Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I grit my jaw. Men are monsters. All men. To believe otherwise is foolish.
“Why did you bring me here?” I ask Malek, infusing steel into my voice because if I think about the monsters, I won’t break down. I won’t melt into a puddle of fear like a good little victim. “What do you want from me?”
“Do you know why he chose this place?” Malek asks, standing, turning to take in the room before facing me again. Behind him the piano looms larger than life in the center of the space. It escaped the worst of the fire.
I don’t answer him. I remain silent because to answer his question would mean I know who he’s referring to. Would mean I know who her true killer was. That reality would be a step too far. It’s always been a step too far.
But not wanting to believe something doesn’t make it any less true.
He walks over to the piano, touches a few keys. It is shocking that it survived the fire. But the fire department was here more quickly than anyone counted on. I know that. The intention was to burn this house and the bodies in it to the ground. Burn it along with any memory of her. Erase it and her from the world. It didn’t work out that way, though. “She was a lovely pianist. Very talented. What you heard just now, well, that’s nothing.” He stands. “I couldn’t hold a candle to Sarah.”
Sarah.
My heart twists.
My mother. My mother who died a horrible death. My mother who should never have been a part of my father’s world.
Tears brim my eyes. If he sees them, he doesn’t mention it. “Were you aware I knew her before she was your father’s wife?”
My gaze shoots sharply to his.
He grins, clearly pleased by my reaction because no, I did not know. He leans against the wall then thinks better of it and straightens, brushing the dirt off the arm of his custom-made jacket. He leans against the piano and studies me.
“You look like her, but you have him in you too.”
“What do you mean you knew her before him?”
“I mean I met her first. After a few months, I introduced her to your father. I was the reason they crossed paths at all. He never told you any of that, did he? Of course he didn’t. Why would he?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I suppose I can’t lay the blame entirely at Alaric’s door. She saw his power. His money. Saw what he could give her. I’m not even sure it was solely greed. She was young. Too young for either of us, truly. Naïve. She thought herself in love with your father.” He shakes his head. “That wore off, although a little too late. By then, he’d put the first of his spawn in her belly.” I hear the contempt in his voice. See it in the curl of his lip. He clears his throat. “She never gave me a second thought. A little like you. Like your brother. Your father. Ungrateful bunch, the Morettis.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask against my better judgement.
“Do you know what this place is?”
“Of course I know.”
“I mean, do you know what this place is? Why your father chose it? It wasn’t random, do you know that? Why it’s…” he brushes soot off what was once a beautiful table with elegant marble pillars for legs. “Ash.”
I don’t answer him.
“I wonder if your brother knew,” he says more to himself than me. He shrugs a shoulder. “Oops, too late to ask him.”
I want to lunge at him, to knock him to the ground, but when I try to get up, dizziness has me sitting back down. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I manage instead.
“She had told him she wanted to start lessons again. To play publicly again.”
I know my mother was a child protégé but even before she’d had us, she’d stopped giving concerts. We had a beautiful grand piano in the house where I remember watching her lose herself to pounding, heart wrenching music. She never played anything light or fun. Nothing for her children. Only the darkest for her. I remember the last year of her life she’d play less and less and when she did play, how hard it was to listen.
“Of course, your father was against it. Wanted to keep her all to himself. But he gave in to some extent, allowing her lessons.” He grins wide. “I knew her, though. I knew her better than she knew herself. This house, his house, Allegra, to your father, it was an abomination.”
He makes a gesture around the room, and I take in the burnt-out windows, the black walls, the charred remains of what was once a beautiful home. One that was bright. One that felt good the few times I came with my mother.