His Queen: Chapter 22

The summer night heat seeps through my pores as I stand in the center of Mrs. Del Rossa’s beautiful rose garden, my face turned toward the stars, listening to the quiet hum of crickets around me.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, savoring every bit of tranquility flowing through me. And as I opened them again, a bright shooting star blazes across the sky. Without hesitation or second thought, I seize the moment and make a wish. It’s more of a dream than a wish that I hope will come true. The dream of a thirteen-year-old orphaned girl who wants true love more than anything in this world.

“Mirabella!” Mrs. Del Rossa calls from the back porch. “Mirabella, where are you? It’s time for dinner.”

“I’ll find her,” I hear Nicoli say, and excitement bubbles in my veins. I love to play hide and seek with him, even though he always finds me way faster than I want him to.

Quickly, I duck down on the grass, crawling toward the first row of oak trees. As I huddle behind the thick trunk, I glance around before breaking into a sprint. I love how the fresh air fills my lungs as my breathing becomes labored, the way it burns with every breath. Sweat beads on my forehead, and I’m smiling as I weave through the trees, my feet pounding against the soft earth, feeling alive and free, the way I always do when I’m outside at night.

“Mirabella!” Nicoli’s voice cracks through the empty spaces between the trees, and I chuckle, deciding to run in a different direction, away from the house. Just one time, I want to be able to hide until he’ll eventually give up and I get bragging rights for a change.

I’m filled with so much excitement as I move swiftly, ducking beneath the branches. For a moment, I lean against a tree trunk, trying to catch my breath, when I hear familiar voices. Nicoli better not be cheating by getting Caelian and Isaia to help him.

Inching closer, I see that it’s Mr. Del Rossa speaking with Rocco, his head of security.

Placing my hands against the tree, I stay hidden while peeking around it. They’re standing a few feet away from the family mausoleum, the door open and dim lights casting a beautiful glow through the colored glass. Did I really run that far?

“What are we going to do with him?” Rocco asks, and Mr. Del Rossa shakes his head.

“I don’t know yet. This is a delicate matter. I can’t rush into a hasty decision. But no one can know he’s here. Especially the children.”

“What if someone finds him?”

“No one ever comes here. And I’m the only one with a key to this place. Just let me—”

His phone rings, and I inch a little more behind the tree, ensuring I won’t be spotted.

“What?” he answers. “Again? And Nicoli can’t find her? Yes, okay. We’ll have a look around.” He hangs up. “Seems like Mirabella is playing hide and seek again, and my wife is starting to get worried.”

Rocco grabs his radio and starts speaking into it, giving instructions for everyone to keep an eye out for me. I bet they’re all rolling their eyes because this is not the first time Mr. Del Rossa has the entire security crew looking for me.

I stifle a snicker. Who’s the best at hide and seek now?

“You go east, and I’ll head west. We’ll meet back here once we find her,” Mr. Del Rossa orders before rushing off.

My gaze zeroes in on the mausoleum door that’s still open, wondering who they were talking about. Who is inside there? Who is this person no one is supposed to find?

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I wait until the coast is clear before quietly moving across the path until I have my back against the mausoleum wall.

I step closer to the door, peering inside. My eyes are immediately drawn to the figure sitting in a chair with his back toward the door, his head hanging down.

My heart suddenly hammers against my chest when I see his hands tied behind his back. A strange feeling creeps up my spine as I slowly inch closer, the musty smell filling my nostrils the farther I step into the dimly lit mausoleum. Every instinct is warning me not to go closer, but I can’t resist the lure of the mystery.

The man moans, and I jolt back, startled by the sudden noise. I step on a dead leaf that crunches under my foot. The man’s head jolts up and he makes these muffled sounds. I’m about to obey the warning creeping along the back of my neck when he glances over his shoulder, the side of his face triggering a sense of familiarity. I step forward, drawn to the stranger by some invisible force. I should run away. I know this, but I can’t get myself to move in the other direction. Every step I take is careful and slow, my heart beating so fast I can hear thumping between my ears.

As if the world stops and time seizes to tick, I suck in a breath when I see his face. It’s a face I haven’t seen since I was four. A face I wouldn’t have recognized if it weren’t for pictures Mrs. Del Rossa keeps in a special photo album for the nights I cry myself awake and sneak into her bedroom, missing my family.

His eyes widen, and my life implodes. “Marco,” I breathe out in a barely audible whisper. “You…you’re alive.”

I’m not sure if it’s fear or shock that courses through me in ice-cold waves; maybe it’s a little bit of both.

He’s trying to say something, but his mouth is taped shut, and he gestures with his shoulder for me to take it off.

My hands shake as I reach for the tape, pulling it from his mouth, and I swallow hard, my mind still trying to comprehend what is happening.

“Mirabella?” he says, almost out of breath. “Is that you?”

I can’t speak. It’s as if I’ve lost my tongue, and my mind can’t form a single coherent sentence.

“My God, I’m happy to see you.”

He looks different than he does in the pictures. Older, thinner, lowly, his beard unkempt with bald spots along his jaw.

“You have to untie me,” he urges, but my instincts flare and I take a step back.

“Mira, it’s me. Marco. You don’t have to be scared of me.”

“You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Dead?” he asks, raising his brows. “That’s what they told you? That I’m dead?”

I nod slowly. “You…you were murdered, too, that night.”

“As you can see, I wasn’t murdered. These people lied to you.”

My legs weaken, and I’m forced to sit on the bench in the middle of the mausoleum, still unable to believe this is really Marco sitting in front of me.

“They lied to you, Mirabella,” he says in earnest. “They’ve been lying to you all along.”

I shake my head slowly. “Why…why would they lie?”

“I don’t know. It’s what they do. They lie and steal and ruin everything.”

“I don’t believe that,” I say, my mind on the verge of exploding.

Marco rolls his eyes. “Of course, you don’t. They brainwashed you for, like, how long has it been?”

“Nine years.”

“Jesus,” he mutters. “Nine years is plenty of time to plant bullshit inside your head.”

“But why would they do that? Why would they lie to us?” I ask, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that this person in front of me is my oldest brother who is supposed to be dead.

“Because they don’t want anyone to know the truth.”

“What truth?”

His green eyes, which look a lot like my own, flash with something I don’t recognize. “They killed our parents, Mirabella. The Del Rossas are responsible for all of it.”

It’s like a knife through the heart, his words slicing my flesh and tearing through my mind like a thousand razor blades.

“No.” I shake my head again, unable to comprehend what he just said. “They didn’t—” I can’t even say it out loud. “They didn’t do it.”

“But they did,” Marco insists, his voice growing more urgent.

“They took Maximo and me in. Why would they do that if they’re responsible for what happened that night?”

“Guilt,” he snaps, pulling at the rope that is keeping his hands tied behind his back. “They were friends with Mom and Dad. Then betrayed them. Killed them.”

“And what about you? Why haven’t they taken you in? Where have you been all this time?”

Without missing a heartbeat, he replies, “I’ve been running from them for the last nine years. They know I know what they did, and they’ve been trying to find me, to silence me. Permanently.”

It’s like being dropped into an ocean of ice—a cold shock rattling through my core.

“That’s why they had to make it look like I was dead, too, so no one would look for me. Only them.”

I launch up, anger rising through my confusion. “If they’re these murderers you say they are, why didn’t you come for Maximo and me? Why did you leave us here with them?”

His expression turns hard, but there’s a desperation in the way he slants his brows. “I was seventeen years old, Mira. How the fuck was I supposed to go up against the people who murdered our parents?”

“Why don’t I believe you, Marco?”

“Because they fucked with your head, that’s why. Now, untie me so we can get the hell out of here.”

“No,” I murmur, tears stinging my eyes. “I don’t believe the family who raised me for the last nine years, the people who have cared for and protected Maximo and me, are capable of something so cruel.”

“They’re not the people you think they are, Mirabella,” Marco says softly. “They’re monsters. Every last one of them.”

My heart constricts. “Nicoli is not a monster,” I bite out. “I refuse to believe that.”

“Mira, listen to me,” he snaps as if growing impatient. “You need to untie me and help me get out of here. I have to leave this place before they come back.”

I frown at him; drowning in so much confusion is maddening. “How did you even get here in the first place?”

His gaze frantically cuts all around me as if he’s searching for answers, and I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. As much as I want to believe my brother, who I thought was dead all these years…somehow, I don’t.

“I came back for you,” he says, his tone low and ominous. “I came back hoping I’d be able to get to you, but they found me first. Stuck me here in this fucked-up place, keeping me captive until they got what they wanted from me.”

“What could they possibly want from you?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

“A confession,” he replies darkly. “They want me to admit to something I didn’t do.”

“And what’s that?”

He pulls his lips in a thin line, and I don’t like the look in his eyes as he stares at me.

“What do they want you to admit to, Marco?”

“To killing our parents,” he snaps. “They want a confession to take the heat off them. Mira, we can talk about this all you want, but first, you need to help me get out of here before they get back.”

My mind reels as his words sink in. The thought of the Del Rossas, the family who raised Maximo and me, being responsible for our parents’ deaths is too much to bear. But at the same time, I can’t ignore the truth that Marco is alive and sitting in front of me. Clearly, they did lie to us, but I can’t get myself to believe they are the reason I’m an orphan, the reason I watched my mom die, that dreaded memory sticking to me for years, haunting me in the middle of the night.

How is this happening right now? One minute I was playing hide and seek, and the next my world is turned upside down. Everything I thought I knew about my life got shattered into pieces. But there’s too much doubt, too much uncertainty. I can’t be here alone.

“I need to talk to Nicoli first,” I say, starting backward toward the door.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” His voice rises with agitation. “They’ll kill us both if we don’t leave now.”

I’m shaking my head while my pulse races with fear. “They won’t hurt me.”

“Mira, there’s no time for you to figure shit out right now. They will be back any minute, and what do you think they will do to you if they find you here, exposing their dark little secret? You’ll be as good as dead, just like me.”

“I need to know the truth first,” I say, standing firm in my decision. “At least let me go get Maximo. He’ll know what to do.”

Marco looks at me with disbelief. “You’re willing to risk my life because you’re having trouble believing me—your own flesh and blood?”

I take a deep breath and try to steady my nerves. Nicoli always says I should never make decisions when the sound of my heartbeat drowns out reason. Marco’s story is too far-fetched for me to believe fully, but at the same time, I know there’s a possibility that he’s telling the truth. The Del Rossas have always been shrouded in secrecy, and over the years, I’ve heard the rumors of them being involved in illegal activities. But the fact remains, they’ve never hurt me. Always cared for me. I have to speak to Maximo. He’ll know what to do.

“Untie me, Mira,” he grits out, jerking his hands, screeching the feet of the chair across the floor. “Untie me now!”

“I don’t know what to do.” Hot tears sting my eyes, and I take another step back.

“Untie me! Untie me! Untie me!” he yells, spit exploding from his mouth, his eyes rays of anger.

“No!” I cry back. “I can’t.”

“Sweet Jesus,” he starts before his maniacal laughter rings around the room. “My God, you’ve always been a little coward, haven’t you? Running to Mom with everything. This is all your fault, you know?”

Ice splints up my spine.

“All of it,” he continues, and he suddenly seems detached, like his mind shifted gears. “If you hadn’t lied to Mom, none of this ever would have happened.”

A giant hole opens in my chest, and for a moment, I can’t even breathe. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” he spits back at me. “Or maybe you can’t remember the ramblings of a four-year-old girl who infected everyone around her.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’m saying that if you didn’t lie to Mom about me, they’d still be alive.”

“Lie about what?” I say, my salty tears splashing on my lips. “What did I lie about?”

Marco leans his head back, laughing again, sweat starting to drip down the sides of his face as he looks up at the ceiling. “You had it all wrong, Mira. You were a confused little girl who thought being given a little attention was…inappropriate,” he sneers. “That’s the problem with what they teach young kids these days, about how it’s your body and no one is allowed to touch you without your consent. Then stupid little children like you think that an older brother touching them is wrong when it’s nothing more than a little sibling affection.”

Air is knocked straight out of my lungs as I listen to him speak, saying things that don’t make sense, yet suddenly there are these images inside my head that are splitting my mind in two. Flashes of memories start flooding back, unbidden and unwelcome. But it’s more like scenes from a familiar movie, one I’ve watched before but have forgotten about—like it’s not my life I’m seeing.

“Mom believed me?” Those three words take all my energy as I whisper them.

“Of course, she didn’t. She saw straight through your lies. Except for Maximo, the little prick—he told Mom he saw me do it. Little fucker!” he shouts, and fright jolts right into me, causing me to stumble and fall on my ass.

“They should have killed him, too. I fucking told them to! I told them to kill him and make it hurt, but they couldn’t even do that right! Ferrero motherfuckers!” he shouts in sheer delirium, his chin covered in his spit, tears escaping from cold eyes swirling with madness. “If I can just get this rope loose.” He struggles behind his back, the chair skidding along the concrete floor.

“It was you?” I cry with my hand on my chest, inching backward. “You had them killed?”

“They were going to send me away,” he growls. “They were going to send me to some juvenile fucking hospital, saying I was sick in the fucking head. I’m not sick in the head, I told them. I’m not fucking sick in the head. But noooo one believed me. No one.”

“So you had them killed?”

More of his manic laughter poisons the air. “It was so damn easy. All I had to do was get the security guard at the gate high, switch the cameras off, and leave the back door open for them.” He shrugs. “Problem solved.”

“Them?”

“The Ferreros were looking for a way to get rid of our family. All I did was give them the opportunity to do it.”

I sit there, frozen in shock, as my mind tries to process everything Marco is telling me. How could my own brother be responsible for everything that’s happened to us? How could he have been so manipulative, so evil? It’s like all the puzzle pieces that never fit together are clicking into place, and I’m left feeling horrified and sick to my stomach.

“You son of a bitch,” I hiss through tears, my body shaking with rage. “It’s your fault. You did this.”

“You should have seen Dad’s face when I found him in the hallway, bleeding to death. He was so surprised. So caught off guard. It was almost too easy.” He stares into thin air, his eyes glazed over with a distant look. “I think he thought I was going to help him. That I would call 911 or do something. But I just stood there, staring down at him, watching him die.” Suddenly, he flicks his gaze over to me. “But want to know what the best two minutes were?”

My cheeks burn with tears, my chest and insides aching with a pain I’ve never felt before.

“It was when I found Mom lying in a pool of her blood. It was an amazing sight.”

Anger rises, my vision turning red along the edges.

“She was a beautiful woman. I used to sit outside their bedroom door and listen to them fuck. She would cry out Dad’s name, and he would growl like a fucking animal. I had half a mind to fuck her right there on the floor, see if her pussy was as good as Dad’s grunts made it sound.”

“Jesus, you’re sick, Marco.”

“We’re all sick, Mira. Every single person on this Earth is sick or fucked up in some way or another. No one is whole anymore. Sane. Stable. We’re all just evil fuckers waiting for the world to end.”

I watch him struggle against his restraints, and a dark thought crosses my mind. I’m so angry, I want to weep out my rage that’s squeezing my insides up into my throat. The longer I sit there listening to him rambling the truth like he’s telling his favorite story, the more intense this feeling becomes. I’m losing control of my thoughts, like they’re no longer mine, driven by an endless fury that won’t be silenced.

I clench my fist as I rise to my feet, sweat dripping down my spine, but I no longer feel the summer heat. I don’t hear the crickets or the breeze rustling through the trees outside. Maybe it’s because I’m no longer here. I’m not in this mausoleum listening to the brother I thought was dead. I’m not in this city. I’m not even in this fucking life. I’m nowhere, yet I’m spinning out of control, and all I see is her face. Her eyes, bright and alive, then one breath later, dull and dead.

The dark crimson shade of her blood trickles in along my vision, everything turning into a red haze while my chest boils, my muscles constrict, and this raging fire scorches the back of my throat, burning away the last bits and pieces of my sanity.

“You killed her,” I say, but I don’t recognize my voice. “You killed Momma.”

He scoffs. “Every last fucking person on this planet will kill for what they want. It’s called survival, and everyone does it. Wouldn’t you? If you had a chance to get rid of all the people in this world who brought you harm? Wouldn’t you?”

I don’t even realize I’ve taken the crucifix off the wall until it’s tight in my hand, and I’m staring down at him from behind.

“I wish she knew it was me,” he continues as if I’m not even there. “If I could go back in time, I would make sure to arrive thirty seconds earlier so I can see her face when she realizes she’s bleeding out on her expensive fucking Persian carpet all because…of me, her precious boy with the broken mind. That’s what she called me when they told me I had to go away. Bitch deserved to die.”

A roaring growl erupts right up from my stomach, and with every ounce of strength I have left, I sledge the edge of the crucifix into his head. He screams, curses, and I do it again. Again and again and again. Blood and brain matter splatter everywhere, and my screams replace his. I no longer see his blood. I see hers, how it pools around her and slowly moves closer toward me while I lie silent under the bed because I promised. I promised!

“I promised!” I scream, bashing his head, blood hitting my face, and I can taste it on my lips. But it only feeds the rage, erupting like fire from my gut.

“I promised!” I slam the crucifix down again.

“I promised!” And again.

“Mirabella!”

“I promised!”

“Mira, stop!”

“I promised!” I can’t stop. I can’t stop this. I don’t want to stop.

“Mirabella! You have to stop.”

“No!” My scream ricochets off the walls, but it can’t be mine. It’s some wild animal or other possessed with bloodlust, and it’s out of control.

“Mirabella! Please, stop.”

“He killed her. He killed Momma!”

“Hummingbird!”

“No!” A scream tears from my throat, and the next thing I see is Nicoli’s face—his horrified expression bewildered as he rips the crucifix out of my hand. Exhaustion slams into my chest like a gale-force wind, and my body falls backward, images blurring together. Except him. Not him. I see him clearly, his beautiful face, his tormented eyes. I’ll always see him.

Always.

A sharp crack ruptures in my head, and darkness reaches for me, snatching me away from it all. All of it. Gone.