Chapter 8 VIII. LIAR
VIII. LIAR
I stood in front of Rocco, watching him serve his own daughter to me on a silver platter. On a pile of three boxes with a sign House of Clowns, I signed off the train, boat, and two tents with clowns and animals to him, while I got the Doll House, three tents, the freaks, and half of the staff.
I couldn’t care less about her. After all, I had met her only yesterday. But she was something I wanted to own, and he had just given me an offer I couldn’t refuse.
And she, even if she didn’t want to be here, now she was owned by me.
Rocco pressed the pen against the paper and looked straight at me with the biggest smirk on his face as he signed.
“There. All yours.”
“I have one condition,” I said.
“Anything,” he smiled.
“You won’t step inside La Maddalena ever again,” I told him.
“Deal,” he said, one gold tooth shining from the corner of his smile.
I raised a brow, watching him. He offered his hand, but I didn’t take it. This deal was a victory for me, but this man didn’t deserve my respect. I only nodded, took the copy of the paper, slid it inside my blazer, and walked toward the tent.
Inside, Doll was already unconscious. Helpless, her body leaned in the arms of one of the clowns.
“Take her to the house,” I said. “And make sure not a single hair is missing from her head, or you will regret it.”
“Yes, sir.” They both nodded, tossed her body over a shoulder, and carried her out.
I sat back at the table, placed the contract Rocco signed into the drawer, and locked it. My palms pressed to my face, my breath caught between them.
Rocco owned Chiara. She was part of the circus.
Last year, when she joined, she had to sign the papers.
And just as he had tricked others, she signed the part that said if he decided to sell her, he could sell her to anyone, and she couldn’t say a word.
One of the oldest rules of the circus. Once you are in, you are in for good.
You sell your soul for it, and she sold hers to the biggest monsters of the Circle.
I sighed and opened the drawer where I kept the whiskey. I took out the glass and poured the liquid inside. The scent burned even before the taste did.
The bearded lady stepped inside the tent.
“I see you got yourself a new toy,” she said with a smile.
“Not that type of toy, Mia,” I said, taking a sip and exhaling.
“What are you going to do with Rocco?”
“He won’t be our problem anymore,” I said. “At least not for a while.”
“And the girl?”
“My worry, pretty girl,” I said, placing my palm against her bearded jaw as I stood. I walked past her. “Check how much we earned this week, and see how much we need to promote the next act in three weeks.”
“Will do, pretty boy,” she said with a wink, slipping into my chair as I left.
I pulled the curtain and walked outside.
The sun was shining bright for Autumn. I could almost say it was the end of summer, but that had already passed a month ago. The weather in Italy was always blessed with sunshine. We could forever be thankful for that, but the nights were foggy and cold, perfect for getting lost.
I walked between the tents toward the house, watching the men already preparing for tonight. Today was the last day we would be open until next month, and some were already packing up.
Now that we had no train, and no boat, we had to settle here for three weeks. No performances anywhere else.
The house was just five minutes from the tents through a wooden path that cut through the trees.
It always amazed me how small this town was.
You could walk from one edge to the other in an hour or two.
Compared to Rome, it was the size of a pocket.
And in the past year, I have learned every corner of it.
As I approached the house, two clowns sat in front, smoking. When I nodded, one of them said, “She’s in the attic.”
I gave them a short wink and went inside. I opened the door and climbed the stairs.
A lot had changed, mostly the fact that the freaks now lived on the third floor, and the attic was all mine. The clowns shared a floor with the performers, Rocco’s office was now mine, and everything below stayed the same.
I reached the attic door. Wooden, with a dark brown frame. I pulled the key from my pocket and unlocked it. Inside, I could already hear the faint rattle of chains above.
She was there. Doll. On my bed. Chained, still asleep.
I walked closer, watching her. She wore jeans and a black top. Every part of me wanted to strip it away and see what was underneath, but I knew it wasn’t the time for that. Not yet.
I sat on the edge of the bed, reached out, and brushed a strand of hair off her forehead where it had fallen across her eyes.
She was so damn beautiful. Now I understood why my brother had been obsessed with her. But he lost that chance. Now it was mine.
I didn’t know if she was a witch or if she had cast some spell on me. Even when I told myself I didn’t give a damn, she was still crawling under my skin. And I didn’t like it.
But that’s how it happens. Whether you want it or not, someone can slip inside you, deep beneath the surface, until one day, they become a part of you.
A year earlier
I sat down in the attic, this time by myself.
My wounds had finally healed, so I could start putting paint on my face and start performing. Rio had been slowly introducing me to more and more people who worked here, and little by little, I was starting to feel a sense of purpose again.
A soft knock came at the door, and before I could even say “It’s open,“ Rio was already walking in.
“Hey, scar face,“ he laughed. “You finally washed up.” He tossed me a piece of bread as he spoke.
I raised a brow, looking at him. “I know I’m better looking than you.”
“Keep telling that to yourself,” he said.
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“I need a favor,” he replied. “Rocco has this plan, but I’ve got a bad feeling about it.”
“You want me to zap him?” I asked, eyes widening.
“No,” he laughed. “I want you to keep an eye on someone.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s a girl, isn’t it? Why can’t Enzo do it?”
“Enzo’s across the country, and you’re here,” Rio said, pulling a Polaroid from his pocket. The girl in the photo was the prettiest girl I had seen.
“She’s pretty,” I said, reaching for the photo, but he pulled it back.
“Hey, fingers to yourself, cazzo,“ he said with a grin. “She’s mine.”
“You want me to warm her bed while you’re gone?” I laughed. “Or pretend I’m you?”
He smiled. “Nothing like that,” he said. “I just want her safe.”
I chuckled. “I’ll keep her warm.”
He punched my shoulder. “Asshole.”
Then he handed me her photo.
“Promise me, if something goes south with Rocco and the Circle, that you’ll keep her safe.” He smiled faintly. “And promise you’ll leave her a red rose and a Joker card in my memory.”
“I promise,” I said, taking the photo.
“I have to go see what that asshole Hypno needs,” he said, turning toward the staircase.
“Probably another back rub,” I laughed. “Or his shoes polished.”
He chuckled. “Yeah.”
He walked down, one hand raised in a lazy wave goodbye.
As the door clicked shut, I stared at the photo. The girl was beautiful. I wondered when my brother had gotten so damn lucky. I turned the photo over, and on the back, there was a name.
“Chiara,” I whispered, reading it aloud.
I slid the photo into my leather jacket and walked toward the sink and the mirror. The reflection staring back barely looked like me anymore. My hair wasn’t blonde now; it was dark as coal. A scar ran across my right cheek, a smaller one cut through my left eyebrow.
I picked up the white paint beside the sink and started spreading it across my face. Then came the black, shaping the hollow grin of a skull until my reflection disappeared beneath it.
When I finished, I barely recognized myself. That was good. That was the point. I wasn’t supposed to be recognized. I was supposed to be someone else.
In the end, we all wear masks. I just happened to have a painted one.
Present day
I placed a red corset and a ballet skirt on the bed, along with a pair of black and red socks and two red ribbons. Then I wrote a note: Get dressed.
This time, instead of a red rose, I left a white oleander flower.
The flower made me who I am today, and now she has met me. There was no point in pretending Rio was still with us when he wasn’t. Red roses and Joker cards were now replaced with oleander flowers and sweet lies.
Because that’s who I was.
A liar. The worst kind.
And I will make her fall for all the lies.