Page 48 of Of Lies and Shadows

There’s no softer way to say it. No dressing it up. There was no tenderness, no care. Just anger. Possession. Punishment.

At least, I think so.

The truth is, I don’t remember all of it. The moment he pushed me down on the bed, I went under. Slipped into the place I’ve relied on since I was a child. The place I callThe Lake.

It’s what I do when I need to survive something too brutal to face. My mind drifts to that still, quiet place, where nothing hurts. Where nothing touches me. Where I float and wait for the storm to pass.

I perfected it over the years, ever since I was a little girl. It started around my sixth birthday, the first time I heard my mother scream beneath my father’s fists. That was the night The Lake was born. And ever since, it’s been my sanctuary. My shield. My escape.

Until last night when Dante's mouth brushed my neck. A single, too-soft touch that pulled me out too soon. Ripped me from my peace and dragged me back into a body I didn’t want to be in.

Now I sit on the edge of the bed, sore, hollow, and wearing a shame I never asked for.

He came inside me. That alone makes my skin crawl. I told myself it didn’t matter last night, that I could deal with it later, but now, in the silence of the early morning, it’s all I can think about.

He said he’d never give me a child. Like it would be a punishment.

As if I would ever want to carry a child with his blood.

The thought twists my stomach, but so does the guilt that follows. Because I love his children, God help me, they are the only reason I didn’t genuinely consider ending myown life.

Lucia’s sweetness. Alessio’s mischief. They kept me breathing.

I check my phone. A few missed messages. Bruno.

Are you okay?

Please text back.

Just say something so I know you’re safe.

His worry settles like a balm over the hollowness in my chest. My protector is near, even if his protection can’t extend to the places I need it most. Not here. Not now.

I think of Dante again. Of the way I rushed into the bathroom the moment he finished. Of how I tried to scrub him off me, to erase every trace of what happened, but when I stepped out, he was still there. Silent. Watching. And I had no choice but to retreat. Back to The Lake. Back to survival.

I’ve been awake for over an hour, far earlier than I need to be. But that’s good. I need time. I need control.

I’m fine. Don’t worry,I text Bruno quickly, fingers trembling slightly over the keys.Can you go to the pharmacy for me, please? I need Plan B. Sorry.

His reply is instant.

I’m going now. I want to kill him, you know.

I stare at the words, the truth of them, the fury in them. But I just shake my head.

He’s not the one to blame, I type back.

And I mean it.

Because the world we live in, the men who raised us, the families who weaponized us, the contracts and blood debts and chains disguised as rings, they’re the real monsters. And I was born into their den.

I step into the shower again, for the second time in less than twelve hours. The water is hot, almost scalding, and I welcome the sting. I scrub hard, hoping this time it will work—hoping that maybe now, finally, the feel of his skin will be gone for good.

I don’t cry. I haven’t in years. Not for this.

When I step out, I avoid the mirror. I always do. I’ve learned that looking at myself too long is a mistake.

My reflection judges me.

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