“I was so angry he had bought you at an auction,” she says, huffing. “Can’t believe the gall.”
“How did you …?” I murmur.
“A leanbh, we have eyes and ears everywhere,” she says, her glare making me feel hyperaware of my environment.
I can’t ever forget I’m in the lion’s den.
“Ever since that wretched Igor set our house on fire, we’d been searching for you nonstop, but you went under the radar … until you suddenly showed up at that auction,” she says, putting down her drink again while keeping her eyes on me. “But then Marcello bought you. I wanted nothing more than to personally wrap my fingers around his neck.”
I don’t know why, but it feels like she’s clawing at mine instead.
I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with where this is going. Why would she talk about Marcello instead of us, our family, and the night that shaped all of our lives?
“But your father and I fought hard to get you back.” She grabs my hand, gently caressing it. “And I’m so glad you’re back where you belong now.”
I slowly retract my hand from hers. “But you … never told me about my real father. Igor.”
Her brow rises. “Igor. So Marcello told you?”
Rage bubbles to the surface. “You knew, and you never told me. Don’t you think you should have?”
Her eyes suddenly turn icy. “That grimy schmuck didn’t deserve you.” Her voice is much raspier, just like her face has gone stone-cold. “Ripping your tiny little body from his wife’s dead fingers was the best revenge I could ever dream of.”
My eyes widen as I lean back on the couch, completely shocked at her viciousness.
“He killed my daughter, Alannah,” she says.
Alannah. Marcello’s fiancée.
It’s all connected.
“So you replaced her with me,” I mutter.
She nods unapologetically. “And I don’t regret a single second of my decision.” There’s that same dark smile again. “Because you’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman. My only daughter.”
When she reaches for my face, I lean back even more. “Don’t.”
Her face tightens again, and she grinds her teeth. “Tell me what happened to your father.”
“You mean Frank?” I say.
A father would never do what he did to his kid.
Her eyes narrow. “He is the man who raised you.”
“The man who used me to get revenge on someone else. The man who stole me away from my real father,” I spit back. “And I don’t know what happened to him.” I swallow. “After we landed in the water, he …”
I can’t even finish my sentence because I know what I did to him.
I still can’t face the reality that I’m responsible for his death. And that I chose to wrap my arms around his neck.
But it was the only way to get out of there, to make him stop.
“Vanished,” she finishes for me, and she sighs, tearing away her gaze. “I know. Our divers have been looking for him. I just wish you knew a bit more. I don’t want to give up.” She looks down at her trembling hands. It’s the first time since I came here that I’ve seen an inkling of the woman she used to be, the way I remembered her.
“I’m sorry …” I mutter. I know how she feels. I’m torn too because he still raised me, despite the fact that I hate him for doing what he did to my real father and to me.
She sighs again. “I just hope we’ll be able to find him.” She looks up at me. “It doesn’t matter what he did to you. He is still your father. And he wants you back.”
My fingers dig into my pants as I clutch my knees. “I …” I don’t even know how to respond to that.
“But let’s get you changed first,” she says, a smile forming on her lips. “You smell like you’ve been out on the street for a while now.”
An awkward laugh leaves my mouth. “Is it that bad?”
“I don’t want my daughter to have to go through that,” she says, and she gets up from the couch. “So let’s get you into some fresh clothes. I have a whole spare room at the top of the stairs set up just for you.”
Before I can say another word, she’s already grabbed my arm and hauled me up from the couch. “Come.”
Even though she is my mother, her grip is anything but gentle, and I’m struck by how it overwhelms me. Memories of the past collide with what’s happening. The mother I once knew is gone right before my very eyes. Even though she looks like her, she’s nothing like the mother I once knew.
And I must remember that as she drags me up the stairs. “That Marcello really did a number on you, didn’t he? Making you hide out in such a filthy old house,” she growls. “I’ll help you. First, we’ll draw a bath, then you’ll get some fresh clothes and a nice bed to sleep in.”