Page 16 of Guarded By the Yeti

“Ysella...” He caresses my hair gently. My white hair.

“It happened again when I was eighteen. I was dating this guy, and he cheated on me. This time, I told my brother. I was hurting, and I thought I could trust Artie. But Artie told my father, and... you guessed it. My father killed my cheating boyfriend and his entire family. Then I... I just stopped making friends, stopped dating, stopped living. Because something would go wrong at some point, and someone would die.”

He leans in and kisses my forehead. “I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

“I know.” My voice turns cold. “That’s why I don’t regret what I did.”

“What did you do?”

I’m pretty sure he knows what I’m going to confess. It doesn’t make the confession any easier.

Chapter Ten

Ysella

Some might think I was privileged to be born in a family that gave me everything. I was a spoiled child. More spoiled than my brother, who was three years older than me. I was daddy’s little princess and mommy’s precious flower. Since the moment I was brought from the hospital – a fussy bundle of joy – my brother was like, “Touch my sister and die.” From the moment I could talk, anything I wanted, I got. I didn’t have to ask twice. Then I went to kindergarten, and later school, and noticed that the teachers were afraid of me. They never lectured me if I forgot to do my homework, and I always got a pass when I wasn’t prepared. From top to bottom, it was all As. When I got a B in History, my father spoke to the principal, and the next day, the history teacher amended the grade.

Spoiled rotten. No wonder everyone walked on eggshells around me, all smiles and compliments, and hated my guts behind my back. I never had any real friends. Until Ginny. We met in fifth grade. She was the daughter of a real estate mogul and just as spoiled as I was. We hit it off right away and were inseparable. We told each other everything. Or so she thought. By that time, I was starting to have a mild understanding of what my father did and why my family was so respected, but mostly feared. I witnessed things no fifth grader should witness, and I couldn’t tell Ginny because I was afraid I would lose her. While I was beginning to think the Carvassi family was bad – really bad... evil incarnate – I needed my best friend to see me in a good light. I kept up the façade as best as I could, but Ginny was maturing too, starting to think for herself. She could tell that while we were both rich and spoiled, we were not the same.

When I heard from other girls that Ginny was gossiping behind my back, telling people that I was a fake, and that herfather thought about my father that he was scum, and that we, the Carvassis, were all parasites, it broke my heart. Ginny was the only one I trusted, and she’d betrayed me. What’s a twelve-year-old to do? I went and told my father.

The news came the next week. There had been a fire, and Ginny and her family – even her grandmother, who was living with them – had burned to a crisp. No survivors. I was devastated. It was a tragedy that could’ve happened to anyone, though, so I didn’t blame myself for having had a fight with Ginny a few days before. But then my father knocked on my bedroom door and triumphantly announced that my silly friend wasn’t going to bother me anymore. He took care of it. He said it in a cryptic way and winked at me, and that was the first time my world collapsed. It was going to collapse a few more times after, but I remember clearly that was the moment when I realized who my family was. And who I was.

Ysella Carvassi. If someone as much as looked at me wrong, they were dead.

I hated it. I didn’t want to be like them – evil incarnate. From a spoiled princess, I turned into a recluse. No friends, no more going to school – I asked to be homeschooled. After my father told me what he did to Ginny and her family, I didn’t speak for three days. At first, it was because I couldn’t. The shock rendered me mute. But then, it was because I didn’t know what to say, and no one in my family would’ve been willing to listen. I felt like not speaking at all for three days was the least I could do in memory of my best friend.

I occupied my time with books. When kids my age went out and had fun, hooked up and tried alcohol for the first time, I was learning how to play the piano. Music was my escape. Practicing for hours on end until I got a piece right saved me from having to think about how wrong my life was. But I craved companionship.

Artie introduced me to my first boyfriend. Victor and I were both eighteen. He was charming and easy-going, and he was friends with my brother, so I thought it would be fine. Safe. I could let go and care about someone again. Except... after so many years of voluntary isolation, I fell in love hard. Victor became my world. I could already see us married with a baby on the way, living in a big house with a pool, somewhere far away from my family, preferably. Not that my parents were ever going to let me go. I was naïve. With my blind love, I ended up smothering Victor, and he escaped in another woman’s arms. He cheated on me.

I knew not to go to my father, but I had no friends, and I needed to talk to someone. I thought I could trust my brother, especially since he was the one who’d introduced me to Victor. Artie saw red. He didn’t even need proof. My word was enough, and even as I begged him to keep it between us, he said to me that no one made a fool of his sister and lived to tell the tale. I thought he was exaggerating. Artie got angry fast but was mostly harmless. I regretted telling him, but it was too late.

A week later, there had been – what else? – a fire. Victor, his parents, his two brothers and his dog – all dead. The girl he’d cheated with mysteriously disappeared, too. I didn’t speak for three days.

“I couldn’t live like that anymore,” I tell Kaelthar. “I thought of running away, but knew they would find me. And whoever helped me would’ve died. I was done bringing people death just because they got involved with me and weren’t perfect. No one’s perfect. I’m not perfect, so of course people will gossip behind my back, betray me, cheat on me... That’s normal. It’s human. It doesn’t mean they have to die.”

He brushes my cheek with the tips of his fingers, and I lean into his touch. He’s listening to me patiently, and I can see it inhis eyes that he isn’t judging me. He feels sorry for me, and that’s okay. Right now, I feel sorry for myself.

“I was the one who went to the Draganetti family and told them when to strike and how to do it.” Tears fill my eyes. “I had no choice. But of course, they’re mafia, too. They weren’t going to do it nice and clean. Starting a fire wasn’t their MO. They were more into chopping and butchering. They assured me their soldiers weren’t going to touch me, even if they’ll have to make it look like I wasn’t involved. Anyway, there’s no point in giving you the details. You saw what happened. Artie was supposed to die. They were taking their time with him. But then you and your team swept in and saved him.”

“You didn’t know your father had hired the MSA?”

“No. Had I known about the panic button, I would’ve gotten rid of it. That was my only mistake. I thought I knew everything my father did, but I didn’t know this one thing. He was paranoid, but he’d always been that way. I didn’t think he would hire outside security.”

We look at each other for a few long minutes. I’ve told him everything, and now I don’t know what else to say. I’m not sorry for what I did.

“Why not speak for three days if you’re the one who got them killed?” he asks.

“My mother. Despite everything, I loved her. I hated her for not putting a stop to it, for allowing my father and my brother to kill all those people, but I loved her. She was my mother, after all. We weren’t exactly friends. We didn’t share our secrets. Come to think of it, I barely knew her. She was distant and kept her thoughts to herself. I don’t think she was ever happy. I wanted to ask the Draganettis to spare her life, and maybe they would have, but then I thought better of it and realized she was part of the problem. Parasites. They had to all go so I could start a new life. Reinvent myself. I was selfish, I know. Iam selfish. But, good God, one day I realized I was twenty-three years old and couldn’t live the rest of my life like that. I had to do something. So, I did.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“You don’t?”

Even if I knew he wouldn’t, I still feel relieved.

He pulls me close, and I bury my face in his soft beard. He wraps his arms around me, and I feel safe. Protected. I feel like, finally, it’s over.

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