Chapter 60 The Mannequin
The water in the shower was hot enough to scald, yet I could not feel it.
I had been standing under the spray for nearly an hour. The steam rose and curled against the cold tiles of the ceiling like ghosts trying to escape the room.
My skin was a bright, angry red from the heat, but the chill inside my bones refused to leave. I held the exfoliating sponge in a hand that would not stop trembling.
I scrubbed at my arm until I was sure I had removed the first layer of skin. I needed to go deeper. I needed to scrub away the invisible stain that coated me from head to toe.
I was trying to wash Jose’s death off of me.
Every time I closed my eyes, the image was there waiting for me in the darkness behind my eyelids. I saw his face. It was young and terrified.
I saw the way his knees had knocked together on the cobblestones. I heard the wet, desperate sound of his pleading voice as he begged for a life that I had already stolen from him.
I had not pulled the trigger myself, but I had loaded the gun. I had wound the clockwork of his execution and stood by in silence while it struck the final hour.
I dropped the sponge. It landed with a wet slap against the marble floor. I leaned my forehead against the shower wall and let the water beat against my spine.
I gasped for air that felt too thin to fill my lungs. I was a murderer. It did not matter what the law said or what Dante said. In the court of my own conscience, I was guilty.
"Lilith?"
Dante’s voice came from the bedroom. It was muffled by the heavy oak door and the roar of the water.
"You have been in there a long time. Are you alright?"
I froze. His voice now sounded like a gavel striking a block. I turned off the faucet. The sudden silence that rushed into the room was heavy and suffocating.
"I am fine," I called back. My voice sounded hollow and metallic. "I will be out in a minute."
I stepped out onto the bathmat and wrapped a thick towel around myself. I wiped the steam from the mirror and stared at my reflection.
The girl looking back at me was pale and gaunt. Her eyes were wide with a haunted darkness that no amount of sleep would cure. I did not recognize her.
I took a deep breath to steel myself and opened the door to the bedroom.
Dante was standing by the window looking out at the darkening sky. He turned as I entered. The breath caught in my throat. He was dressed in a tuxedo.
The black fabric was sharp and tailored to perfection against his broad shoulders. He looked lethal. He looked like a king who had just conquered a kingdom and was ready to survey his spoils.
When his eyes landed on me, his expression softened. The hardness that usually defined his features melted away.
It was replaced by a concern that made my stomach churn with guilt. He crossed the room in three long strides and reached out. His thumb brushed against my damp cheek.
"You are shaking," he murmured. His voice was low and rough.
I flinched away from his touch before I could stop myself. It was an instinctive reaction. It was a recoil from the heat of his skin which felt like a brand against my own.
He paused. His hand hovered in the air between us. A shadow of hurt flickered through his eyes, but he quickly masked it. He thought I was flinching because of the explosion yesterday.
He believed I was a fragile creature who was traumatized by the loud noises and the violence.
had no idea that I was flinching because I was standing in front of a killer while knowing that I was exactly the same as him.
"It is okay," he said gently. He lowered his hand to his side. "I know you are frightened. But tonight is about strength. We have to show them that we are not afraid."
"Show who?" I asked. My voice was barely a whisper.
"My Capos," he replied. "My lieutenants are arriving within the hour. We are having a formal dinner. We celebrate our survival. We show them that we are untouchable. And you will sit by my side."
He walked to the large mahogany wardrobe and pulled out a black garment bag. He unzipped it with a fluid motion to reveal a dress that took my breath away.
It was red. Dark, deep crimson. It was the color of dried blood.
"Wear this," he said. He laid it on the bed. "I told Lucrezia to come and fix you. Make sure you are ready."
He walked back over to me and kissed my forehead. It was a lingering, possessive kiss. It marked me as his property.
"You are safe now, Lilith," he whispered against my skin. "I have handled the threat. The rat is dead. No one will ever hurt you again."
He left the room. The door clicked softly shut behind him.
I stared at the wood while fighting the urge to vomit. He was being so kind. He was being so protective. It made me want to scream until my throat bled.
He was treating me like a prize because he thought I was loyal. If he knew the truth, that kindness would turn into a bullet faster than I could blink.
The door burst open.
Lucrezia stood there. She did not look like a supportive sister. She looked like a woman who had just been asked to clean a toilet. Her eyes were blazing with suppressed rage.
She wore a long black gown, and her hands were clenched at her sides.
She kicked the door shut behind her and glared at me.
"He insisted," she spat. The words were full of venom. "He actually insisted that I come in here and dress you like a doll. As if I am a maid."
I took a step back, clutching the towel tighter around my chest. "I did not ask for this."
"Of course you didn't," she snapped. She walked over to the vanity and slammed her makeup kit onto the marble surface. "You just stand there with those big, teary eyes and let him fawn over you. It is disgusting."
She turned to me and pointed a sharp, manicured finger at the chair.
"Sit," she hissed. "Before I change my mind and leave you to look like the drowned rat that you are."
I sat. I was too terrified to argue. I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I looked small and broken.
Lucrezia stood behind me. Her eyes met mine in the glass. They were cold and full of hate. She reached out and grabbed my hair, yanking the brush through the tangles with unnecessary force.
"Ow," I gasped.
"Quiet," she muttered. "If you are going to sit at his table, you will not look like this. You look weak. You look pathetic."
She applied foundation to my skin. Her fingers were rough. She treated my face like a canvas she despised painting.
"Do not think this means anything," she whispered in my ear. Her breath was cold.
"He puts you in a red dress. He sits you at the head of the table. It is a game, Lilith. You are just a shiny new toy. A prop to make him look powerful."
"I know," I whispered. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.
"Don't you dare cry," she growled. She grabbed my chin and squeezed it hard.
"You will ruin the work. Swallow it. You killed a man today? Good. Maybe now you understand what this family is. We are monsters. And you are just visitors."
She painted my lips with the blood-red lipstick. She smeared it slightly and wiped it off with a thumb that dug into my lip.
"There," she said. She pulled back and looked at me with a sneer. "You look like a high-class whore. Perfect for the occasion."
She threw the brush back into her bag.
"Do not speak unless spoken to," she commanded. "And do not think for one second that you belong in that chair. You are just keeping it warm until he realizes you are nothing."
She grabbed her bag and stormed out of the room. She did not look back.
I looked in the mirror.
The girl looking back wasn't me anymore. She was painted and polished. She was beautiful in a cruel, sharp way. She looked like a mannequin made of porcelain and blood.
I took a deep breath and pushed the panic down. Lucrezia was right. I was just a prop. And props do not have feelings.