Chapter Twenty-Six
Livy
Mama won’t wake up.
I hate that.
I hate it more than the dark basement.
More than the cold floor.
More than the rope around Mama’s wrists.
More than the way my arm hurts every time I move it.
Mama’s sitting against the wall with her head tipped to the side and her hair covering part of her face. Her hands are tied in front of her, and there’s a blanket over her legs, but it’s not enough.
I know it’s not enough because her fingers are too pale. Even her nose is losing color.
“Mama,” I whisper, touching her cheek.
She doesn’t move.
My throat gets tight.
“Mama, wake up. Please.”
Nothing.
I look toward the stairs.
The door at the top is shut, but I can hear him moving around up there.
Rory.
I don’t like his name anymore.
I used to like Rory.
He gave me fruit snacks sometimes when Mama wasn’t looking. He helped fix fences at the sanctuary. He knew which horses liked peppermints and which ones got mad if you brushed their bellies. He was there so much that he felt like part of my family.
But he shot my Uncle Steffy.
He doesn’t feel like my family anymore.
The door opens at the top of the stairs, and I stand in front of Mama as fast as I can.
It makes my hurt arm scream, but I don’t care.
Rory comes down carrying a bottle of water and a bag of pretzels.
“You should sit down, Livy,” he says.
“My name is Olivia.”
He stops on the bottom step.
For a second, his face does something weird.
Like I hurt his feelings.
Good.
“You always liked Livy,” he says softly.
“I like it when my friends call me that.”
His mouth tightens.
“I am your friend.”
“No, you’re not.”
The words come out shaking, but I say them anyway.
Rory looks at me for a long time.
Then he sets the water and pretzels on an old wooden table.
“You’re upset.”
“You shot Uncle Steffy.”
His eyes flick away.
“He was going to hurt me.”
“No, he wasn’t.” My voice gets louder. “He was saving us.”
“He was taking you back to Maverick.”
“Of course he was. That’s where we live.”
Rory’s face changes again.
Not sad this time.
Mad.
“You don’t understand what he is.”
“Yes, I do.”
“He’s bad.”
“No, you’re bad.”
That makes him go quiet.
I didn’t mean to say it.
Not out loud.
But I’m glad I did.
Rory takes one step toward me, and I step back until my legs hit Mama’s blanket.
“Don’t touch her,” I say.
“I’m not going to hurt your mother.”
“You already did.”
“I gave her something to keep her calm.”
“She won’t wake up.”
“She will.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“You’re lying.”
His jaw clenches.
“Mama’s too cold,” I say. “Her fingers are white.”
“She’ll be fine.”
“She has Raynaud’s.”
“I know what she has.”
“Then get her upstairs.”
“No.”
“Get her a heater.”
“No.”
“She could get hurt.”
“She can handle it for a little while longer.”
I stare at him.
He knows.
He knows Mama gets too cold. He knows it hurts her. He knows because he’s been around us for my whole life.
That makes it worse.
Rory knows and still doesn’t care enough to fix it.
“I hate you,” I whisper.
His face goes still.
I’ve never said that to anyone before.
Not even Eric, and he spit on Sabrina.
Rory swallows.
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “You’re scared. That’s all. Once your mama wakes up, she’ll explain.”
“Mama’s going to be mad at you.”
“She’ll understand eventually.”
“No, she won’t.”
“She will,” he shouts.
I take another step back.
“I’m sorry.” He crouches a little like he used to do when I was younger and scared of an injured animal. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Don’t call me sweetheart. You don’t get to use cute names for me anymore.”
His mouth closes.
Only Mav calls me sweet things like that now.
He calls me Pickle-la and little Don.
My chest hurts.
“My daddy is gonna come get us,” I say.
Rory freezes.
The whole basement feels colder.
“What did you say?”
I lift my chin, even though my eyes are burning.
“My daddy is gonna come get us.”
Rory stands slowly.
“He’s not your daddy.”
“He is.”
“No, he isn’t.”
“He’s gonna be.”
Rory’s face changes in a way I don’t understand.
“He doesn’t want you.”
I blink.
For a second, the words don’t make sense.
Because that’s stupid.
Mav wants me.
He said so.
He said if me and Mama became his, his protection would be absolute. I didn’t know what absolute meant at first, but Mama explained it means all the way.
Mav loves us all the way.
Rory takes another step toward me.
“Maverick is the reason you’re here, Livy.”
My stomach drops.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, he’s not.”
“He told me where to find you.”
I stare at Rory because I can’t think for a second.
My brain feels like when I dropped my pencil box at school, and all the crayons rolled everywhere.
Messy.
Wrong.
Everywhere.
“He didn’t,” I whisper.
Rory’s voice gets softer.
“He did. He needed you gone.”
“No.”
“He has enemies, Livy. He has a dangerous life. You and your mama made things harder for him.”
“That’s not true.”
“He didn’t want to hurt your feelings, so he asked me to take you somewhere safe.”
My eyes fill with tears.
“Liar,” I whisper.
Rory’s face tightens again.
“Be careful.”
“My Mav would never do that.”
“He isn’t yours.”
“Yes, he is.”
He stares at me for a long second.
Then he picks up the water bottle and twists off the cap.
“You need to drink.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
“You need to keep your strength up.”
“I said no.”
His hand tightens around the bottle.
For one scary second, I think he might grab me.
Then Mama makes a little sound.
Tiny.
Almost nothing.
But I hear it.
“Mama?”
I drop beside her so fast my knees hit the floor really hard.
“Mama, wake up.”
Her head shifts a little, but her eyes don’t open.
Rory watches us.
Something sad crosses his face.
Like he thinks he’s the one being hurt.
“I’ll bring another blanket,” he says.
“Bring a heater.”
“No.”
“Then bring ten blankets.”
He doesn’t answer.
He walks up the stairs instead.
At the top, he pauses.
“You’ll understand someday, Livy.”
He closes the door.
I sit down beside Mama and pull the blanket higher over her hands.
Her fingers are colder than blocks of ice.
I cup some of them in my good hand and try to warm them with my breath the way she does for me when I’m cold.
“It’s okay, Mama,” I whisper. “I know he’s lying.”
My voice shakes.
But I do know.
I think about Mav.
I think about how he looked when I asked if his wife and daughter would be mad if me and Mama became his.
He didn’t laugh.
He didn’t get annoyed.
He looked sad and soft and said no.
I think about how he kisses Mama like she’s the most important thing in the world.
I think about how he told me and Sabrina how we couldn’t have ice cream for a midnight snack but then gave in and let us have a bowl anyway.
I think about the way he looked at me after the fire, like he wanted to wrap the whole world in a cage so nothing could touch me again.
Rory is lying.
Mav would never send us away.
Mav would never let someone hurt Mama.
Mav would never let Uncle Steffy bleed in the road.
I wipe my face with my sleeve.
Then I lean close to Mama’s ear.
“You have to wake up,” I whisper. “Because daddy is coming, but I think we have to be ready too.”
Mama doesn’t answer.
But her fingers twitch once inside my hand.
I hold on tighter and stare at the locked door.
I’m scared.
I’m really, really scared.
But I’m also mad.
And Mama says sometimes anger is just fear standing up.
So I let mine stand.
Rory thinks I’m just a kid.
That’s his mistake.
I’m Olivia Moore.
Soon to be Don Olivia Moretti.
And my daddy is coming.
Because you don’t mess with a Moretti and get away with it.
***Mia***
The first thing I feel is cold.
Not normal cold.
Not the kind where I can pull a blanket around my shoulders and wait for my body to settle.
This cold is inside my bones.
It lives in my fingers.
In my toes.
I try to move, but my wrists pull tight against something rough.
Rope.
My eyes snap open.
For a few seconds, nothing makes sense.
Concrete floor. Dim light. Low ceiling.
A water heater humming somewhere in the corner.
Dust. Old shelves.
A basement.
I’m in a basement.
My heart slams so hard pain flashes through my ribs.
“Livy.”
My voice comes out cracked and weak.
Something moves beside me.
“Mama?”
I turn my head too fast and nearly black out again.
Livy is sitting next to me on the floor, one arm tucked against her stomach, her little face bruised and streaked with tears.
But she’s awake.
She’s breathing.
She’s here.
“Oh, thank God.” I try to reach for her, but the rope around my wrists stops me. “Baby, are you okay?”
She nods, but her chin trembles.
“Yeah.” Her voice breaks. “I think so. I tried to untie your hands, but the knot is too tight.”
“That’s okay, baby,” I say, seeing her cradled arm. “How’s your arm?”
“It hurts.”
“Your head?”
“Hurts too.”
I force myself to look at her properly, even though the room spins when I move. Cut near her temple. Bruise on her cheek. Arm held too carefully.
Maybe broken.
Maybe sprained.
But alive.
My baby is alive.
“Uncle Steffy,” she whispers.
My chest caves in.
The road comes back in pieces.
The crash.
Glass.
Headlights.
Stefano standing with blood on his face.
The gun.
The shot.
“No,” I whisper.
Livy’s face crumples. “I think he’s dead, Mama.”
The sound that leaves me doesn’t feel human.
Stefano.
Sweet, stubborn Stefano.
Maverick’s brother.
Maverick’s twin.
The man who came with me because he refused to let me leave the estate alone.
My sweet friend.
I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t stop the image from coming.
Him dropping.
The road beneath him going dark.
God, no.
Please no.
“Mama,” Livy says, her voice small and shaky. “You’re not gonna believe who did this.”
I open my eyes.
“Who?”
Before she can answer, the door at the top of the stairs opens.
Light spills down across the steps.
Then footsteps.
Slow and careful as he makes his way down.
My stomach turns over before I even see his face.
Rory comes down carrying a mug in one hand and a folded blanket in the other.
For a second, I simply stare at him.
My brain refuses to understand what my eyes are seeing.
Rory.
Rory, with his soft brown hair and tired eyes.
Rory, who helped me look after the sanctuary.