Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96514 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“My mom spent a lot of time in her studio after my dad adopted them.”
“It shows.”
I tugged on his hand, and we moved across the floor. “See the faces in the broken pieces of the mirror?”
“No.”
“Focus, Luca. They look like rectangles, joined to form one piece. But they’re shards of glass, and if you close one eye, you’ll see the stained glass has the shadow of a man’s face.”
He craned his neck to get a better look. “Now, I see it. That’s incredible how she did that.”
“Your mother was so talented.”
He nodded.
“This is where it gets super dark. There are seven mirrors. All of them have the same man’s face.”
“My father?”
“It’s not obvious the man is your dad… but yeah, who else would it be? An outsider would look at this and think nothing.” I released a sigh and continued, “There are seven days in a week, seven virtues, and seven—”
“Deadly sins,” he finished with a pained expression.
“We’re not done. You okay to keep going?”
“I’m fine.”
“It’s okay, Luca.” I stroked his cheek with my fingers. “I won’t tell anyone you have feelings. Your secret is safe with me.”
He turned his head away from me and groaned. “Keep going.”
“Your dad is wearing a crown with ten points.” I motioned toward the last piece of the Salvatore puzzle. “Ten horns, like the red dragon, a symbol of complete and total power.”
“The red dragon?” Luca’s voice lowered as he stared up at the ceiling with watery eyes. “As in the Devil?”
I cleared my throat. “Yes. William Blake was a poet and artist, known for The Great Red Dragon paintings, commissioned to recreate the books of the Bible.”
“I’m familiar with his work.”
“See how your dad’s face is dark on one side, blocking out the light?” I raised my arm above my head to show him. “Your mom placed you and Marcello where the mirrors cast a yellow glow on your faces, illuminating your golden crowns.”
I laughed, enjoying the private joke.
“Don’t stop now. What’s so funny?”
“William Blake said, ‘He whose face gives no light, shall never become a star.’ I think she wanted someone to know your dad had gained total power and control, but he would never be a star. That no one would see him for his achievements, at least not in the way, he wanted.”
He smiled at his mother’s defiance.
She wanted her work to live long after her death, and I hoped this gave Luca some closure.
“Whatever he did to get that power…” I sucked in a deep breath and blew it out as I looked at him. “She was afraid of your dad, wasn’t she?”
“Toward the end, yeah. I never let her out of my sight if I could help it.”
“He ruined a legend.” Blinking the tears from my eyes, I wiped them away with my finger. “I feel the pain in her art. That’s what I love about her paintings.” I slipped my fingers between his. “When you look at the walls, what do you see?”
He glanced at the framed oil paintings and canvases hung on the walls and shrugged. “I’m guessing not the same thing as you.”
I chuckled. “Probably not.”
“What do you see?”
My eyes traveled around the room, and my heart dropped to my stomach. “A cage.”
I hated telling Luca the truth about his mother. Years of studying her work made it easier for me to weave the threads of her life together. But you had to know her family to make the connections. She married a man she once loved, and he later turned into the Devil.
Luca cupped my shoulder. “What do you mean by a cage?”
“I mean a literal cage. Do you see the black panels on the walls? They connect at the ceiling.”
His mouth widened as he followed my finger.
“She felt like she was a prisoner. Your family is doing the same thing to me.”
“I’m not caging you, baby girl.” He brushed his knuckles along my jaw and smiled. “I’m setting you free.”
The darkness consumed me, swallowing me whole as I sank to the floor and pulled my knees into my chest. I blinked a few times to clear my vision, pinching the skin on my forearm.
“Wake up, Alex. Not real,” I whispered, but it was no use.
Nothing.
Same as the last time.
And every time before it.
This was my Hell.
Tears fell from my eyes, coating my cheeks as I screamed for someone to let me out, begging for someone to come to my aid. I pounded my fists against the wooden door until my knuckles cracked open and my hands were numb.
I got on my hands and knees and felt around the cramped space. My chest heaved as I struggled for air, fighting the wave of anxiety that ripped through my body like a hurricane.
I hated the dark.
Hated small spaces.
Desperate to escape, I clawed at the molding. Anything that could provide me a way out. But no matter how hard I tried, I could never get out of the closet. This was my punishment for being born, for taking everything from my mother. She blamed me for everything that didn’t go her way.