Page 42 of Tormented Oath

"What? It's true." She waves us closer. "Come, sit. Tell me everything. Are you really a dancer? Do you like books? What's your favorite?—"

"Breathe, piccola," I interrupt, noting how the questions have brought color to her cheeks. Too much excitement isn't good for her. "Let Ava at least sit down first."

But Ava's already moving toward her, a soft expression in her eyes that makes my breath catch. She settles gracefully beside Angela's bed, asking about the book in her lap.

"Pride and Prejudice," my sister answers, lighting up further. "Again. Stefano says I should branch out, but?—"

"But sometimes you need the comfort of a familiar story," Ava finishes, and just like that, they're lost in a discussion about literature and romance and all the things I pretend not to understand for Angela's amusement.

They fit together so naturally—my fierce, beautiful Ava and my sweet sister. It’s like missing pieces sliding into place.

A shadow in the doorway draws my attention. My mother stands there, elegant as always in expensive silk, but her eyes are distant. She’s clearly lost in memories or grief. It's hard to tell anymore.

"Mama," I say softly, moving to her side. "Come meet Ava properly."

She focuses slowly, like emerging from deep water. "The D'Amato girl?" Her voice carries that familiar confusion. "But they left. They all left."

"She's back now." I guide her gently into the room. "And she's staying."

The last part makes Ava's head snap up, but I hold her gaze steadily.

"Ava." She stands smoothly, offering my mother a warm smile. "It's so good to see you again."

Something flickers in my mother's eyes—recognition, maybe. "You used to read in the garden. With Stefano."

"Yes," Ava says softly. "Under the oak tree."

"He was different then. Before..." My mother trails off, her hand fluttering vaguely.

Before the murders. Before I became the monster. Before everything changed.

"Mama," Angela calls, diffusing the tension. "Come hear what Ava thinks about Mr. Darcy. She agrees with me that he's misunderstood."

Just like that, they're all talking, my mother occasionally drifting away from the topic, but always drawn back by Ava's gentle questions or Angela's enthusiasm.

I stand back, watching how naturally Ava handles them both. I note how she adjusts her approach for my mother's confusion while still matching my sister's excitement. She seems to know instinctively what each of them needs.

"Your white blood cell count is better," I hear her say to Angela. "That's fantastic news."

My sister beams. "The new treatment's working. And Violeta—that's my nurse—says I might be able to start dance classes soon. Light ones, but still."

"Dancing?" Ava's eyes light up. "I could teach you, if your doctors approve. Something gentle to start."

The way Angela's face glows makes my chest tight. She hasn't looked this animated in months.

Even my mother seems more present, watching their interaction with something almost like her old awareness. She reaches for my hand, an increasingly rare gesture.

"She's good with her," she murmurs, nodding toward Ava and Angela. "Like she belongs."

"She does belong," I say quietly. "She just doesn't know it yet."

My mother studies my face, one of her lucid moments sharpening her gaze. "You'll keep her this time?"

"Yes." The word carries all the weight of a vow. And all the darkness of a threat.

"Good." She squeezes my hand once before drifting back to her own world. "The house needs life again."

I watch as Ava helps Angela with her afternoon medication, handling the awkward moment with grace when my mother’s hands shake too much to hold the glass. I watch how she naturally positions herself to support my mother when she sways slightly, making it look casual rather than protective.

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