Page 72 of The Crimson Lily
I hate that word.
I rise to my feet, shocked but no longer confused—because as the memory of William de Loit being my cousin resurfaced, so did the faces of Jeremy and Delilah Springfield. Two goons picked by Roger de Loit, tasked to raise me as their own because my freaking parents, whoever they were, were so rash that they got themselves killed in whatever way! I am furious; the spite boils in my blood. My anger is at my throat, making a home there.
Doctor Rossi stares inanely at me.
“I’m leaving,” I declare. I turn around and head for the door. “Come, Maksim. Let’s go!” I call him like a good dog.
However, before passing through the threshold of Doctor Rossi’s office, a little sense of empathy blooms inside me. I look to the man who helped me uncover a part of my past that yours truly has buried.
“Thank you, but I need to leave,” I justify, my eyes forcing a sorry glance.
I march outside the beige building into a street decorated with tall, thick trees I really couldn’t care less about. I’m just walking away, as far away as possible, until Maksim catches my wrist and makes me turn around.
“You need to calm down,” he advises.
I pull my hand away. “Fuck you!” I shout impulsively, taking my anger out on Maksim with my words.
He seizes my shoulders and forces me to stand still. I’m hoping he’ll slap me. I want him to hurt me. I want him to make me feel pain. There’s no one around. Why isn’t he using those big hands of his?
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he orders with a grunt.
I begin to beat his chest, frantically, with soft fists landing on a mass of muscles not even a bullet can break through. He could seize my kitten paws right here and break them, but he doesn’t. He lets my claws turn to feathers and leads me to seek refuge inthe cage of his arms. Tears the size of oceans flow out of my eyes, which I struggle to keep open because every time I close them, I am faced with William’s smirk and the eviscerating idea that I was abandoned. That unfair loneliness that settled in my bones right after my accident, when no one came to claim me, is back.
“My parents are dead,” I manage to say between yowls.
Tell me something new, he probably thinks. But I can’t say more. Maksim leads me to a black car with tinted windows, which I don’t even make a joke about. We take off in an instant and drive in circles until I calm down enough to be able to talk.
The sound of the larger fountain outside on Piazza Navona is appeasing. My thoughts eased during a day of soundless roaming through Italy’s capital, Maksim by my side. He remained silent as I walked, and he gave me the time to come back to my senses.
We sit together inside the same restaurant I went to with Giovanna, before the Gatto di Strada; his name hasn’t even popped in my head once today. Maksim feasts on the largest portion of beef tagliata I’ve ever seen while I munch on a juicy pizza funghi, my mind absolved of any thoughts. I asked for aglio piccante becausewhen in Rome,I might as well eat like a true local.
I relish every bit of it.
When I go for my glass of wine, I lock eyes with Maksim and realize he’s been ogling me for a while now.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, hesitant.
He grabs his glass, and as he maintains my gaze, takes a sip that lasts an eternity.
“Something’s not right with you,” he says. “Are you ready to talk?”
I am. I relax in my seat, take one bite of pizza to pump me up, and get the confessing started.
“William is my cousin,” I declare, certain but incredulous. I’m not going to take any shortcuts, but rather get straight to the point.
Maksim doesn’t react. He just blankly stares at me with those gorgeous blue eyes.
I put down my glass of wine and clear my throat. “William’s father, Roger de Loit, was my uncle, and I’m asking myself if he was Syndicate too.” I pause to collect my thoughts. “Which also makes me wonder if my actual parents were Syndicate as well. And what about my fosters? I don’t know what happened to them, but I have a feeling they discarded me, just like the de Loits did.” I say that last part with such spite, I think I’m the one with the silver flicker in my gaze now.
“What do you want to do about it?” Maksim asks.
I cross my arms and sigh. I don’t want to do anything about it. It breaks my heart to think about my parents, even if I barely knew them. It destroys me to be aware of how the de Loits dumped me in the clutches of a family I still loathe. But who cares where the Springfields are now? I don’t. I care about the de Loits and what they meant to me. Something inside me aches to get to the bottom of this.
“I want answers,” I demand.
Maksim leans over the table. I can smell his delicious cologne come closer to me, a storm of cedar incense and sweet spice drawing near. I bite my lip, maintaining his gaze, which now matches the spark in mine.
“I want to finish my pizza and get back to the hotel,” I demand.
