Page 65 of Merciless Queen

Dimitri’s words of advice from years ago slip through my mind, lodging right into the front where it’ll be useful. Until I know for sure if Zeno’s lying or not, I need protection in any form I can take. I’ll be damned if he returns to find me lounging around. Anastasia’s advice:“Always understand your environment before attacking.”

Breaking from my actionless daze, I check the doors first, even though I heard the click of the lock earlier. Then the window, but it’s sealed shut without a way to open it, meaning I’m definitely trapped in here.

The ensuite bathroom reveals a path into another room, presumably a closet, but the door’s locked, which is strange for a guest room. Almost like something’s hidden in there that he doesn’t want others to find.

On my way back through the bathroom, a blue bottle catches my eye, and I study the expensive brand of men’s shampoo. Picking it up, the bottle’s half empty, and a quick scan behind the glass shower door reveals more men’s items. Conditioner, body wash of a few different scents…

Is this…? No. This couldn’t possibly behisroom.

I glance toward the locked door again, now a renewed wonder of why he’d possibly want to lock up his own closet when he didn’t plan on me being here.

I leave the bathroom more confused than earlier. Zeno, for better or for worse, is an enigma I’d like to solve. There’s too much mystery in all of this.

Back in the bedroom—hisroom?—I scour behind every painting on the wall, every piece of decor, everything tangible, seeking something useful. Something to use should Zeno’s kindness expire.

As I go through the space, whatever isn’t useful to me—which is everything—ends up in the centre of the room in a pile. For every addition, I smile. Maybe it’s petty, but right now, making a mess of his space is all I got.

Then I start on the bed by tearing off the blankets, sheets and pillows, tossing them right over my junk pile. Once the mattress is bare, I flip it off the bed frame and drag it toward the centre of the room, growing more and more pleased by my creation.

Next, the nightstand. The drawers are empty, which is too bad, since bedside items often reveal a lot about a person. But it’s the nightstand I focus on, as I stand amidst the disarray. Destroying a huge ass bed frame isn’t exactly easy, but a small nightstand…very doable.

I flip the table upside down with the intention of doing exactly what Dimitri once advised.“Make one. Become one.”I lodge one leg beneath the frame’s base and haul every pound of my body weight onto it, using force to separate the leg from the tabletop. It takes a few heaves, but with a loudcrackand a hissed,“Yes!”from me, the table leg breaks off. The end is fragmented and sharp, ideal for stabbing.

And then, with my homemade stake in my grip, I bunker down amidst my kingdom of destruction and wait for Zeno to return.

I might be pissed. I might be hurt. But a hurt, pissed-off woman is a vengeful one, and Zeno now has to deal with what he’s created.

Ostia.

Part of the Commune of Rome, but separate from the main city, is what locals refer to as a “large neighbourhood” but what the rest of the world might call a small town. Ostia, being on the edge of the Tyrrhenian Sea, has made it not only a decent tourist attraction, but also a summer getaway for those that don’t already call it home.

Including those residing in the mid-sized villa I’m walking to at the end of a dead-end road, the waterfront to one side serving as endless protection for the occupants.

Sticking to the building’s shadows, I peek over my shoulder and check I’m not being watched or followed, before hopping the hedges into the villa’s modest yard, exactly as I’ve done so many times before.

Around the back of the building, by the single door that’s always locked, I slip my key into the metal and enter the dimly lit space. Being late, the lights in the house have been lowered, except for the main one down the hall, which means she’s probably lounging with her preferred TV show.

My steps remain silent. So silent that when I enter the small living room, she doesn’t turn around from her place on the couch. A lamp in the corner casts a glow that adds to the TV’s brightness, which is playing some American reality show. She’s obsessed with them for some reason. They’re dumb and predictable and nothing about them is “reality,” but for the most part, they keep her in the house, so they have their use. She can watch them all to her heart’s content if it means my hair won’t be turning grey any time soon.

Across the room, the second occupant smiles immediately. Considering I messaged her before beginning the forty-five-minute drive from my place to here, my presence isn’t a shock.

I wave tomia madrebefore stepping up behind the couch and covering my sister’s eyes with my hands.

Since my steps were those of a trained killer—silent and undetectable—she lurches into action, her manicured nails clawing at the back of my hands.

“Z, you’re a fucking asshole!” she shouts as I lower my hands from her face.

No one else would sneak up on her how I do, so of course she knows it’s me. There’s numerous reasons Madre and her live in this small community. Safety and secrecy being the main ones.

“Serafina, language,” Madre snaps before returning to her task in the attached kitchen and mumbling something about siblings and their behaviours.

Serafina jumps from the couch, hands on her hips, and with a fake-angry pout that always makes me chuckle. I come around the furniture to pull her into a tight hug. One a bit longer than usual. Maybe it’s the week I’ve been having, and who’s now in my life, but a quick hold isn’t enough this time.

Based on the tap on my back and the fake cough, she isn’t feeling the same. “Uh, Zeno. Can’t breathe.” The messy mop ofhair she calls a bun brushes my chin when she tips her head back to look at me.

Reluctantly, I let my sister go so she can return to the couch. She leans across the table to mute the reality show—small mercies—and checks her phone’s notifications while she’s there.

Madre strides from the kitchen area, leaning in for her own hug. “Mio figlio, what brings you all the way out there?”

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