Page 96 of Revenge & Ruin

“No,” I say firmly. “This may have become personal for you when your grandparents died, but your parents murdered myfamily.I can’t…I can’t just pretend like that didn’t happen. I can’t forgive your mother for what she did.”

Isabella runs her hands through her hair as if she’s trying to tug it out. “My mother didn’tdoanything! Your parents set mine up! They agreed to a meeting, only for yours to set the place on fire.”

My neck almost snaps with how quickly I look at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”

She glares right back, the stubborn tilt of her jaw telling me she has no intention of backing down.

“Your parents invited mine to their home for so-called ‘peaceful’ negotiations. But it was a trap. They locked my parents inside and tried to burn the place down. You can’t blame my parents for escaping, even if it cost them their lives.”

My jaw feels like it might fall off entirely.

“You…you think it wasmyparents? That they started a fire in their own home?”

“Iknowit was your parents.”

Something inside me churns, and I have a dangerous urge to vomit. “Who told you that? Did she tell you that?”

“You’re going to sit there and tell me my mother is a liar?”

“YES!”

“Fuck you, Teo. You weren’t even there. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“But my SISTER WAS,” I all but roar in her face. “You think my parents would set fire to their own home, knowing that their eight-year-old daughter was sound asleep upstairs?”

Isabella suddenly goes very, very cold. “W-what?”

“She didn’t tell you?” I would laugh if it wasn’t so fucking painful. “Of course, she didn’t tell you. Why would she?”

“Tell me what. Teo, tell me what?” Her voice, though quiet now, is laced with desperation.

It’s strange that things were so warm before when we were just drinking our coffee and enjoying each other's company. Now, it’s almost as if I can see the ice crawling up the walls, the clouds of breath that escaped her trembling mouth.

She didn’t know.

This whole time, she thought I was fighting to settle some kind of generational score.

“Isabella,” I say softly before stopping myself. I’m trying to find the right words.

“Teo!”

“I…” I swallow and take a long breath. “She was sick that day. We were both supposed to stay at Rocco’s, but she was too tired to get out of bed. So I just…we just left her there.”

Isabella’s eyes are already filling with tears. “No.”

“She was only eight. The doctor said the fever would pass overnight, and my mother wanted to stay by her side. But the meeting with the Natalis was important. My parents fought about it before I left for Rocco’s.”

I look away. “The last thing I said to her was to get better. That I’d see her again in the morning.”

Isabella makes a strangled kind of noise.

“They told me after that my parents…their bodies…they were in my sister’s room when they found them. They must have gone up to get her, but by that point, it was too late.”

“She…she wouldn’t,” Isabella croaks through her tears. “She…she…”

Instinctively, I pull her close to me as the misery of my words wrecks her body. Her grief is so shockingly familiar I feel my own heart clench at the sight of it.

My sister’s death, my parent's death, is a burden I have carried my whole life. But I never suffered under any delusion about who was responsible for it. Even if there’s still a part of me that wants to blame myself.

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