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It’s like my world is being forcibly expanded far too quickly and I can’t keep up. My worldview is ripping at the seams and fraying apart.
I cling to the knowledge that the now-dead man knew my mother.
I sink awkwardly onto the foot of Cristiano’s bed.
I untie my apron and hold it carefully in my hands. It’s still covered in blood. Even the embroidered initials have red flecks on them. I have no idea how I’m going to get it out of the fine thread. My thumbs brush over the stitching reverently. It… it’s ruined. There’s some stranger’s blood all over it.
Tears well in my eyes, blurring my vision before I can properly blink them back. I’ll never be able to get this piece of her back. But I can’t waste my time crying right now. I wish my mother was here. She always knew what to do. No matter the situation. Even now that I’m all grown up, I still wish she was here to help me.
I’ve always loved the Dominio family. There’s no denying how good they have been to me. Ada, Cristano’s younger sister, is my best friend in the whole world. With that, has come some understanding that her family’s life and business are not my business. I have no idea what they do to make their riches. I have always known that it’s illegal, I just didn’t think murder was the order of the day.
Ada has to know.
Everybody has been keeping this from me. Am I a fool? Too naive? Have I been so single-mindedly focused on my dreams for my future that I was blind to everything else?
I summon the image of Cristiano in my mind. The sweet-faced boy next door type who has always been just a few too many degrees hot to be considered brotherly. Annoying, yes. Platonic? Sort of. Then, beside it, swims the vision of him with a feral rage on his face and his olive skin flecked with blood. He enjoyed killing that man. I saw it.
I cannot put the two images together.
They are two wholly different people.
The question that I have to answer is: which one is the real him?
Cristiano has always been protective of me and Ada. His number one priority has always been his family. He’s never once allowed anyone to speak badly of his sister or anyone in his family. I’veseen him start and win plenty of fights as a result of somebody getting smart with him. But I thought it ended there. Protective, sometimes intriguing… but a murderer?
I don’t think it disturbs me half as much as it probably should.
The Dominio family has just done too much for me. I was only sixteen when my mother died. It was ruled a suicide by the police, although I never believed it. My mother would never have done that to herself. Even more than that, she would never have chosen to leavemealone in this world. She was my best friend, my guiding light. My everything. She wouldneverkill herself. And she never touched drugs in her life. She absolutely didn’t smoke. Even drinking a glass of wine with dinner was a rarity. Overdose? Impossible. The woman used to cry duringDisneymovies for hell’s sake.
The Dominio family are the only ones who believe me. They offered me a place to live. Mrs. Dominio, Annalisa, even officially became my guardian so that I wouldn’t be turned over to the state and put into foster care.
They gave me a job and security. I owe them everything. Absolutely everything. I’ve spent the last few years working for them and saving up everything I possibly can so that I can repay them one day for all they have given me and stop living off of their generous charity.
Without the Dominio family, fashion school never would have been an option for me.
I cradle my mom’s apron to my chest and head towardsthe bathroom. I can’t even find hydrogen peroxideto get the blood out. I have to use what I have and give it my all. I'm barely aware of the tears streaming down my face as I scrub. I can't stop moving even though I feel like there's a leaden weight beginning to settle in my limbs.
Cristiano had a knife to that man’s eye. His eye! What was he going to do? How much worse could things have become before I plummeted down those stairs, and why in the first place, did he feel the need to torment that man? I need mand answers. And I need a shower. My clothes are stuckto my body from the dried blood and it is starting to itch.
I have no idea how long he’s going to keep me locked away in here. The least that he can do is to let me shower. But what if he walks in while I’m naked?
I freeze.
Heat thuds through every part of my body as my face flames nearly as red as my hair.
Absolutely not. That’s not something I can handle today.
A moment later, the bedroom door opens and shuts as if my lustful thoughts had summoned him. I’m standing in front of his sink with a soaked, possibly ruined apron, my face flushed with shame as if he could somehow understand my thoughts, and there he is. Looking significantlybloodier than he did an hour ago.
He looks at me for a considerable amount of time, perhaps unsure of where to begin. With all of the questions that are racing through my head at a hundred miles per hour, I guess I have no idea where to start either. We’re at a standstill. It's too much for me. I lose it. I tighten my hold on the apron as pink-tinted water sluices down my hands and forearms.
“Say something!” My eyes scrunch shut as I shout at him.
I probably shouldn’t do that. Raising one’s voice in the presence of a murderer is probablynota smart choice. But he’s Cristiano. My Cristiano. He would never hurt me… would he?
“You shouldn’t have been down in the basement,” he says flatly.
“You shouldn’t be a cold-blooded killer, but here we are!” I can’t seem to reign in my tone. My voice sounds high-pitched and frantic, even to my own ears.
