Page 102 of Deception

“Sourpuss.”

“Dickweed.”

“Anyway, our great-uncle Giancarlo had this designed for his wife. Aunt Eva spent hours out here, trimming, singing. One of my favorite memories as a little kid.”

Ero is conspicuously silent, not offering any jabs.

I feel his eyes on me, though.

“Not that you need to know any of that…” Ciro catches the look, clearing his throat.

“I’m your prisoner,” I state, feeling bolder in the sunlight. “What does it matter what you say in front of me? What’s the difference?”

If there’s a chance they’re going to kill me anyway, I may as well show them who I really am. And find out anything that could buy me a few more minutes of life.

“Hmm. Ballsy. I like it. This way.” Ciro leads on, growing quiet the farther we get into the maze of trees and flowers.

As we round a bend in the walkway, I see a picturesque gazebo out in the center of the garden. Pausing to lock the memory in my mind, I have a second of heartache, a flash of a life that could be.

A wedding, on this lawn. Kissing the man I love, taking his ring.

Children running, playing together in the grass.

Alessandro chasing them.

“You alright?” Ciro asks softly.

“Yeah. Just overwhelmed.”

“He thought you’d like it out here,” Ero mumbles behind me.

I turn, my brow furrowing. “He knows I’m out here?”

“He’s the one who told Adriano to make this happen, so yeah.

“Make what happen?” There’s more to this than I thought.

“It's easier if we just show you.”

“Always so dramatic…” Ero huffs, shaking his head.

I notice someone sitting inside the gazebo as we approach, a woman with golden blonde hair. A puzzled look sweeps across my face and I look to either of the brothers for a clue.

Both of them are smirking. Well, Ciro is. Ero is…

Making a face that could give children nightmares.

Their mischievous behavior conflicts with the menacing reputation I know they’ve earned. “You two must have driven Alessandro nuts,” I can’t help commenting.

“Only what he deserved.” Ciro gestures for me to go on alone.

Stepping into the cool confines of the white wood pillars, I startle as I hear a tiny, cute voice exclaim, “Mama! Mama! Look. I draw a pity flower!”

“Pretty flower, Gigi. And it’s beautiful.”

“Tha’s what I said,” the little girl pouts.

My eyes lock onto her, her dark curls, her blue eyes. Something about her captivates me, catches my attention. Something hauntingly familiar.

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