Page 19 of Twilight Mask

“I guess that’s it,” Valentina says, sounding chipper.

“Where’d you hear about that restaurant?” I glance back at her, slightly annoyed she kept me in the dark. I might’ve been able to negotiate better had I known.

“Dad told me about it.” She grins at me and shrugs. “What? He had files on every little clan and gang in the whole damn city. I actually read through the stuff, unlike you.”

I clench my jaw. She’s got a point there. I’ve been neglecting Luciano’s notes for a while now, but the guy’s got fucking terrible handwriting. Reading it gives me a headache.

“At least we have a plan. Get that restaurant back, somehow, and convince all the others, also somehow.”

“What would you do without me?” she asks and gets to her feet.

“Considering I’m subsidizing your lifestyle, I’d probably be rich at this point.”

She laughs and throws an arm around my shoulder. “Ah, come on, I earn my keep, boss.”

“Allegedly.”

Chapter 9

Laura

Ithrow myself into sculpting for the next couple of days. At some point, Angelo shows up with that list that I requested, and I toss the papers on my workbench, but I can’t bring myself to go through them.

Instead, I dump all my energy into completing two more sculptures in the next two months. I have nine more in the back yard, but dozens of smaller pieces I can sell at the next show, although I’d like to have more jackal ears. My life is hammer, chisel, dust, and sleep, with the occasional break for food.

Which is why it surprises the shit out of me when I turn around one evening to find Elena standing on my basement steps.

“What the hell?” I say, whirling around and brandishing my hammer.

She holds up her hands. “Laura, I was ringing your bell for like fifteen minutes. I knocked, I shouted, and I’ve been saying your name. You’re like in a trance.”

“I’m working.” I glare at her, although she’s right. I glance at the clock on the wall and realize three hours melted away without my noticing. This is what happens when I get deep into the zone: it’s like nothing but the work exists. Background noise melts away until my hands are my tools and the block of stone is begging to be released into its final shape.

It’s probably not healthy, this obsession, but it’s who I am.

“I just wanted to check in with you.” She glances around the basement and frowns at my work in progress. “That doesn’t look human.”

“It’s not.” I stand between her and the half-finished ear. “I’m fine. You can go.”

“Angelo told me you showed up at his house and asked about a show.” She comes down into the basement instead of out the front door, which is the opposite of what I wanted. I glance back at my work, already yearning to get lost in the flow again, but she’s not going to leave until we have a talk.

And to be fair, I haven’t given her much time lately. “I liked the last one.” I walk past her and head up into the kitchen. She follows, drifting after, and accepts a cold glass of wine when I pour.

“I’m not sure how to say this nicely, so I’m just going to say it. That’s not really like you.” Elena takes a long drink and smiles. “It’s good, but you and good don’t usually mix.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “I’m allowed to change my mind about some things.”

“I know that, and don’t get me wrong. I’m really happy you’re doing this. I’m just… trying to understand.”

I look away and bury my discomfort with wine. How am I supposed to explain to her that I met a man in a mask and let him finger-fuck me on a ledge until I had the best orgasm of my life? Oh, and we’re playing some weird game where my life’s in his hands and it’s the most erotic and exciting experience I’ve ever had? She already thinks I’m fucked up—for good reason, I did threaten to murder Davide’s wife at least once or twice—but this’ll just make her institutionalize me.

“I got a taste for what it’s like to have a life outside of this house.” I decide to go with a half-truth. “And I wanted to do it again.”

“That’s great.” The relief in her tone makes me feel guilty as hell. “I know you’ve struggled over the years, after what happened?—”

I give her a sharp look. “That was a long time ago. I was a teenager.”

“I know, I know, but I mean—” She hesitates, choosing her words carefully. “I’m not sure you ever dealt with it. Not really.”

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