Chapter 9 The Silence
I don't sleep.
Sleep is for people who aren't waiting to die.
I sit on the floor with my back against the door and the knife in my hand and I listen to the house breathe.
Every creak of the floorboards sounds like footsteps. Every settle of the foundation sounds like a cell door closing. My eyes burn. My head throbs with a dull and heavy rhythm that matches the beating of my heart.
He saw me. He caught me in his office with a lockpick and a flashlight and he let me go.
Why?
The question spins in my head like a top that won't fall over. Why did he let me walk out? Why didn't he call the guards? Why didn't he put a bullet in my head right there on the Persian rug?
Maybe he wants to do it publicly. Maybe he wants to make an example of me in front of the others. Or maybe he just wants to let me sweat.
I look at my hands. They are shaking again.
I close my eyes and I see the ring. Silver and black. Heavy on his finger. The crest carved into the stone. It wasn't a nightmare and it wasn't a blurry photo in a stolen file. It was real. It was warm from his skin. It was pressing against my arm while he threatened me.
He killed her.
The certainty settles in my chest like a stone. It’s cold and heavy and sharp around the edges. There is no more doubt. There are no more questions about rival families or conflicting police reports.
I looked the monster in the eye and he was wearing the murder weapon.
Dawn breaks grey and ugly through the bars of my window. The light crawls across the floor like a stain. I check my phone. Nothing from Selena. Nothing from the unknown number. Just the time staring back at me.
04:00.
I have to go to work.
If I don't go to the kitchens then I prove I’m guilty. If I hide in my room then I prove I’m scared.
I stand up and my legs are stiff. I splash cold water on my face but it doesn't wash away the fear. I put on my uniform. I lace my boots tight. I tuck the knife back into its sheath against my ankle because I am never walking through this house unarmed again.
I open my door. The hallway is empty. It stretches out long and silent in the morning light. I walk to the kitchens and every step feels like walking to the gallows.
I expect Giovanni to step out of the shadows. I expect guards to grab my arms.
But nobody comes.
The kitchen is warm and smells like baking bread and strong coffee. Rosa is there. She’s shouting at a delivery boy about crates of tomatoes.
"Lilith," she barks when she sees me. "You're late. Grab the mop."
I blink. She doesn't know.
Nobody knows.
I grab the mop and the bucket and I start scrubbing the floor. The water is hot and smells like lemon and bleach. I scrub until my arms ache. I scrub until I can't feel my fingers.
The routine is a lie. Everything feels normal but everything is wrong. The other servants are chatting about the weather and the menu and their families. They are laughing.
How can they laugh? Don't they know there is a murderer upstairs? Don't they know I broke into the lion's den last night?
I keep my head down. I work. I move from the kitchen to the pantry to the service corridors. I am a ghost. I am invisible.
But I feel his eyes. Even when he isn't there I feel him. I feel the weight of his gaze on the back of my neck. I feel the ghost of his hand on my arm.
He is playing with me. That’s what this is. He is the cat and I am the mouse and he is letting me run a little bit before he snaps my neck.
Around noon I am sent to the library to dust. It’s on the second floor. Near the family wing. I don't want to go. My heart starts hammering against my ribs as soon as Rosa gives the order.
"Do I have to?" I ask, and my voice is small.
"Yes you have to," she says and hands me the duster. "The Don is out on business. The room is empty. Just get it done."
He’s out. The relief makes my knees weak.
I walk up the stairs and the house is quiet. Too quiet.
The library is massive. Floor to ceiling books. Leather chairs. Rolling ladders. It smells like old paper and wax. I start dusting. I move mechanical and fast. I want to be in and out. I don't want to be in his space.
I wipe down a table and my hand freezes.
There is a photo on the side table. A silver frame.
It’s Dante.
He’s younger in the photo. Maybe twenty-five. He’s standing on a boat with the wind in his hair and he’s smiling. Actually smiling. His eyes aren't cold. They are bright and alive. He has his arm around a woman. She is beautiful. Dark hair. Soft eyes. She is looking at him like he is the sun.
Isabella.
And in his arms he is holding a baby. Jasmine.
They look happy. They look like a family. They look like good people.
I stare at his hand in the photo. The one wrapped around his wife’s waist.
The ring is there.
Even then. Even when he was happy. Even when he was smiling at his wife and holding his baby he was wearing the ring that killed my mother.
He was a monster then and he is a monster now.
I hate him. I hate him so much it makes my vision blur. I want to smash the frame. I want to tear the photo apart.
"Touching."
The voice comes from the doorway. I spin around and drop the duster.
Giovanni is standing there.
He is leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks tired. He looks dangerous.
"Giovanni," I say and I try to keep my voice steady but it wobbles. "I was just dusting."
"I see that."
He walks into the room. He moves heavy and slow. He stops in front of me and looks down at the photo I was staring at.
"He loved her very much," Giovanni says. "She was the only one who could make him human."
"Why are you telling me this?"
He looks up from the photo and pins me with his hard eyes.
"Because you need to understand who you are dealing with. You need to understand that the man you see now is not the man he used to be. He is what was left behind after the fire."
"I know who he is," I say and I can't help the venom that leaks into my voice. "I know exactly who he is."
Giovanni’s eyes narrow. He steps closer. "Do you? I wonder."
He lowers his voice. "I saw the logs, Lilith."
My heart stops. "What logs?"
"The electronic lock on the office door. It records every entry. Every failed attempt."
He knows.
"I deleted the entry from last night," he says quietly. "Before the Don could review the morning report."
I stare at him. My mouth falls open. "Why?"
"Because I don't know what game you are playing but I know that if he saw that report you would be dead by now."
He saved me. Why would he save me? He is Dante’s right hand. He is the loyal dog.
"I don't understand," I whisper.
"You don't need to understand. You just need to listen."
He leans in close. I can smell tobacco and mint.
"You are walking on a razor's edge. You think you are invisible but you are lighting flares in the dark. Stop poking around. Stop asking questions. Stop trying to open doors that are locked for a reason."
"Or what?"
"Or I won't be able to erase the next mistake."
He steps back. "Get back to the kitchen. And stay out of the office."
He turns and walks away. I stand there in the silence and I am shaking. Giovanni covered for me.
Why?
Does he know know something? Or maybe he is just waiting for me to hang myself so he doesn't have to get his hands dirty.
I pick up the duster and finish the room. My hands are trembling so bad I almost knock over a vase.
I leave the library and go back downstairs. The day drags on. It feels like a year. It feels like a lifetime.
Every time a door opens I jump. Every time someone says my name I flinch. I am waiting for the summons. I am waiting for Dante to come back and finish what he started last night.
He said he wouldn't kill me. But he didn't say he wouldn't hurt me.
Evening comes. The sun goes down and the shadows get long and dark. I am chopping vegetables for dinner. Carrots. Celery. Onions. The knife rhythm is soothing. Chop. Chop. Chop.
I imagine it’s his fingers. I imagine it’s his heart.
"Lilith."
I stop. The knife hovers over a carrot.
Rosa is standing there. She looks pale. She looks worried.
"Leave that," she says.
"I'm not finished."
"Leave it."
She gestures to the door. "You need to go upstairs."
"Why?"
"The Don is back."
My stomach drops. "He wants to see me?"
"Yes."
"In his office?"
"No."
She wrings her hands in her apron. She looks like she wants to tell me to run. She looks like she wants to tell me to hide.
"Where?" I ask.
"The front entrance."
"The front entrance. Why?"
"He is waiting in the car."
She looks at me and her eyes are full of pity. "He told me to tell you to get your coat. He said you are going for a ride."
A ride.
That’s code. In this world that is code for a one way trip. That is code for being taken to a warehouse or a field or a hole in the ground.
He lied.
He said he wouldn't kill me but he lied. He just didn't want to do it in the house. He didn't want to stain the rugs.
"Okay," I say, and I am surprised by how calm I sound.
I put down the knife. I wipe my hands. I walk out of the kitchen.
I go to my room and I get my coat. I check the knife in my boot. It’s still there.
If I am going to die tonight I am going to take a piece of him with me.
I walk to the front entrance. The big double doors are open. The night air is cold. The black car is waiting. The engine is running. The exhaust puffs white clouds into the darkness.
Dante is standing by the passenger door. He is wearing a long black coat. He looks like a statue carved out of night. He watches me walk down the steps. His face gives nothing away.
I stop in front of him.
"Get in," he says.
I look at him. I look at the ring on his finger. "Where are we going?"
He opens the door. He gestures for me to enter.
"You wanted to know your value," he says and his voice is ice. "You wanted to know your place."
He leans down so his face is inches from mine.
"I'm going to show you."