Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 27737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
"How about I put it this way? I want to help you...because once upon a time, someone did the same thing for me, and so I'm paying it forward. But only just this once."
I don't answer her right away. There's something about her that feels more and more familiar, and I start looking around, thinking that my surroundings might give me a clue.
I've all sorts of tubes and wires hooked to my body, and there's a heart monitor next to my bed. These may make it sound like I'm in a hospital, but I'm not.
Because the matte black walls and all-red lights are a dead giveaway.
Dead being the operative word.
Oh...shit.
Comprehension finally kicks in, and my heart plummets to my stomach.
The smile on the other girl's lips widens. "You finally recognize where you are."
"And you," I mutter.
Because this girl I'm speaking to is none other than the Angel of Death—-
"Welcome to La Torre dei Mostri."
—-and this is the place she calls home, aka The Tower of Monsters.
I look at her again, and everything about her takes new meaning.
Her long blond hair? Urban legends say it's what she uses to hide countless poison-tipped needles.
The ribboned collar of her blouse? Perfect for strangulation, which everyone knows is her favorite M.O.
Everything you see and don't see about her, it serves a single morbid purpose, and that's why when I speak again—-
"How did I end up here?"
My tone is nothing but respectful, and I don't mind at all that her eyes twinkle anew at the change. Who cares if she thinks I'm a coward?
Pride is only for fools, and I haven't survived this long by being an idiot.
"Your being here is more a matter of who than how." The Angel of Death clasps her hands over her lap. "And fortunately in your case, the one who voluntarily came to your rescue is none other than Giancarlo Marchetti."
Yeah right.
I'm about to laugh when I realize the Angel of Death's expression hasn't changed at all.
"You have to be—-"
"Telling the truth," the other girl says easily, "since lies are a waste of my time."
Oh.
Well.
What the fuck?
I squeeze my eyes shut as my head starts pounding.
Giancarlo Marchetti?
For real?
The Marchettis aren't just one of New England's most powerful famiglie. It's also how they seized such power and what they did afterward that made Boston's ruling family seem unreal to most of us. As impossible as it may sound, the Marchettis are the first famiglia to have successfully turned a new leaf without losing their territory, and that's why...
"I don't get it," I hear myself say jerkily.
The other girl smiles. "I don't either, but isn't that just typical of the Marchettis?"
A thought pops into my head, but it's just so crazy it has me involuntarily rearing back.
No, that can't be it.
"The Marchettis do not cease to amaze, sì? I keep expecting them to die for being so kind, but no. They always seem to survive, and so it makes one think..."
"That they're all out of their mind?"
"Yes, that's one possibility," she acknowledges with a laugh. "Either they're all insanely kind...or it's the other way around, and we are the foolish ones, for being so convinced that all of us are beyond redemption."
I want to say something snarky, but not a single word comes to mind. I think I'm still in shock. Or denial. Maybe even both.
The Angel of Death sighs. "Time shall tell. But for now..." She looks at me soberly. "You were very fortunate, Sarica."
The fact that she knows my name doesn't surprise me at all. It's part and parcel of who she is in our world, and why La Torre can either be our safe haven...or a prelude to Hell.
"La Strega's eldest grandson happened to be having dinner at the same place as your abductors. They also happened to be drunk enough to have said things in Signor Marchetti's hearing, and suffice to say, what he heard was not to his liking."
I can only look at her, with my mind having already shut down the moment I heard her say the A-word.
Fuck. No. FUCK.
I never thought I'd be the type to suffer from trauma.
NO, NO, NO.
I've always thought of it as a word reserved for the weak.
NOOOOO.
And maybe it really is, and I've just been fooling myself all this time, thinking I was not weak.
"Sarica!"
I hear someone gasping my name, but I can't figure out where it's coming from.
All I see now are their faces, and they're all smirking at me behind their masks.
NO, NO, NO!
My heart explodes with terror, and I dimly hear a heart monitor start beeping out an alarm. But where it's coming from, I have no idea either.
'Sarica!'
Because all I can see is them.
Somebody help me!
I can practically smell the stink of alcohol in their breaths.
HELP, PLEASE, HELP!
They form a circle around me, taunting me as they come closer and closer.