Chapter 37: Eden
Chapter 37: Eden
“Look how beautiful you are…”
I carried those words with me into the elevator, into the marble-floored hallway of her penthouse, into the living room where everything smelled like wealth and disinfectant. Where it was always too white, too cold.
Mama was already waiting.
She must have watched me pull up from one of her security monitors. That’s how she always worked—watching, not touching. Silent judgment wrapped in Chanel.
She didn’t speak when we entered. Just turned and walked to the couch. Like I was one of her staff. Like she hadn’t sold me to a monster for protection, reputation, or peace.
I followed her, slow, deliberate.
Salvatore, Gio, Elio, and Apollo stood behind me like sentinels.
I sat across from her, the air taut with silence. She looked at me with those dry, detached eyes. My tears were falling, but she didn’t blink.
“I always liked the octopus,” I said quietly.
No response.
“It was smarter than most animals. They say that’s because of their pattern recognition. Their ability to flatten themselves, make themselves small—even though they’re huge.” I tilted my head. “Isn’t that clever?”
Still nothing.
“You made me clever, Mama.”
A flicker. Her jaw tensed.
“They say the mama octopus starves herself for months to protect her eggs. She wastes away until she dies… just to keep them alive.”
She shifted her leg.
“You’re not the woman I remember.”
And then, finally, she spoke.
“You’re not the girl I remember.”
She said it flat, like a diagnosis.
I laughed—a small, stunned sound. “Oh my God, Mom. I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
The laugh faded, curled into something hollow. I looked her straight in the face.
“Did you die when you created me?”
No answer.
“I’m dying, Mama. Like the octopus.”
Still nothing.
“I was a baby. And you gave me to a man who used me. Branded me. Broke me. And you let it happen because you wanted to keep your own body safe.”
She inhaled sharply, her first real reaction, but it wasn’t guilt. It was vanity. Being called out.
“You want to hurt me,” she said slowly. “That’s what this is.”
“I am hurt,” I said, voice cracking. “I’m dying.”
My fingers were shaking now, but I kept them clasped in my lap.
“I survived, like the octopus. I made myself small. I chose pleasure, even though I knew it would kill me. My beauty—my worth—it cost me everything.”
I stared at her.
“And I still came back here. To you. Because I needed to know…”
The tears came again. But my voice stayed clear.
“I needed to know if I was worthy. Was all of this—was me—being so broken and damaged… was it worthy of your death?”
She blinked. Her lips parted.
“You died to break me. And I just want to know if I was worthy of at least being broken.”
Silence.
And she said nothing.
Again.
That was her answer.
I looked at her one last time.
And turned my head.
“You’re right. I’m not that little girl anymore.”
I stood.
“And what you did today—what you sent to my doorstep—it’s like you gave birth to me all over again.”
I stepped forward. Her eyes widened. My voice was steady now.
“And just like before, you’re going to die for it.”
She tried to stand, but I was faster. She gasped when I pulled the knife from my waistband.
“Eden—”
It slid in smooth, right under the ribs.
The gasp froze in her throat. Her hands wrapped around mine, weak.
“I spent my whole life wishing you would save me,” I whispered.
“But this time, I saved myself.”
I twisted the blade, gently.
Like it was poetry.
Like it was birth.
Then let her go.
She slumped forward on the couch, blood blooming against white.
I wiped my hands on my shirt.
Turned around.
Salvatore didn’t flinch.
Gio’s eyes shimmered, but he said nothing.
Elio just stood there, frozen in front of our mother’s body. His expression was unreadable—numb, maybe. Or maybe he was waiting to feel something that hadn’t arrived yet.
God, I hadn’t even thought of Elio.
How do you look your baby brother in the eye after killing the woman who birthed you both?
But he didn’t stop me. He didn’t even move.
That has to mean something. Doesn’t it?
I took a careful step forward, like one wrong breath might shatter the air between us. His eyes didn’t shift.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. It’s all I can give him.
Finally, slowly, he turns his gaze to me. My heart knocks against my ribs. He’s going to hate me. I’ve crossed a line we can never come back from. They all saw it—what I am now. What I chose.
But Elio doesn’t look away. And when he speaks, his voice is soft and wrecked.
“Don’t be sorry, E,” he murmurs. “I can’t imagine what you’re carrying. I just… I can’t believe someone like you came from someone like that.”
Something breaks inside me—not all at once, but in pieces. Like a slow collapse.
I feel tears blur my vision. Salvatore’s hand presses to the small of my back—solid, warm, real. My fingertips are stiff with blood. The scent of iron and sweat clings to my skin.
But beneath it all, I feel… awake. Like some door inside me has finally opened. Like I’ve stepped fully into my own name.
Then Apollo steps forward.
He wraps an arm around Elio’s waist—casual, but too smooth to be careless. His voice is low, his breath brushing close to Elio’s ear.
“Let’s go, E number two,” he murmurs. “It smells like mommy issues in here. And I’ve got something softer than blood in mind.”
Elio flinches—but only for a second. Then he lets Apollo guide him away, his body leaning just slightly into the touch. Something unspoken passes between them—fragile, new, but warm enough to cut the cold.
I glance toward Gio, expecting his usual dry sarcasm.
But he doesn’t say a word.
He’s staring at them—Elio’s bowed head, Apollo’s hand lingering at his hip—with a look I recognize. Hunger, maybe. Or longing. Or love, so deep he won’t name it yet.
“Looks like Apollo’s got a crush,” Salvatore says, a little stunned.
Gio just rolls his eyes, but it’s slow—distracted. His gaze lingers as the elevator doors close, long after they’re gone.
Like he’s already missing them.
And maybe something just ended.
Or maybe something new just began.