“Oh, my God.”
Leandra’s reaction is exactly as I expected.
“Just,” she narrows her eyes, “tell me again.”
I walk over to the dining room window, sliding it open with a gentle tug. The sun is high, the spring heat seeping through my pores. The garden is alive with colors, bright yellows and pinks splashed across the lush greens that are expertly painted across the yard. I’ve always loved this season most, and the scent of freshly mowed grass, pine, and the rich, earthy smell carried by the breeze reminds me of when I was a little girl and how I would run through the garden while Nicoli chased me, laughing and so damn happy. I remember the day I gave him my ribbon, tied it around his finger, and promised to marry him if he couldn’t find a wife by the time I turned twenty-two. And somehow, the universe twisted our fates so that promise could be kept.
A light wind suddenly sweeps through the open window, ruffling my hair and lightly grazing my cheeks.
I turn to face Leandra, rubbing my palms together. “My oldest brother was a sick, perverted human being, and when my parents found out about how he chose to show his love for his baby sister, they wanted to send him away.” I scoff. “But he had them killed by the Ferreros before they had the chance,” I whisper in a cracked voice.
“And years later, you found him tied to a chair in the mausoleum?”
“Yeah. That’s after I thought he had been murdered, too.”
“Jesus. This is insane,” she breathes out, widening her eyes as she tries to wrap her head around everything I’m telling her.
“It’s weird that after years of not remembering, I now suddenly remember everything clearly.” I stare out to the side but focus on nothing. “I remember his voice. He tried so hard to sound mournful, yet there was a bitterness in his tone that left this foul taste in my mouth.”
“He admitted to being behind the murders?”
“Eventually.” I shrug. “And when he did, I lost it. This red fog blinded me, and I remember being unable to control it. It was like this…this poison just pumped through my veins, and I couldn’t stop it.”
Leandra leans her head to the side as she stares at me. “You freaked out.”
“Yeah.” I scoff. “I freaked out and then…killed him.” My eyes meet hers, and I half-expect her to look at me in horror, but she doesn’t.
“And you lost your memory after that?”
“Yeah. I guess I hit my head too hard when I fell after trying to attack Nicoli.”
“And he never told you the truth about what happened that night?”
I shake my head, then cross my arms. “And now, in hindsight, I wonder why I never found it suspicious that no one ever wanted to talk about Marco. Not even Maximo.”
“My only guess is they were trying to protect you.”
“Oh, I know they were. I don’t blame them. I probably would have done the same thing if this happened to someone I cared about.”
Leandra shifts from one leg to another, the champagne-colored pencil skirt hugging her curves. “And now you remember everything.”
I nod as I brush my fingertips against my forehead to flick the blonde wisps of hair from my face.
“Everything came rushing back when you were out there that night?”
“The night Nunzio had me hunted like some fucking animal, yes.”
“And you haven’t told Nicoli that you remember?”
I shake my head lightly, and Leandra gets up from the sofa and walks over, her dark hair loosely bouncing over her shoulders, the strands beautifully stark against her white blouse. It’s easy to see how happy she is. Even while there’s sympathy painted all over her face, there’s this glow of contentment in her eyes.
“You have to tell him.”
“I know. It’s just that everyone is already treating me differently. And this…it will make it worse.”
She draws in a deep breath and hugs me. “I’m so sorry you have to go through all this,” she whispers.
My skin crawls with every word of pity and understanding. I hate this part of it all. Everyone’s sympathy. Their commiseration. The cautionary way everyone approaches me like I’m some broken porcelain doll who has been patched up and glued back together. Now, everyone fears that the slightest pressure will cause me to break apart again.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk to anyone?” she says softly as she leans back, studying me.
“I’m not going to see a therapist, Leandra. I’m fine.”
“It might help you process everything that’s happened.”
“I’m processing it just fine.” I shake my head, feeling a sudden surge of anger. “I don’t need some stranger asking me how I feel about killing someone. It’s done. It’s over.”
“But is it really?” Leandra presses. “What happens when you have nightmares? Or when the guilt overwhelms you?”
“Guilt?” I raise a brow. “You think I feel guilt for killing my brother after finding out he was responsible for our parents’ murder? You think I feel guilt for killing men who tried to hurt me, killing to survive?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I feel many things, but I sure as hell don’t feel guilt.”
I inhale sharply as the events of that night out in the woods flash in my head, the vivid images cracked and slashed by visions of Marco’s bashed in head. Two different nights, ten years apart, but there’s one thing they have in common—my bloodied hands.
I glance down at my palms, and it’s like mirror fragments, my mind showing me the reflection of the aftermath—after I slit that hunter’s throat. My hands are coated with his blood, the crimson liquid seeping into the sides of my nails. I can still feel the adrenaline pumping in my veins, forcing my heart to beat impossibly fast.
“Mira?”
I sniff and look up at Leandra’s worried expression.
“Are you okay? I lost you there for a second.”
“I’m fine.” I blink away the memories and brush past her, catching my breath. “I just wish that everyone would stop treating me differently. I’m not broken.”
“No one said you were.”
“Yet everyone is treating me like I am. Maximo can’t even look at me for longer than five fucking seconds.”
“He’s killing himself for not being able to save you.”
“And so is Nicoli. Everyone is walking around like I’m dead. Nunzio might as well have killed me.”
Leandra’s expression flashes with warning. “Don’t say stuff like that.”
“Well, it’s true. Instead of being happy that I got out of that nightmare alive, they’re all fucking miserable around me, treating me like I’m a ghost of someone they’re mourning.”
Leandra looks at me, her eyes softening. “I get it. But you have to give them time. Especially Nicoli. That man dedicated most of his life to protecting you, and you got hurt, Mirabella. Really…really hurt.”
“I know,” I say with a sigh, feeling the weight of my exhaustion settle into my bones. “I just wish they would talk to me like I’m still the same person.”
“You are still the same person. You’re just carrying a burden that no one else can understand.”
I press my lips together, hating the heaviness settling in my stomach. “I need my husband to touch me and make love to me the way he used to. Like I’m the only woman in the world who makes him lose control.”
“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but expecting everything to go back to how it was before…” Her voice trails off, and she closes her eyes for a moment. “It’s going to take time, Mira.”
I take a deep breath, feeling the tears form at the corners of my eyes. “How much time?”
“I don’t have the answer to that.”
“How is that for irony? I’m the one who went through hell, yet it’s everyone around me who seems to struggle with PTSD.”
“Everyone handles trauma differently. Right now, Maximo is throwing himself at his work so he doesn’t have to sit around and think too much. Nicoli is driven by his need for revenge and is out there turning the world around in search of Nunzio. And you…” She sends me a half-smile. “You want to go on with your life by picking up where it left off before the worst possible thing that could happen to a woman happened to you. You want everything to be exactly the same as it was because you’re desperate to pretend like nothing happened.”
I shift from one leg to the other as the truth in her words resonates with me in a way that almost knocks me on my ass. “Is it so wrong to want to pretend like it never happened?”
She shakes her head lightly, her eyes sheer pools of empathy. “No. It’s not. But you can’t expect everyone else to do the same.”
I glance down as I nervously weave my fingers together. Leandra steps closer and puts a hand on my shoulder, offering me silent comfort.
“I’m not trying to pretend like it never happened because he raped and hurt me,” I say, looking at her. “I’m trying to pretend because I wasn’t a monster before it happened. I wasn’t a murderer.” I shrug. “At least, I didn’t know I was.”
“You’re not a monster, Mira.” She cups my cheek briefly before sliding her palm down my arm. “You’re a survivor.”
“I don’t want to be a victim or a survivor. I want to be Mirabella Del Rossa, whole and unscarred. I want my husband to be proud of the woman walking next to him. Not try to hide her from the world because he’s afraid she’ll break even further.”
Leandra’s gaze flickers with sympathy, and I can tell she’s struggling to find the right words.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“For what?”
“For putting you in this position where you feel like you have to be my friend, my shrink, my mother, my cheerleader, and everything else in between.”
She lets out a soft laugh. “I don’t feel like I have to be anything I don’t want to be. You’re my best friend, Mira. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I just wish I could snap my fingers and make all this pain disappear.”
“Yeah. You and me both.” I drag a palm down my face in an attempt to pull myself together. “I guess I have to tell my husband that I remember killing my own brother…don’t I?”
She presses her pink lips in a thin line. “I think that would be wise.”
“Thank you,” I murmur. “For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Her warm smile reaches her eyes. “Luckily, you’ll never have to find out.” She leans in and gives me a peck on the cheek. “I have to put the twins down for their nap. How about some cocktails on the porch later?”
“God, now you’re talking my language.”
She snickers, squeezes my arm, then strolls out of the dining room. I watch her go, feeling the knot in my chest slowly unraveling with each step she takes away from me. Leandra has always known how to soothe me and make me feel like everything will be okay, even when it feels like my world is crumbling around me.
Alone in the room, I take a deep breath and sit at the large oak dining table. The weight of everything that’s happened over the past few months hits me like a ton of bricks. It tends to do that occasionally, pushing back the memories of my brother, my parents, and the men I’ve killed, all churning together in my mind like a tornado.
I close my eyes and see Marco’s face, twisted in anger as he admits to killing our parents. I can feel the anger boiling inside me right before I killed him. But with the rage and the sight of his blood comes a different feeling altogether.
Power.
