It’s an irony even someone as twisted as Antonio Salvatore couldn’t devise. The little cub grew into a tiger, and she got the revenge her parents could only dream of.
Damn her.
Damn…
As the moon rises high in the sky, I park near the abandoned garage behind the house and climb out, staggering toward the old structure. All it contains now are canisters of lighter fluid and dust-covered wood for the fireplace.
With the liquor bottle from Salvatore’s in hand, I head for the house, leaving the car behind without even looking at the trunk.
This damn house. It mocks me as I enter through the kitchen in utter darkness. Even after seven years, I know the floorplan by heart. This modest room with its old appliances was where Olivia spent more time burning our meals than preparing them. Still, it was in her nature to try something over and over until she succeeded.
Safiya was the same way. She excelled at proving wrong anyone foolish enough to doubt her. And yet, at her core, she was sweet. Kind. A girl who strived for peace above all else. Vin, as good as he was, could be stubborn, prone to grudges from time to time.
But never her. Not Safiya.
At least, until now.
I don’t think I’ve fully let myself process it. I haven’t pored over the mental image of her all grown up, trying to compare it to the little girl I knew.
With the speed of an old man, I move to the staircase and climb it, wincing at the memories. Her room was the last on the left, beside Vin’s.
My heavy breathing echoes in the air as I curl my hand around the doorknob. Turn it. Push it open.
A cloud of dust swirls to lift, illuminated by a stream of moonlight. I don’t bother to switch on a lamp. Even in the darkness, I can tell it’s the same. Her pink walls. The wooden bedframe pushed against the wall. Her nightstand—even her old bell is there, something Vin devised for if she needed help, and no one was in view.
But that’s all that remains of her. Everything else I had packed up and sold—to whom or for how much, I don’t even know. I had been too much of a coward to do it myself, assigning Fabio to the task.
All of her books, her toys, her little dresses. Gone.
And, like the pathetic son of a bitch that I am, I wish I had them now. Something to tie me to that lost little girl, my Safiya.
Something tangible to torture myself over.
As it stands, I only have my own fucking memories. With a sigh, I raise the bottle I took from Salvatore’s. Crouching on the edge of the tiny bed frame, I drink.
And drink.
Intoxication isn’t the aim this time—just relief. Numbing myself numbs those memories of her, if only for a second.
But this place persists, driving the past into my skull despite my blurring vision and fractured thoughts.
My girl. My sweet, innocent Safy.
I will never forget the look on her face the day I left her behind.
But another expression creeps into my skull, supplanting it. A beautiful woman with haunting dark eyes who, in every sense of the word, is a stranger. A woman with a face so enchanting that I hate myself for the thoughts that crept into my skull as I saw her. That body. That supple mouth.
In some ways, Safiya’s supposed future self is a fitting punishment. I threw her away, but she survived, finding a man who could protect her better than I ever could. A man who could give her a world she would never have access to as a Vanici.
A man who protected her. Cherished her.
Killed for her.
It should be Mischa’s blood speckling my chin right now, not Antonio Salvatore’s. Mischa, whose demise dominates my fantasies. Mischa, with his perfect, cherished family hidden safely behind their high walls.
I could show him how easily such a fortress can be breached. How it would only take a few bullets to shatter his carefully cultivated paradise.
And how that pain could drive any man insane.
The loss of sanity is something you don’t realize at first. Not until the day you’re guzzling whiskey just to keep your thoughts clear.
But what’s the point?
I could hurt Mischa. Hate him.
But my head is spinning, throbbing badly enough to outweigh the rage. To rectify it, I grab the clear bottle resting at my feet and drain it. Then I stand and leave this room, trudging back down the hall without any clear destination in mind.
I’m outside again, observing the house in the moonlight. I used to dream of torching it. Setting the entire damn thing ablaze and watching it burn.
But Vincenzo loved it. I kept it, hoping to give it to him one day when he could do as he wished with it. Maybe raise a family here. Salvage the darkness that tainted our once beloved home.
But now?
Those dreams die with him, and there’s nothing left to hope for. This goddamn house should go the same way.
I march to the garage and grab the red bottle of old lighter fluid along with an old book of matches. At the back of my mind, I doubt I even have the balls to go through with it. Still, I carry it back into the house, moving blindly from room to room. Eventually, numbness sets in, turning my limbs to lead. I find myself slumping into a chair, my gaze unfocused.
I’m in the study of all places, sitting in the same chair I left the little imposter Safiya in. If I breathe in deeply enough, I can still smell her. Fresh. Like a field of fucking roses.
It’s so real.
And then I see her, pale and slim, she hovers near the doorway. A plain dress makes her the most innocent apparition. A hauntingly beautiful one as
