Page 8 of Consort of the Crime Queen

I see no one else that whole day and night except for a stern housekeeper who snaps at me in Italian when I shake my head at the dinner tray she brings in. She slams it down on the same table where I had the soup at lunch, making me jump. But I still refuse to eat. I'm not hungry, for one thing—and for another, who knows what they'll put in my food? I ate the soup earlier because I had to, to gain Don Imperioli's trust, but I don't want to leave myself vulnerable if I can avoid it.

Because I'm afraid. I'm afraid that Don Imperioli is a liar, that he'll send his son in here while I'm asleep, and that I'll wake to find him looming over me.

But I can't just stay awake all night. Exhaustion is not going to help me. In the end, I pull the bedding into the bathroom and make up a sleeping place for myself in the bathtub, then lock the bathroom door. It's not exactly safe—a man of Nero's size and strength could kick the door open in one blow—but at least I'll have some warning.

I take the silverware from the dinner tray in there with me. One dull knife and a fork might be poor defense, but they're better than nothing, and Lyssa taught me to use anything in the environment to my advantage. Silverware is all I have right now.

So I'll make it work…if I have to.

I get a little shut-eye at least, though I'm cramped, stiff and cold when I wake to bright sunlight streaming in through the small bathroom window. Not even I am small enough to crawl through it—I already checked last night—and this morning I find myself wishing it was even smaller. The sun is way too bright.

I give a sad smile as I shield my eyes. I hated living in darkness all the time at Elysium, but I'd give anything to be there right now.

I get up and drag the sheets back through to the bedroom, then shower and dress. My muscles ache, both from the tension and my makeshift bed last night, but I'm as alert as ever, awaiting the inevitable visit from Don Imperioli. I spent my sleepless periods last night preparing, thinking about every word I will say, every reaction I will show.

And I've been thinking about what to do if my mother—once again—fails me.

I'm so bored that it's almost a relief when the door creaks open and Don Imperioli comes in again, that same false smile on his face. "Buongiorno, Aurora," he greets, taking the same seat that he took yesterday.

I'm sitting cross-legged on the bed in one of the dresses I found in the closet, the one I thought would make me look the youngest and silliest. Judging by the approval on Zepp's face, I've succeeded in that aim, at least.

I give a timid nod in response. "Buongiorno, Don Imperioli."

He launches into his new interrogation without any preamble. "So, little one, Hadria's resources... what do we know about her weapons?"

I shrug helplessly. "As I said…her people have guns. Knives."

"What kind?" When I give a hopeless, wide-eyed shake of the head to indicate that I have no idea, he gives a frustrated sigh. "How many?"

"I'm sorry, Don Imperioli. I just never saw?—"

"Manpower?" he presses.

And the questions keep coming—about Hadria's strength, her plans, her loyalists—just as my answers remain vague and unhelpful. Each question is a landmine that could blow up my carefully crafted facade of innocence, and I get slower and slower in my responses as I try to judge how my words might land.

Then I see it. The spark of doubt in his eyes. It's faint, but it's there; he doesn't trust me. He's trying to find out whether I'm really as innocent as I claim to be.

I search my mind frantically for a new play, something to stop the rapid questions, something to get a little breathing room?—

Ah. Of course.

I let the tears of frustration I've been holding back well up in my eyes and overflow. Before I know it, they're streaming down my face. "Please," I choke out between sobs. "I just want to see my parents."

Hadria was uncomfortable at best with emotion, and her father recoils visibly at my tears. "Alright, alright," he mutters, standing abruptly. "I'll arrange for your parents to visit this afternoon."

As he retreats, I try to wipe away my tears, but they keep coming despite myself. Inside, I'm churning with a mixture of relief and fear. I've bought myself some time.

But when I think about the fact that I might never see Hadria again, the tears keep on coming.

Breakfast and lunch are brought by the same cranky housekeeper, and this time I do have a few bites of the cheese sandwich at lunchtime. I don't know whether she's been told I'm a vegetarian or if she just wasn't going to make much effort. And as I pace the bedroom and watch the clock ticking, my nerves make my stomach churn around those few bites that I managed to eat.

Any minute now, my parents will arrive. The thought of seeing my father again fills me with dread. But I need to maintain my composure, act like some grateful little fool.

Everything depends on it.

At last I hear the heavy tread of footsteps outside the bedroom door, and the lock snicks open. My father's voice, laden with contempt, precedes his entrance. "Where is she? Where's the little whore who's caused me nothing but trouble?"

I steel myself and turn to face him as he bursts through the door, my mother trailing behind.

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