Chapter 65: Persephone

I am your Hades.

Lukiyan’s words delivered the intended blow.

They’ve been stuck on repeat in my mind. I haven’t stopped thinking about them, or him, and I wonder what exactly he meant.

That he’d take me away the way Hades stole Persephone?

That he was fascinated with me?

That he was as drawn to me as I am to him?

I don’t know, but I’d be a liar if I said my knees didn’t weaken and my heart didn’t speed up.

I’d also be a fool to entertain these feelings.

Still, it was nice to feel alive again for those few moments and be swept back to the mythical stories Mom used to tell me when I was little.

She loved Greek mythology. That’s why she named her twins Athena and Persephone.

Mom told us our names matched our personalities. Athena was the artist just like our mother, and I was the dancer. The lover of life and living.

I remember when I first heard the story of Hades and Persephone. I used to always imagine falling in love with someone I couldn’t live without.

Just like how Persephone fell for Hades, God of the Underworld. I can see Lukiyan being him.

He’s dark and twisted that way. But so am I, in other ways because I already know what it’s like to live in the underworld.

Sometimes I wonder if hell is calling for me to come home, except I never know why I feel like I’m deserving of hell and not heaven’s gates.

Maybe it’s because of what I’m doing now.

I’m being selfish. Completely and utterly selfishly taking control of my life.

As I make my way down the dark corridor, I swear I feel Lukiyan’s eyes on me again.

The sensation is so overpowering I glance behind me. But he isn’t there; there’s no one there. Just the shadows.

I’m officially paranoid now, and I have every reason to be because I’m terrified I’ll get caught.

It’s five fifteen in the morning, and I’m going to meet Maya to get the last of the things I need for my plans on Friday.

Two more days, then I’m gone. On Saturday morning, I should be on my way to England.

Right now, I just have to focus on putting one foot in front of the other and shove away the uncanny thought away that Lukiyan is watching me.

He can’t see you, Persephone.

No one can.

Only the ghosts.

There are no cameras on this side of the house, and it’s only lit by moonlight.

This side doesn’t have the automatic lights that turn on like in the rest of the house. Father didn’t install those over here because he restricted access to everyone after the massacre.

This was where it all happened.

Sometimes I wished we’d moved after, but my father has some unusual ways of doing things.

I think he stayed because he believes my mother is still here, and so is Athena.

The rustling wind flows through the windows, making them chatter like teeth on edge, and the sound of nothingness is almost deafening.

Sometimes when I’m here, I hear more noises than I know should be here.

The faint cry of a baby who no longer exists.

Athena’s soft laughter.

The dulcet tone of my mother’s voice telling us stories of the gods of Olympus and their goddesses.

Mom’s voice—even if it’s inside my head—is the one that soothes me the most.

Our lives were full of happiness when Mom was alive. My father was a different man then.

He was so in love with her. She was the calm to his storm. The light in his dark world.

His heartbeat.

I used to pray for love like that.

When she died, he died too.

And so did I.

I always feel guilty that he blames me for her death because he couldn’t get to her in time. I was so sick that day, all everyone thought of was getting me to safety when we heard the sounds of gunfire and screaming. I couldn’t even walk, so she practically carried me. Athena helped, and it was to her detriment too.

That day ruined her just as much as death could have. After what happened to her, she was never herself again.

That day, we lost our mother, but we lost her, too.

The floorboards creak under my feet as I walk into the old hall.

This room is the most haunted section of the house. It was where Mom was killed along with five other members of staff.

The creak of another set of footsteps makes my nerves spike, but I calm when Maya steps out from behind one of the long mirrors.

Like me, she’s dressed in black, in a long coat that looks more like a robe.

She rushes to me with arms stretched wide and holds me the way Mom used to. At forty-two years old, she’s much younger than my mother was when she died, but in these moments, she offers the motherly comfort I yearn for.

When she pulls away, she smiles, and I take that as a good sign.

“I got what you need.” She keeps her voice low, speaking with a hint of a Brazilian accent, which makes me feel like I’m there again.

I bring my hands to my cheeks and try to hold back the tears of joy threatening to pour out of me.

“I’m really going to be able to leave?”

“Yes. Here, take this.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a little brown envelope. “Inside is your new I.D. You’ve got a new birth certificate and passport. There’s also a credit card with the remaining two grand on it.”

I take the packet and hug her again. “Thank you so much.”

That two grand is all I have left to start my new life.

Maya is a sweet soul who has connections and people who will do anything for her. So what could have cost me close to half a million only cost ten grand.

I have a substantial allowance and a trust fund which Father keeps an eye on. So I had to withdraw small amounts of money at a time and sell off jewelry I didn’t want to sell that my avó gave it to me.

“No need to thank me, sweet girl. I honestly don’t believe your mother would be happy to see you in such distress and with a man like Antonio. I also don’t think she’d be very happy with me if I didn’t help you.”

“Thank you so, so very much. Please tell me you’ll be okay. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“I won’t. When you’ve been around for as long as I have, you know how to cover yourself. So do not worry about me. Okay?”

“Okay.”

She cups my face and smiles wide and proud. “I will miss you terribly, but it has to be this way. You know what to do now.”

I nod. “Get on the boat on Friday night and don’t look back.”

“Don’t look back. It will break your heart.”

My heart.

No, not mine. Never mine. My heart is dead.

She means my sister’s heart.

It was a gift and a sacrifice. One I don’t take lightly.

Under no circumstances will I dishonor that or allow anyone else to break me.

That’s why I’m doing what I’m doing.

Hours later I make my way into the breakfast room, where I find my father reading the morning paper.

On the long mahogany table is the exquisite breakfast Porsha has made for us. She’s standing next to Father, pouring his coffee.

Like Maya, she’s worked for us since I was born, and I think she’ll be serving my father until the day she dies.

I get on with her when she’s not talking about me behind my back.

Porsha doesn’t like my attitude toward Antonio and his family. She’s one of those women who thinks the sun shines from their asses and I should feel more grateful I got Antonio.

I don’t care what she thinks any more than I do for the stiff smile she issues me.

I was going to skip breakfast today but thought better of it because it will be the last one I have with my father.

He’s traveling later on one of his many business trips, so I won’t see him until the fundraiser. Then he’ll be too busy with his associates to notice me, and I’ll be too busy with my escape plan.

There are a few things I want to talk to him about.

I want to have that heart-to-heart we never got to have about this so-called wedding. Knowing I’m leaving has given me a boost of power and strength to confront him.

Aside from that, this will be my goodbye. I don’t want to leave without talking to him properly.

We drove back home in silence last night after he saw me talking to Lukiyan. I was waiting for him to pull me up about that, but he didn’t.

He didn’t say anything at all, which was worse than our usual arguments where he lays down the law and I follow orders.

Despite everything that’s happened, I still love my father with all my heart. I just wish he could love me the same way and that he didn’t blame me for the losses we’ve had in our lives.

“Buongiorno, Persephone. Would you like some tea?” Porsha asks.

“Sì grazie. Some Jasmine tea will be great.”

“Of course.”

She pours me a cup then saunters through the double oak doors leading to the kitchen, leaving me with Father, who is staring at me.

He doesn’t have his patch on today, so I can see his damaged eye. Sometimes, it’s jarring to look at him this way.

When he had both eyes, they were so vibrant and full of magic that his smile would reach them and his entire face would light up.

He used to look like a person, not a killer.

Those were the days when Mom would be the one making breakfast and baking cookies for later.

Now we have this, and that eye looks like it’s always judging me, even though there’s no life in it. Deep down, I think Father blames me for that too.

In a way, it was my fault. If he didn’t need to save me, he’d still have both eyes. And maybe Mom would still be alive. That would mean Athena would have lived as well. I think so, anyway.

In fact, I know so.

“Buongiorno, Father.” I speak first because he’s still looking at me.

“Buongiorno.”

“Are you okay?” I bring my hands together so he can’t see the tremor. I’m nervous for so many reasons.

“I’m fine,” he states, still giving me that hard stare. “While we’re alone, I’d like to talk to you about Antonio,”

“Why?” What the hell now? I pray it’s not some shit that will push me over the edge before Friday.

“I don’t like the way you are with Antonio. It’s always clear you don’t want to marry him.”

“Because I don’t.” I try to say that in the calmest voice possible.

Father’s nostrils flare. “It’s going to happen, Persephone, whether you like it or not.”

No, it’s not.

I want to scream the words but restrain myself.

I know he’ll hate me even more when he discovers I’m gone, but I can’t worry about that now.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Antonio before?” I take the chance to jump right into what I’ve been dying to ask for the last few months. “You knew you were going to marry me off to him. Why did you allow me to go to Juilliard and work so hard to get picked for the collaboration with the New York City Ballet? Why when you knew it was never going to happen?”

“Things happen, Persephone. Life happens. And sometimes, changes happen beyond our control.”

“But this was in your control, Father. You’re second-in-command in the Camorra and the don of the New York outfit. You could have done anything you wanted, but you did this.”

I’ve never spoken to him like this before, and I’m not even showing an ounce of the anger I truly feel. Out of respect and love, I’m holding back.

“You don’t get to question my authority or decisions.”

“What about love, Papa?” I used to call him that when I was little.

It’s the first time in many years that I’ve done so. Maybe I just want to hear myself say it one last time.

He tenses, his back going straight and his features hardening even more.

“I gave up on love when I lost your mother.” Which means he doesn’t love Alecia.

I could almost rejoice at his answer because I hate Alecia with all my heart. I hate the way she waltzed into our lives and took over. But there’s nothing to rejoice because she has more of my father’s heart than I do.

“I never gave up on love. Mom wouldn’t have wanted me to. You know that, so it feels like you’re punishing me.”

He holds my stare for a few moments, and I almost think he’s not going to say anything more.

“This is your duty. It’s not about punishment—”

“I love you, Papa,” I cut in before he can continue. “I remember when we used to say that to each other every day. Now you can barely stand to look at me. So do not sit there and tell me you aren’t punishing me. Sometimes, I think you wish I’d died.”

This is his chance to tell me I’m wrong.

I just want to hear him say those words, and I’ll be okay.

Instead of feeling like I shouldn’t be living, I’ll remember him telling me he loves me, and I’m completely mistaken to believe anything else.

But he doesn’t correct me.

He gives me that emotionless stare, and I know I’m not going to hear the words I’ve longed for.

“You need to focus on the wedding,” he says, and as the words fall from his lips, my heart breaks. “Remember you’re going to be a wife. That means whatever fascination you have with the new bodyguard ends here.”

At that moment, Porsha returns with Alecia in tow, looking like the lady of the manor.

She plants herself down next to Father, and it’s like our conversation never happened.

The only thing left hanging in the air is my father’s warning and the emptiness I’ve felt inside since I got my borrowed life.