Cruel Summer

I close the file, grabbing another. My face is the first thing that I see. It’s from when I was younger, maybe six, my hair pulled back into a high puff. I’m playing in our front yard with Richard, and mama is in the background. This is long before she died.

What the hell?

I flip to the next picture. It’s one of my mother, Dox, and a middle aged couple, I’m guessing my grandparents from how much the lady looks like my mother.

With shaky hands, I put the picture to the side, my breath pausing in my chest when I come across the picture of my mom the day she died. She’s still in the tub, the same way I found her. Bloody water pulling around her, her hair floating in the tub. Eyes open and lifeless.

I can’t tell if it’s before or after I found her and that makes me feel sick.

If it was before, then that confirms that…

“Enjoying my chair?”

My hackles raise and my heart stutters in my chest as my head snaps up, finding Giovanni watching me. I hadn’t even heard the door open but he’s leaning against the doorframe and while his face looks relaxed, bored, I can see the tension in his body. How tightly his arms are folded, the way one of his feet looks poised to stomp the floor in, how if I try to move to get out of the door he’ll grab me.

And never let me go.

It’s not like I can run anyway.

I swallow, letting the picture drop back onto the folder. His eyes narrow, following the photo as it falls. “What?” I ask, my mouth suddenly dry.

“I asked if you were enjoying my chair. It looks like you’ve made yourself at home. Invited yourself to my bourbon, my files.”

I’ve been caught redhanded and there’s nothing I can say that’s going to get me out of this.

He walks closer to the desk, stopping on the opposite and placing his hands on the wooden surface as his eyes meet mine. “I know that you know.”

“Huh?”

“I said that I know, Winter,” he speaks with a short and sharp clip that only ramps up my fear.

I pinch my fingers together, willing myself not to panic. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about-”

He stands up completely straight and my lips snap closed as we stare at each other.

He takes one miniscule step forward, toward my side of the desk, but it feels as if he’s managed to cross the whole distance, his harsh presence hitting me hard. His eyes don’t waver as they hold mine. “You know why I traded your life for your brother’s pathetic one. You know that this wasn’t all a coincidence.” His voice lowers an octave, sending a chill down my spine. “You know why I want you.”

He moves around the desk, remaining a couple of feet away from me but close enough that he could pounce at any minute. I eye my crutches on the ground, knowing they're the only chance I have at a weapon.

Giovanni moves and I flinch on instinct, but he’s simply reaching into the drawer, opposite of the one I’ve been going through.

He pulls out more papers and my heart thumps wildly as I recognise them. He slaps the coroner’s report, the birth certificates of my mother and Dox, and the photo of them on the desk. “I found these in your room while you were recovering.” His voice is so calm that it’s scary.

Fuck. So this is what it all comes to. I thought I would be able to get some semblance of revenge once everything was confirmed…

But in the end, they’re going to win.

Giovanni is going to put a bullet in my head right here and now.

That bomb should have killed him that day.

I tighten my shoulders, standing up straight as my fists ball up. Giovanni’s eyes flicker to the movement.

If I’m going to die, then I want all my answers directly from the source. “Why did you think using me against Maddox was going to make any difference?” I ask him, my words breathless and rushed. “How in the hell did you think using a niece he knows nothing about was going to make him hurt?”

It all sounds stupid to me. Maddox may be my uncle by blood, but blood doesn’t mean shit, my brother who threw me to Giovanni, is a prime example.

Giovanni gives a cold laugh, stepping closer until his legs are pressed right up against my knees. I keep my arms resting on the arms of the chair, tilting my head back to stare up at him.