Unholy Intent: Unholy Union Duet Book 2 Page 7

  “Just one of them.”

  I study my brother. “That’s not what you would have suggested before.”

  “You don’t know me like you think you do.”

  “If it’s too much to ask, say the word, and I’ll cut you loose. Out of the family business for good.”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  I shrug a shoulder.

  “Like I said, you don’t know me. You never did,” he says.

  “What’s the matter? Are you pissed that while you were gone doing whatever the fuck it was you were doing I did the job you were supposed to do? And now that you’re back, you want in? You want to take my place? Let me guess, you think I usurped your throne. But let me tell you something. I earned it.”

  “Let me ask you a question. How happy are you, Damian?”

  I feel my face harden.

  “Is taking your seat as head of the family everything you ever wanted? What do you rule over? A house of hate? What do you have? More money than you’ll ever know what to do with?”

  “Let me ask you one in return, Brother. Why have you returned if not to take back what should have been yours? What would have been yours had you stayed. Had you manned up and done what you were supposed to do.”

  I see his jaw tighten. His eyes narrow.

  “Do you have everything you ever wanted in an unwilling bride?” he asks, continuing as if I haven’t spoken. “I wonder if you’ll repeat the cycle. If she’ll birth twin boys. Brothers born holding hands who go through life with those same hands wrapped around each other’s necks. And what happens to her then? You keep her like Dad kept Mom, knowing how unhappy she was?”

  I drag a slow breath in through my nose.

  “I’m curious. Did you do it to spite our father? Marrying the daughter of the man who destroyed our family instead of punishing her like you were meant to do?”

  “I’m curious too, Lucas. Would you have punished her. Would you do to her what our father intended? You’re not that cruel, are you? Although you never did stand up for those who couldn’t defend themselves, did you?”

  He knows exactly what I mean but he manages to keep his expression unchanged. Frozen. Like his heart. “You don’t have feelings for her, do you, Damian? That’s not what this is about, I hope. For your sake.”

  I push my chair back and get to my feet. “Keep an eye on the Clementi brothers. Anything goes wrong with the next shipment. I’m holding you responsible.” I walk away and try to block out his chuckle.

  “Take care, Brother. You don’t want your enemies to learn your weakness.”

  I flip him off over my shoulder, not bothering to turn around.

  13

  Cristina

  I’m starving and my head is pounding.

  It’s almost noon when I can’t stand it anymore. I walk out of my room and go downstairs to find something to eat.

  The dagger Michela gave me is in my pocket. I make my way silently down the hall and through the maze of corridors that I’m now learning. It’s quiet in the main part of the house. I’m not sure where Damian is, but I need to eat something, and I need to get out of this room. Out of this house. Take a walk or something.

  A fire burns in the fireplace of the foyer. They must always keep it going. Even with a modern heating system, I’m sure this house is too big and too old to heat without them especially in these bigger spaces with the vaulted ceilings.

  The living and dining rooms are empty, the table cleared, and I don’t hear a soul anywhere. I listen at the kitchen door, but it’s silent, so I push it open, relieved when I find it empty. But even if someone were in here, they can’t tell me I can’t have something to eat. I live here now. They can’t starve me.

  On the counter is a basket stuffed with muffins and rolls. I take the biggest muffin I see, break off a piece, and put it in my mouth. It’s good. Pumpkin.

  I open the refrigerator to see what they have. Finding bottled water, I take two, tucking both under my arm, and then see a plate with the makings for a sandwich. I just need to find some bread.

  I swallow the bite of muffin and close the refrigerator with my hands full. But when the door closes and I see who is standing just on the other side of it, I gasp, jumping in surprise. The bottles slip from under my arm and some of the things on the plate tip onto the floor.

  Lucas catches the edge of the dish before it, too, goes crashing down.

  The bite of muffin sticks in my throat as I stare back at Lucas Di Santo standing in the kitchen holding the plate of lunch meat and looking strangely amused.

  “I…” I start but trail off. What am I supposed to say? I what?

  He sets the plate down and bends to pick up the food that fell off, tossing it into a trash can in the corner. He then picks up the bottles of water and holds them out to me.

  “Take them,” he says when I don’t move.

  I reach out, then remember the muffin in my hand. I’ve crushed it.

  “Those are good,” he says.

  I just stare at him like an idiot.

  “Let me guess,” he starts, leaning against the wall and folding his arms across his chest. “My brother demands you eat with him, or you don’t eat, is that right?”

  “How do you know that?”

  He shrugs a shoulder. “It seems like something Damian would do.” He turns, opens a drawer and takes out a loaf of bread. “Here. It’s fresh, baked this morning. Dishes are up there and utensils in this drawer.”

  When I still don’t move, he raises an eyebrow.

  “I don’t bite, you know.”

  “But you do kiss.”

  He cocks an eyebrow. “I couldn’t help myself. You’re beautiful, of course, and honestly, I knew it would piss my brother off.”

  “You have a strange family.”

  “I agree. Make your sandwich.” He gets a plate down for me and steps back, gesturing for me to go ahead.

  I keep an eye on him as I set the remnants of my muffin on the plate and make a sandwich.

  “Take your time. He’s not here.”

  “I’m not worried about Damian.”

  “No?”

  “No.” It’s a lie but I hold on to it. “Where is he then?”

  “Meeting. My guess is he’ll be back late in the afternoon.”

  “Is there some aspirin?”

  He opens another cabinet, pushes a few things aside as he looks through it. He selects a bottle and holds it out to me. When I don’t reach for it, his expression changes and at first, it’s hard to read because it’s not what I expect. Lucas looks almost resigned.

  He puts the bottle on the counter, gives a small, sad smile then steps backward.

  “Monsters most often don’t look like monsters on the outside, you know.”

  I feel like a jerk.

  I force myself to stand there and look at him. Really look at him. It’s so strange, the beautiful side of his face, then the other side. He smiles at me and it’s not monstrous. Not at all.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m not being very nice and you’re trying to help me.”

  He shrugs a shoulder. “I’m used to it.”

  “That doesn’t excuse it.”

  “Do you mind if I join you?” he asks, taking out another plate.

  “That’s fine.”

  He smiles again and gestures to the table. I take a seat and set one of the bottles of water in the spot across from mine. When he comes over with his sandwich, he twists the lid off, and hands it to me before doing the same with the second bottle and taking a sip.

  “Eat,” he says.

  I pick up my sandwich and bite into it. He takes a bite of his.

  “I’d just had a strange dream the other night, so when I walked into your room, I didn’t know it was your room,” I start, feeling like I need to explain. “With the music and the rain, and honestly everything that was happening, I was spooked. I guess I thought you were a ghost.”

  “I did come back like one. I’m sorry I
scared you.”

  We eat in silence for a few minutes. It’s awkward, but I don’t know what to say. Every time I look up, I find him watching me. I can’t tell if the feeling of unease is because of how he looks or just the way he’s watching me. It’s not right though. I have to remember that he can’t help how he looks.

  “Have you been gone a long time?” I finally ask.

  He nods. “Since my little sister died.”

  “Annabel.”

  “That’s right.”

  “That must have been awful.”

  “No more awful than what you experienced, I’m sure.”

  I don’t know what to say. He’s so different than I expected. So different than Damian. Compassionate.

  “Can I ask you why you left?” I ask.

  He points at his face. “This was worse, believe it or not. And I was in a lot of pain both physically and emotionally. When she passed away, there was no reason for me to stay.”

  “Why come back then?”

  “Good question.” He finishes the last of his sandwich, watching me so intently it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Something flickers in his eyes. Something dark. That unease of moments ago is back, not that it had ever left, but now it makes my belly tighten. It’s the feeling I had that first night in his room. It’s gone as soon as it comes, but when he answers me, his tone is different. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes,” I say even though something tells me that no, I don’t want to know.

  But it’s too late. The word is out. And his are on their way.

  “To take back what my brother took from me.”

  A shiver runs along my spine. I hear the malice in his words even though he says it with a smile on his face. A smile so much like Damian’s but not.

  “Don’t you want to ask me what that means for you?”

  I feel sick suddenly. Like the food in my belly has turned to rock. I put the rest of my sandwich down.

  “No,” I say, pushing my plate away.

  “Are you finished?” he asks, gesturing to my sandwich.

  I nod.

  He reaches over and takes it, eating it greedily as he watches me, all teeth now. And all I want to do is run out of here. Run away from him.

  I put my hand in my pocket, feeling the knife there. At least I have that. If he does anything, I’ll stab him. I won’t hesitate.

  “Are you all right?” he asks when he’s done eating my sandwich, that wickedness gone again like it’s a switch he flips on or off at will.

  I nod. I can’t speak.

  He pushes his chair back loudly, gets to his feet and rubs his belly, contented.

  “Good. Don’t worry, I won’t tell my brother about our lunch.” He winks like we’re in on this thing together. “I’ll see you later, Cristina.” He says, walking to the door. He opens it to leave, but stops, and turns back to me. “One more thing. If he hurts you, you can always come to me. You have an ally in me.”

  I don’t reply.

  He walks out of the kitchen.

  All I can think is how they all tell me they’re my allies when I know in reality they’re nothing but my enemies.

  14

  Cristina

  After that disturbing lunch, I walk back up to my room a feeling of dread having replaced my hunger. I have nothing to do and spend the next few hours thinking, thinking, thinking. I can’t concentrate on reading and when I try to call Liam, the phone goes right to voicemail. He’s at school like a normal person. Like I should be.

  I need to ask Damian for my laptop and internet access to continue my studies online. I don’t see why he’d care either way. He’s already given me access to the outside world with the phone, so if he’s not here, it’ll at least keep me busy. I wonder what he’d ask for in return. I remember our conversation this morning. About how I could thank him.

  My belly quivers with the memory of last night even as my sex is still raw from it.

  Movement outside the window catches my eye.

  I scoot out of view as someone walks from the house toward the trees carrying something in each hand. From how he’s bent, whatever he has must be heavy.

  My heart races in anticipation of seeing Damian.

  Except that it’s not Damian. It only takes me a moment to realize it.

  It’s Lucas.

  What is he doing? What is out there?

  Without giving myself time to chicken out, I take my raincoat from the closet and put on a pair of boots. I don’t have hiking shoes or even a pair of sneakers. I should ask for some. Tell him I want to go running or something.

  Tucking my phone and knife into a pocket, I hurry out of my room. I’m careful to look out for others but not caring as much as I maybe should. I pass one woman vacuuming the living room. She ignores me as I hurry toward the back of the house.

  There’s noise coming from the kitchen, so I avoid it. But I notice a set of French doors off the dining room, so I head in that direction. I turn the lock and hurry out, closing the door quietly behind me. I follow a path in the grass that has been worn down.

  Once I’m under the cover of trees, I know I can hide if he comes back.

  I move as quietly as I can, but I’m not sure it’s quiet enough as I crush leaves and break branches underfoot in the utter stillness around me. I hug the raincoat closer as a cold mist begins to fall.

  The path becomes harder to make out as I creep deeper into the woods. I have to double back twice when I lose it altogether.

  It’s on that second time I see Lucas again. He’s put his hood up and bent his head down. I don’t think he sees me when I duck behind some bushes. He’s going back to the house, no longer carrying what he had earlier.

  I wait until he’s out of sight before I move again, then walk in the direction he came. I’m almost sure I’m lost again when a path clears before me and the trees become less dense.

  It’s strange. I turn a circle and realize I can’t see the house anymore. I’m not sure which way I came from after all those wrong turns. Suddenly I glimpse a two-story structure of some sort that is so overgrown it’s almost been swallowed by the forest. I would have missed it but for the momentary clearing of clouds and the shiny glint of something bright. Like the sun reflecting off a mirror.

  The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I walk toward it. Is this where Lucas came? Where he left whatever he was carrying?

  It’ll be dark soon. I hesitate, afraid. Always afraid.

  I should turn back and return when it’s full light.

  But I stop that line of thinking. I need to be stronger than I have a been if I’m to survive this house of horrors. If I let fear stop me, I’m finished. I can’t be afraid of the dark. I’m not a little girl anymore, and the games Damian and his family are playing aren’t children’s games.

  So, I head in the direction of the structure thinking of Hansel and Gretel, thinking I should have left breadcrumbs. Wondering if a wicked witch is waiting for me inside.

  I realize why the ground here is more worn down. At some point, it must have been covered in little stones. The trees around it must have been cut down long ago. Some new saplings are growing but aren’t as old as the rest of the forest, so it’s also a little brighter here even though it’s a dark day.

  After a few minutes, the structure comes into view.

  Two stories, like I thought, and as large as a small house. It must have been a solarium, I think. All the walls are windows, the glass mostly gone now with only shards left here and there.

  I stare up at it in awe. It’s beautiful, or was once. Old, like it was built in the early 1900s with decorative curving arches. I can tell from what’s left of the wood that it was painted white once.

  Walking around it, I peer inside, seeing a garden table and two chairs, now green with moss. What I’m sure were once brightly colored tiles are now broken and litter the earth and it’s as though the forest floor is growing into it. Reclaiming it.

  Plants t
hat must have been potted inside have broken out of their pots and now reach heights that, had there still been a roof, would have busted through it.

  The double doors stand open. Well, the frames of the doors do. They, too, must have been glass. There are still shards of it here and there. I have to be careful as I make my way through them, picking up the faint scent of something floral and too familiar. Something left over from a different era.

  Pins prick my skin, but I’m drawn deeper inside. My eye follows a beautiful, ornate staircase winding up to the second level. Some of the steps are rotted. The railing is intricately carved, magnificent and intertwined with thorny vines of a rosebush from which grow an abundance of deep red roses just past their prime.

  It’s their smell I recognize. Sweet and old like the roses he’d send me. Did they come from here? I always thought they came from the florist in the city but maybe not.

  I look up from the roses and study the second floor, which is more a gangway that spans the entire solarium. The railing is wholly intact but for one place where it’s mangled, the wood of the platform rotted away.

  I stop to look at that for some reason. I don’t know why. But when a cold chill runs along my spine, I swear I feel eyes on me.

  I turn a circle, searching the shadows. No one’s here. I’m alone. But the thought doesn’t comfort me.

  Mist picks up into a steady rain. I need to go back. I want to go back. I never thought I’d say that. But something is telling me to get away from this place.

  My heart beats faster and I find myself hurrying until I get to the table and chairs. There’s an old teacup on the table. A child’s tea set, I think. I walk toward it to have a closer look.

  It’s broken. Cracked in two, half lying on its side, the other half still sitting up in its pink saucer with the golden trim.

  Not toys, actually. Too nice to be toys.

  On the floor lie the remnants of a second cup and a small teapot. I bend down, wanting to pick them up but as soon as I do, I scream, falling backward on the ground because a pair of glass eyes is staring back at me.