.
“You always were pathetic,” Sabrina continues, her lips curling into a grotesque parody of a smile. “Mom’s precious angel. Everyone’s favorite. So sweet. So perfect. So fucking worthless.”
The crack of Raffaele’s hand against her cheek silences her instantly. Her head snaps to the side from the force of the blow, a red mark blooming across her skin. My stomach lurches, but I don’t flinch. Don’t look away.
“You will speak to my wife with respect,” Raffaele says, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Or you won’t speak at all.”
The quiet that follows is absolute. I can hear the ragged edge of Sabrina’s breathing, see the rapid pulse at her throat. For all her bravado, she’s terrified. As she should be.
I step forward, my broken arm hanging heavy at my side. My footsteps echo on the concrete floor, each one punctuating thesilence. When I’m standing directly in front of her, close enough to see the mascara clumped on her lashes, I ask the question that’s been haunting me.
“Why?”
One word. So simple. So impossible to answer.
