Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 64176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
As we turn onto the unpaved road and drive along the twelve-foot wall that will lead to the gates of the house, I can see that the lights are on in my father’s rooms. I’m sure he’s been awaiting our procession, but he won’t greet us at the door. He’ll wait. Calculate his first meeting with her. When it comes to her, his mind is still sharp. Focused.
He was much older than my mother when he married her, and now, at ninety-two, he’s a frail old man. Between his age and the cancer, his body should have given out years ago, but every night when I see him at the dinner table, I wonder if he won’t outlive us all.
Hate can do that to a person, I think. Become the poison inside your veins that fuels your heart to keep beating long after it should have stopped.
The imposing gates slide open as we turn the final corner. As if I need another warning, dark clouds obscure the upper levels of the house. It’s another mile before we reach the circular drive to the front entrance.
The SUVs come to a stop before stairs that lead to the eight-foot-tall double doors. Those doors are a part of my legacy, my fingerprint on the Di Santo home. A scene from Dante’s Inferno carved from wood and installed two years ago.
Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
I stopped short of inscribing that along the arch. I didn’t want to be predictable. I figure the carving itself pretty much tells that story. And besides, hadn’t we all abandoned our hope long ago?
Cristina stirs then, making a sound.
“Shh.” I touch her pretty face. “Sleep a little while longer before it begins.”
My door is opened, and I step out, collecting Cristina in my arms. One of the soldiers is holding a large umbrella over us, but it doesn’t help much with the wind. It doesn’t matter, though, we’re quickly through those terrible doors and inside the dimly lit foyer. It’s always dark inside the house. Even at the brightest time on the sunniest summer day, this dreary place seems to repel light.
“Sir,” Elise, the old housekeeper, greets me. She’s been with my family long enough that she doesn’t even blink at me carrying the unconscious girl into the house. “Ms. Valentina’s room is ready.”
I nod and follow her, our steps echoing as we head toward the wide stone staircase that serves as the centerpiece of the imposing entrance. It’s still magnificent. Something to behold.
After the accident, my father stopped all work on the house. I guess he couldn’t bear the thought of beauty around him when the only things he valued, the people for whom he would create beauty, were taken so cruelly from him.
I guess that’s another way I understand my father.
Although quite frankly, I’m also tired of it. His despair nearly cost our family everything. I’m the only reason we’re back on top of our world, powerful and feared.
After climbing the stairs, I veer to the right toward my rooms. The house is built in a large U-shape. We each have our own wings—my father, my sister and her son, and I. Even Lucas, the prodigal son, still has his rooms. Although those are untouched and left exactly as they were the day he left.
I don’t miss my brother—he’s a fucking bastard—but I do wonder where he’s gone.
With all the stone, this house is almost always deadly quiet. We take three turns down various corridors, then climb another set of narrower stairs up to Cristina’s bedroom. She’ll be lost for days if she wanders out of her room on her own.
Elise opens the heavy wooden door and steps aside.
I walk in and look around.
This room is at the back of the house with a large window overlooking the forest. I wonder if she’ll appreciate the view. It’s almost as large as mine with warm lamps burning on various surfaces, and the antique, four-poster canopied bed the focal point of the room.
Elise draws the plush duvet back, and I lay Cristina down.
“Thank you, Elise. That’ll be all,” I tell her, dismissing her. I want to be alone with my captive now.
The door clicks closed behind me. I first take off my jacket and toss it to the foot of the bed, then start by removing her sneakers. Ugly things. Her socks are next, and I drop them on top the shoes. Her feet feel cold, so I press my palms around them, warming them up as I take in the soft pink polish on her pretty toes.
Clearing my throat, I straighten. She doesn’t resist when I sit her up to take off her jacket, then pull the sweater over her head before laying her back down to glance at the delicate lace bra in a similar shade of pink as her nail polish.