Something inside me shattered quietly watching that little girl realize she wasn’t going to be punished.
Sienna looked up at him uncertainly. “Really, you think so, Snakey?”
“Yes,” he nodded firmly.
“She smelled like roses,” Sienna whispered softly now, words starting to spill out faster. “And she sang to us at night.”
My throat tightened painfully. Leo listened to every word like it mattered. Like Sienna mattered.
“She braided my hair too,” Sienna continued. “But not as good as Chiara.”
“That sounds unlikely,” Leo said gravely as I self-consciously touched my hair, loose around my shoulders. “Your sister has forgotten how to braid, I think.”
Sienna giggled. Then she started talking about our mother in earnest. About the lullabies she used to sing. The pastries she baked secretly with us in the kitchen. The way she kissed scraped knees. The stories she told us when storms frightened us at night.
And through all of it, Leo stayed crouched beside her listening with a softness I’d never seen from him before. Not pity. Something deeper. Recognition, maybe. Like he understood exactly what it meant to lose the only gentle thing in your childhood.
By the time we finally returned to the Ventura estate that evening, Sienna was completely attached to him.
“Snakey, carry me,” she demanded sleepily the second we stepped out of the car. I expected Leo to refuse. Instead, he simply lifted her into his arms without hesitation.
She curled against his chest like she belonged there. My heart did something deeply stupid at the sight.
The warm glow from the mansion windows spilled across the driveway while we walked toward the entrance together. For one fragile moment, it almost felt like something normal. Like family.
Then the front doors burst open. And reality came rushing back.
Papa stumbled down the front steps looking barely human. I stopped dead in my tracks. He was drenched in sweat despite the cool evening air. His expensive clothes hung loose on hisbody like he’d lost weight rapidly over the last few days since the wedding. Dark circles hollowed out the skin beneath his eyes. His hands shook violently.
And the smell alone was enough to make me turn up my nose.
Sickness. Rot. Something deeply wrong.
“Leo,” he rasped desperately.
Sienna shifted in Leo’s arms. Thank God she was asleep. My stomach turned. Papa practically collapsed reaching us.
“Please,” he choked out hoarsely. “Please help me.”
Leo went completely still beside me. No expression. No reaction. Just cold silence. Papa grabbed weakly at Leo’s coat sleeve with trembling fingers.
“Please… please, Moretti… I’ll do anything,” Papa managed.
Ice flooded my veins. Leo slowly looked down at the hand touching him. Then calmly removed it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You need to help me,” Papa gasped. “Please!”
“Careful,” Leo interrupted softly. “Don’t fuck up my clothes, Ventura.”
The sheer terror on my father’s face made nausea crawl through me. This man, who had no problem with my little sister spilling on him, was threatening my father for the same thing.
Papa looked weak. Helpless. Afraid. And beside me, The Serpent watched him with cold unreadable eyes while my little sister slept safely against his chest. The image of my father stayed burned into my mind the entire drive home.
I sat silently beside Leo in the back of the Rolls-Royce while city lights blurred gold beyond the windows. My hands rested stiffly in my lap, but inside, everything felt tangled and wrong.
Papa had looked horrific. Not angry. Not powerful. Not untouchable. Weak. Terrified. Dying. And the worst part? Some dark, ugly little piece of me thought he deserved it.
The realization made nausea twist through my stomach.
