Page 23 of Lilies from Hell

“Were you jerking off with your beloved’s T-shirt? That’s twisted.” He feigns a disgusted grimace that then turns into a grin. “I like it.”

Downstairs, I find Francesco, one of my partners in Italy, and his daughter Bianca. She is a couple of years younger than me. Seeing her makes my erection subside considerably. Her eyes slide down to the spot with disgust, and her cheeks turn pink. Her head moves from side to side in disapproval, unlike her father, who ignores the detail.

“I thought you were in Palermo,” I murmur, starting a conversation in Italian.

I don’t like people hearing my conversations. Except for those who have proven with their lives to be trustworthy. So whenever I can speak in another foreign language, I do so.

“My house is not a damn refuge,” I add after, noticing the two suitcases next to the girl.

“I know, but I need you to do me this favor. I have to get back to Italy before they find me. You know that if she comes with me, the risk of us being intercepted would be much greater.”

“And why should I care about that?” I ask in an amused tone, not hiding the smile on my lips.

“It would benefit you. If they catch her, it won’t be good for us. For any of us,” I make a sound with my mouth, diverting my attention to the painting on the wall in the entrance. It’s a bit crooked. “Besides, I’ll give you 30% of my earnings this month.”

“55,” I reply, turning my attention back to him.

“Done,” he murmurs with a forced smile, extending his hand toward me to shake mine.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Fran,” warns Denis behind us with a shit-eating grin on his lips.

“In a month, your daughter will be on the other side of the wall with her shit on the street. If you’re not here by then, it won’t be my problem,” I say, rejecting his hand. When he leaves, my gaze falls upon the girl who watches everything as if she were a lamb about to be slaughtered. “Go up to the third floor and I’ll rip your fucking legs off.”

The party starts in less than an hour, and I want to make sure I’m one of the first to arrive. No other family members are interested in going because they’re too busy packing shit to sell later. That will give me free rein to do whatever I want without too many repercussions, if my parents don’t find out I went, but our bodyguards aren’t nosy. I can’t say the same for the butler. Earlier, I had to put on a show with Jason, pretending we were going to the beach again near his house so he wouldn’t suspect anything.

I go back to my vanity in my dressing room. I frown when I can’t find my hair straightener anywhere. I open and close the drawers with the same result. Then, with a groan of frustration, I go to my brother’s room. He is sitting in an armchair with his headphones on.

“Did you take my hair straightener?” I ask with a pout.

“Yes. I used it this morning to fix my hair,” he moves his hair back and imitates my voice.

“That’s not funny. I need it,” I retort, crossing my arms.

“I don’t have it. You’re the only one here who takes other people’s things without their permission. By the way, when are you going to give me back my T-shirt?” I turn around and walk to the door with a resigned look on my face. I don’t have time to look for it or get another one.

Outside, a couple of men are waiting for us in a black van, claiming that we are not allowed to reach our destination on our own. I guess we can’t figure out how to get to the damn house. At least that’s what I tell myself. It’s easier than thinking this is a trap and they’ll kill us later to sell our organs.

We live in a fairly large, luxurious house, but ours definitely can’t compare to the enormous, gloomy and dark facade in front of me. The house is ostentatious. The kind you only see in magazines. But this one has a much darker feel to it, even disturbing if you look closely at certain details, such as the overly realistic skulls embedded in the columns at the entrance.

Next to me, Jason seems just as surprised as I am, if not more so. Before we can say anything else, the man tells us to hand over our cell phones, which was to be expected, and we reluctantly comply.

“This way,” says the other man before setting off for a place we don’t know.

“I definitely have to help you win him over, and if not him, then another member of the family. Imagine him as my brother-in-law. I’d have free rein of this place,” Jason says beside me after letting out a whistle.

The garden is almost full of people. To no one’s surprise, it’s almost bigger than the house itself. From where we stand, I can see the pool, fountains, statues, and the place where some waiters prepare and serve drinks. Large trees and some flowers hide the rest, but there is a kind of cobblestone path.

“Excuse me, where are the bathrooms?” I ask one man.

I try to keep as much information as possible from his directions, but I find it difficult not to get lost. The inside of the house looks like a damn maze, but it is much more impressive. Those strange vibes intensify until they send chills down my spine. Most of the furniture is leather, black, or has pieces of gold embedded in it when it’s not covering the furniture. The floor looks like porcelain or marble, and the paintings hanging on the wall are difficult to make out because of their predominantly dark colours. My eyes narrow at one above a fireplace, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up in fear. What the hell is that?

As soon as I enter the back garden, I see a couple of girls who might be underage without their bikini tops. They ignore the glances and walk around carefree.

My eyes search for him in the crowd as usual. Even though I can’t find him, I guess he’ll have to show up at some point. After all, he is the host. Or at least that’s what I think before I see his father. He’s wearing a crown literally covered in diamonds, sitting on a long sofa surrounded by women in swimsuits drinking a glass of wine that’s too red. I haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet, but to be honest, I don’t really want to.

“I’m going to explore a little inside,” I say to Jason with a glass of punch in my hand.

“Can I try some?” he asks, pointing to the glass.