Page 182 of Dance of Deception

“Were you ever in one of the cages playing fuckingdress upwith him?" she asks coldly. "Bleeding and crying as he raped you raw with chains around your neck?”

My eyes squeeze shut, and I turn away as bile rises within me.

“No,” Vera hisses. “You weren't." Her nostrils flare, her grip tightening on the gun. “I did what I had to do. What I had to do to survive.”

“It was yourjobto protect me!!” I scream at her. “You're my MOTHER!"

“She’s not.”

I gasp, whipping my head around.

Carmine’s voice is low and shaky, but his words cut through me like a blade.

Suddenly, I can’t move. Can’t even think.

His head is still tilted forward, blood trailing down his temple, but his eyes are locked steadily on mine.

“Vera isn’t your mother,” he rasps, not taking his eyes off me. “Arkadi wasn’t your father. And Alison…” He swallows. “She wasn’t your aunt.”

The room tilts.

My pulse skips a beat.

“Alison was your mother, Lyra.”

The words hit like a wrecking ball, crushing my ribs, punching through my lungs, cracking my spine.

Carmine keeps going as my stomach drops into freefall.

“Her name was Alison Vos.” His voice is relentless, cutting the last fragile threads of my sanity. “She went missing twenty-three years ago, not far from here—just a few towns away, actually.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, my fingers curling into the ropes at my wrists.

No.

“It was initially assumed that she fell into the Hudson while rock climbing,” Carmine murmurs. “But…” He grits his teeth, raising his eyes to let his gaze sweep eloquently over the room.

I feel like I’m drowning.

“No,” I whisper. “That’s not?—”

But I already know it’s true.

The necklace. The photo. Everything.

It all clicks into place, in the worst possible way.

Vera sinks into a chair suddenly, like her knees just gave out. She looks… haggard. Worn. Haunted.

“Alison was one of his first,” she says quietly. “And she was pregnant.” Vera's voice is tired and monotone. She lifts her eyes, her lips tight. “You were born here, Lyra,” she says quietly. “In this very room.”

This time, there’s no stopping it. I turn my head and throw up violently, all over the floor.

“You have no idea what it was like,” Vera whispers as I dry heave, spitting bile onto the cement. Her voice is full of an emotion I can’t quite place—guilt, grief, or maybe something heavier than both.

“I washis, Lyra. He owned me. I never once had a choice.” She swallows, dragging a trembling hand through her hair. “You think Iwantedto watch? To know?” Her eyes flick to mine, and for the first time, I see a glimmer of humanity in them, however haunted and broken. “I knew what he was doing. I always knew.”

My throat closes.

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