Page 57 of The Devil's Den

I looked maybe four? I have to find out what the hell is going on, if what I saw is even real. Maybe Ms. Greco knows.

I hurry off the bed, realizing my nap took longer than I wanted it to. I’m supposed to cook lunch for Matteo and me today, kind of like our own date. I even planned to bring down an old CD player I got for my birthday from Ms. Greco. Food and music, that’s how people do dates in the real world, right? At least that’s what my cousins have told me.

I don’t care if my father finds out. He can fuck right off. Hopefully, he won’t be here for that. He left about twenty minutes ago, not saying a word, not even looking at me.

I haven’t been sent to the club since that day months ago, and a part of me hopes that maybe my father felt sorry for me. That somewhere in his withered heart is a place for a daughter, even if he kept her and her mother trapped in the basement.

I wonder if he ever thinks about what he did to me—having men rape me so he could get paid for it. Does he feel any bit of remorse? I doubt it. He doesn’t have an ounce of a soul and I don’t know why I still think he’s redeemable. I wonder where it went and when? I don’t think I ever saw it.

Do my uncles know what happened to me? Do my cousins have to do this too? I hope not. I don’t want that for them. For anyone.

I head down the stairs and right into the kitchen where Robby is busy eating meatballs while Ms. Greco cleans up.

“Aida? You okay?” She looks questioningly at me.

“No. I—” My eyes peek at Robby, but he’s not paying attention to me. “I had a dream or a nightmare. I don’t…” I run a hand down my face as I pace away. “Did you ever see me in the basement when I was little?”

“What do you mean?” She narrows a stare.

I let out a nervous laugh. “It’s probably crazy, but ahh…” I pause in front of her. “I had a dream about a woman, a blonde woman who looked like me and she gave me this memory of when I was small, maybe Robby’s age. I was locked in the basement here, with her. My father was there and he took her away. Then I woke up.”

Her eyes widen.

“It’s dumb, I know.” My lips tremble with a reluctant smile.

“You poor thing.” Her chin quivers. “That must’ve been awful. Let me um—let me get you a glass of water.” She turns from me, her steps hesitant before she heads off to grab a cup from a cabinet, pouring some water into it from the fridge.

She takes her time getting back to me, completely avoiding my gaze until she returns.

I take the cup from her outstretched hand. “You didn’t answer my question. Did you ever see me locked in the basement?”

“I don’t—”

“More!” Robby yells over her. “Please, give me more.”

“Sure, sweetie!” Ms. Greco rushes to the stove, grabbing the pot and bringing it over to the table, adding some more meatballs onto his plate.

“Are you going to start on that lasagna for Matteo and you?” she asks me.

“Yeah, I should.” I shake my head, realizing how ridiculous I’m being. Of course I wasn’t locked up in the basement with my mom. That would really be crazy. I’m sure I’m projecting with everything that Matteo and I have been through and how badly my dad has been to me. It’s no wonder I’m having crazy dreams.

Rolling up my sleeves, I go to the cupboards, grabbing the pasta, then head for the fridge and snatch the rest of the ingredients.

“You need any help?” Ms. Greco appears beside me. “I can mix the sauce for you.”

“No, that’s okay. I want him to know I made it from scratch.” I smile at her with a turn of my head. “I hope he likes it. He once said his mom would make the best lasagna.”

“You’re so kind, making him things that remind him of his family.”

My shoulders sway with a heavy sigh. “It’s the least I can do after what my father has done to him.”

“Yeah,” she ponders with a nod. “He’s an awful man.” Her voice lowers as though she’s afraid he’s listening. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has the rest of the house bugged too.

In the next hour, I cook the best meal I’ve cooked anyone in my life. I’ve never cooked anything from scratch without Ms. Greco there to guide and assist. But I’ve made lasagna with her in the past, so I remember how to do it.

With a beep from the oven, I know the food is ready. I cut two generous pieces for us, placing them on a plate, another one stacked under it.

“Okay, here goes nothing.” My stomach spins with nerves.

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