Chapter 12
ROSA
Consciousness returns in spurts, one fuzzy second at a time.
At first I can only hear muted sounds coming from somewhere nearby, and I have a vague sensation of waking up from the deepest sleep.
Grogginess and confusion threaten to overwhelm me, but I chase my scattered thoughts and soon corral them.
I was drugged, kidnapped, and driven somewhere in a van.
Okay. So far, so bad. I keep my eyes closed in case someone is in the room with me and try to move my hands.
My fingers are responsive but sluggish. The same goes for my legs—all I can manage is a twitch of my toes. The rest of me remains paralyzed.
“She’s awake.” The voice is familiar. “I told you she wouldn’t stay out for long.”
“I dosed her with enough to keep a normal person out for hours!”
“Well she’s not a normal person, is she? Rosa, I know you’re in there, so stop pretending.”
I blink my eyes open, and I’m hit with a wave of confusion at the sight of my grandfather standing above me. Tomasso’s face is grim, his lips pressed together in a thin line. The man with him is one of his guards—Martin, I think his name is. I’ve never liked him. He’s always staring at my ass.
Both men loom over me, and when I try to sit up, Martin shoves me back.
“Be careful with her!” my grandfather says. “And go get Pietro. Tell him it’s time.”
“Time for what?” I manage to mutter. “What the fuck am I doing here, Nonnino?”
The familiar word, the one I used for him when I was a little girl, slips out, and he grimaces.
I look around, and the smallest movement of my head sends pain crashing through me.
I don’t know whether it’s a side effect of the drugs or from when I was thrown into the back of the van. Either way, it hurts.
I learn, though, that I am at Tomasso’s compound. In one of the guest suites, not my old bedroom. I recognize the pale-yellow wallpaper, the floral curtains. The smell. I am in a place that was once my home, and even if I was never especially happy here, I should at least feel safe.
I don’t.
I feel like a butterfly pinned to a collector’s board as Tomasso stares down at me. I try to move my hand to my chest, to touch my amulet, but all that happens is a minuscule spasm in my fingers. I am somehow made of both Jell-O and cement.
“Looking for this, principessa?” he says, dangling my amulet from his liver-spotted hand, the gold heart swaying before my foggy eyes.
“Yeah. Give it back,” I reply, aiming for assertive and landing closer to annoyed toddler.
“No.” He places it on the bedside table. “Not yet. I don’t want it getting in the way. Plus, you don’t deserve it. It never should have been yours.”
“What do you mean? Give it back to me right now, or I’ll …”
“You’ll what? Swear at me? You are no threat, Rosa, and if you become one … Well, I’ll just drug you again or get Martin to choke you out. He’d enjoy that.”
I bet he would. The hired thug looked far too eager when he pushed me back onto the bed. He’s the kind of man who enjoys hurting creatures when they’re weak, and I vow that once I’m out of this, I will come back here and show him exactly how it feels to be weak.
For now, though, I am helpless. All I have to rely on are my wits, and at a long shot, an Old World vamp who I may or may not have mentally summoned to my assistance before I was abducted.
“You’re right,” I say, forcing myself to stop struggling. I need to conserve what strength I do have. “Looks like you’re in charge, exactly how you like it. What’s next, Nonno? A belt to the ass? I think I’ve still got a few scars there from when you last did it, if you want to check.”
He waves his hand in a familiar gesture of disgust and dismissal and sneers. “You only got what you deserved. I was trying to show you the right path, silly girl. Trying to teach you. Now I know you are unteachable. If Serena were here, it would all be different.”
Pain shoots through me when he says her name.
She was his favorite, and I totally got it—she was a shining star.
While I was wild and rebellious, she was mild-mannered and studious.
Where I was unruly and rude, she was gentle and kind.
I didn’t deserve her, and he sure as hell didn’t either.
But I’ve always known he felt this way. If he’d been given the choice, Serena would be here now.
He hasn’t forgiven me for that night, for taking her place at the ball she was supposed to attend. For not burning to death, basically.
I’ve long known these things, but they still manage to hurt me.
This man has always rejected me, always made me feel unworthy.
I don’t want to feel the pain that brings me, but I do.
Your own flesh and blood treating you like trash is a harsh thing to deal with, and since my parents and sisters died, that has been my reality.
“Yeah,” I mumble, unable to stop a tear from falling. “I know. I wish she were here too.”
“Well, she’s not,” he says firmly, his voice low but thick with emotion. “And we are left with you, Rosa. Anna Lombardi is long gone, Paola is out of action, and Donatella … Well, she’s constantly getting into trouble. You could be the last Seer left to the Vecchissime, god help us all.”
Thanks to my semi-stunned state, at least I don’t have to work at keeping my face neutral.
What is he talking about? Sure, Paola’s in a rough state, but there’s no reason to assume that she won’t be back after she’s given time to recover.
And Donatella might appear like a giddy teenager, but she isn’t reckless.
She’s not a fool. So what’s with all this “last Seer” bullshit?
“So, we must do what needs to be done,” he continues. “We must create the next generation of Capelli Seers. Believe me when I say that nobody wanted it to happen this way, Rosa, but you left me with no choice.”
I am starting to get a really bad feeling about this. Again, I try to wriggle off the bed. If I can get to the floor, maybe I can drag myself to my feet and get away.
It soon becomes apparent that my body thinks it’s a really bad idea. All that happens is I manage to knock the pillow off the bed. In desperation, I try to reopen the hazy channel I shared with Luca earlier in the night—at least I assume it’s still night.
I reach out for him the same as I did last time, but there’s nothing.
I can’t think straight. I can barely remember my own name, never mind test out a fledgling supernatural power I didn’t know I had until a few hours ago.
“What do you mean, no choice?” I ask when it becomes clear that all I can do is lie here and listen. “What’s going to happen?”
Right then, the door to the room opens and Martin strides in.
He smirks at me, obviously able to tell from my exciting new pillow-less state that I tried and failed to make my daring escape.
Behind him comes my brother, Pietro. My beautiful baby bro, who I still care about. The one who I thought cared about me.
“Pietro!” I make eye contact, trying to establish some kind of connection. “What the fuck’s going on? Why am I here like this?”
He looks at me briefly, then shakes his head and looks away. Every line in his body is rigid. Whatever this is, he hates it. But as ever, he’ll be Tomasso’s good little nipote and do as he’s told.
“You are ready?” Tomasso’s glare suggests he damn well better be. But ready for what? My brain scrambles to figure it all out before it’s too late.
“Please, Grandfather.” Pietro grabs at his arm. “There must be another way. Don’t make me do this!”
Whatever love he has for my brother, it is nowhere in sight. As usual, he will do what he thinks is right for the Vecchissime, for the Capellis. For himself, the bastard. He shakes off my brother’s grip and runs his fingers through his snowy white hair.
“Pietro! Help me! Get me up, get me out of here … I’m your sister. I love you—you know that!”
Tomasso gives me one cursory look of contempt before he says to Martin, “Shut her up. And keep her still. Don’t damage her.”
He leaves the room without a backward glance, and Martin is quick to act. He backhands me once across the face, so hard my lip splits and I taste blood. He leans over me and snarls. “Shut the fuck up, you spoiled bitch, or I’ll knock you out. You don’t need to be conscious for this party.”
Going to the bottom of the bed, he takes hold of my dress.
He roughly shoves it all the way up to my waist, then grabs my panties.
I can’t feel his touch, I’m still numb, but I look on in slowly dawning horror as he drags them down and off.
My legs are pulled apart, exposing me completely.
I try to fight him, to protect myself, but my limbs are not under my control.
I can see them, but I can’t move them. He takes his time, running his greedy eyes over my body and grinning.
When he’s done, he turns to my brother. “All set, Boss. Have at it.”
“No …” Panic forces itself up from my racing heart to my sore throat as I realize what he means. At the sudden and horrific knowledge that my own brother is about to rape me.
“No, you can’t … Pietro, don’t let him make you into a monster! Please, don’t!”
Again, he refuses to meet my eyes. My baby brother is a coward.
He has always been a coward. Losing our parents so young likely had an effect, and shutting him out when he was grieving and needed me couldn’t have helped.
And being raised by the vile creature we call our grandfather left him with no will of his own.
Whatever fondness he has for me is overshadowed by what Tomasso tells him to do.
I see our grandfather’s twisted logic at work here: How better to increase the chances of creating the next Capelli Seer than by mating two Capellis together? For all his surface sophistication, the man is no better than a monster.