Page 8 of Hidden Empire

“What do you want to know exactly?” I ask, hoping to narrow down what to say. Meeting new people isn’t something I have a ton of experience in. Meeting people that I desperately want to like me? Even less so.

“So many things,” he replies enthusiastically.

Martha returns, setting a little bowl of steaming liquid in front of me, along with a small plate of crackers. “Don’t pester her too much,” she warns.

Playfully offended, Matteo places a hand on his heart. “I would never.”

“Uh-huh,” she sasses. Before he can object further, she gently squeezes my shoulder. “You get hungry later, and you come find me. My room is just off of the kitchens. Knock anytime.”

I certainly will not. I’d sooner go to bed a little hungry than disturb her in the middle of the night! Of course, I can’t tell her that.

“Thank you,” I say politely instead.

Another light squeeze to my shoulder and a warm smile is how she parts, saying a soft goodnight to the table. Once she leaves the room, I pick up my spoon. I almost cringe seeing the dried blood on my knuckles. I could ask to go and wash them, but now that I’ve sat down, it feels like it would be incredibly difficult to get up again. Whether it’s an adrenaline crash, anxiety, or just general tiredness, I’m not sure. I tell myself that I’ll be able to shower later and put the thought out of my mind for now.

I can feel Dante’s gaze on me as I take my first sip of the warm soup. His concerned eyes are comforting rather than unnerving, which is nice. He’s not as scary as I expected at all. Muscular with an air of dominance and power, yes. But threatening in my direction? Not at all.

The broth is very light on my nervous stomach, thankfully. Matteo allows me a few bites before speaking up again.

“Did you break your nose?” he asks, casually continuing to eat. It’s an unexpected get-to-know-you question.

“Um, yes,” I answer shyly. He’s likely guessed it because of the little scar on the bridge of my nose. It’s pale but not invisible, especially under direct light. “When I was five.”

His nose scrunches slightly, and he asks, “How do you break your nose at five?”

“What happened?” Dante asks at the same time.

Like everyone hears the same danger in his tone, the table comes to a pause, all eyes shifting toward me.

“It was an accident,” I preface, hoping to alleviate their collective worry. The stares don’t stop, so I continue. “I fell off of the kitchen counter and hit my face on the tile floor. It wasn’t a super high drop, so I was okay after the hospital reset it.”

“Why were you on the counter?” Apollo asks, his face disguising anything he might be thinking or feeling. It’s a bit chilling how he can do that—go entirely blank.

“Just being a kid, I suppose,” I tell him, using the same answer I gave to the ER doctors. “I don’t remember it that well.” A total lie, but one I don’t mind telling.

Before anyone can question it further, an unfamiliar man carrying a small duffle bag enters the room, and Dante stands.

“Jade, this is our family doctor.”

I can’t do much outside of hope as the next few moments pass.

The man who insists I simply refer to him as “Doc” cleans up my hands before he does anything else. I try to tell him that I can do it myself, but he doesn’t dignify my offer with a response. My knuckles are disinfected, washed of all remaining stains, and slathered with some sort of ointment that shines underneath the chandelier light. I thank him, and he grunts about being careful with fragile skin. Not sure how to be careful when rage-punching your mom, but maybe I’ll ask one of my brothers for fighting tips. They’ll likely have some advice, I think.

The DNA testing process starts next, and it’s quick and painless. Doc pricks my finger, squeezing out a bit of blood into a tube before doing the same thing to Dante. He’s quiet and seemingly effective, getting exactly what he needs and excusing himself to another room to conduct the rest of his test.

It doesn’t take long for more questions to be asked.

“Do you have any siblings?” Matteo asks, grinning like he’s thought of something exciting. “I mean, other than us.”

He’s so sure that I’m one of them, even before the test can confirm it. His confidence is honestly contagious, and I’m having a harder and harder time managing my expectations. I don’t want to live with crushing disappointment, but I want to stay here forever even more.

Dante’s declaration that he doesn’t care what the results say is only marginally comforting. He says that now, but people change their minds. For all we know, I could actually be his biggest enemy’s daughter, and this is Kim’s way of truly trying to have me murdered. Or worse, I could be nobody’s daughter, just like I’ve always assumed.

“Why do you care if she has siblings?” Elio asks. I think his name is Elio anyway. I can’t tell since he’s sitting across a carbon copy of himself. A little bit of guilt settles in my gut. I feel like I should be able to identify every one of them, even if we’ve just met.

“They wouldn’t be related to us,” he adds, clarifying his confusion.

Matteo smirks. “That’s assuming dad only hit it once, and, let’s be honest, he’s kind of slut. There’s literally fucking ten of us.”

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