And it dawns on me that I owe her an apology. For more than just what she has suffered at the hands of my brother.
“Aisling?”
“Yes, Ms. Lombardi?”
The respectful prefix to my name feels like an subtle rebuke. But I know that’s just an extension of my guilt. “You don’t need to… You can just call me Renata,” I say awkwardly. “I know I told you to… but I was angry, and—”
“I’m sorry you felt like I betrayed your trust,” she says. “But Master Kian always has good reasons for what he does. I know you disagree. But I trust him.”
I take a deep breath. “He saved your life,” I say. “He delivered you from hell, so I understand why you trust him. And I also understand why you did what you did. He’s the man that gave you a second chance. I’m the daughter of the monster that ruined your life.”
She looks at me with wide eyes. I can tell that she hasn’t expected this reaction from me. Which only makes me feel guiltier.
“Aisling…” I say, realizing that my voice is shaking slightly.
“Yes?”
“I… Kian told me… about… Drago…”
She flinches violently at the sound of my brother’s name. I fall silent in response.
She’s quiet for a long time, studiously avoiding my gaze. When she does look up, her eyes are slick with tears. “What did he tell you?”
It’s hard for me to see her in so much pain. But it’s also like she’s holding up a mirror to my own pain. She’s suffered at the hands of men.
So have I.
She’s been raped, abused, beaten.
So have I.
“He told me that Drago started re-investing in the sex trafficking rings again. The same ones you were a part of.”
“Is that all?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Oh God… was there more?”
She gnaws at her bottom lip. It looks like she’s trying to stop herself from losing it. She closes her eyes for a moment. “I’ve met your brother,” she tells me softly.
My stomach churns with bile.
Because I know what that means.
“No…”
“He used to come in some nights,” she tells me. “He was… Well, let’s just say he could be difficult.”
I cringe against the images that brings up. Decades of slaps. Of hurled abuses. Of dabbing foundation to hide the bruises he gave me from the world. And that was to me, his fucking sister. God only knows what he did to this poor sex slave.
“Aisling, I don’t know what to say…”
“You don’t have to say anything,” she tells me. “You didn’t do anything. It’s not your fault.”
“I’m sorry all the same.”
She shrugs. “I’ve dealt with it.”
Her words are one thing. Her body language is something else altogether. I can see the weight of the pain inflicted on her by my brother. By all the men who took what was never theirs to take.