Page 113 of Veil of Obsession
I can still remember her voice. The way she said his name. The way her eyes softened when she smiled. I’d only ever seen her at social events, but she had such a gravitational pull over everyone around her that it was impossible not to notice her.
I curl into myself on the bed, my knees pulled to my chest, my fingernails biting into my skin. I want to scream. I want to tear the sheets off this bed and set them on fire. I want to find every mirror in this goddamn house and smash them until there’s nothing left but glass and blood.
Instead, I stare at the wall and whisper to no one, “I’m sorry.”
The words taste like ashes. And I don’t know if they’ll ever be enough.
I wanderinto the hallway again, my feet dragging across the cold marble. My reflection stares back at me from a glass cabinet: my hair is a mess, my eyes are bloodshot, and my skin looks pale and sickly.
I look like a ghost. I touch my face, startled by how cold I am. How numb.
This house is killing me slowly. The silence. The isolation. The absence of him.
Lucio.
I wonder if he’s thinking about me. I wonder if he hates me. If he’s planning to come back…
Or if he’s planning to hand me over. To Emiliano. To Romiro. To Dominico. To the Camorra. To whoever wants revenge. Because I know they want it. And I know I deserve it.
I close my eyes and picture his face. That moment in the apartment when he found out. The way he looked at me like I’d ripped his fucking heart out.
I did. I ruined the only man who ever saw me for more than just my last name. The only man who touched me like I was precious and dangerous all at once. The only man that made me feel as if I mattered.
And now I’m sitting in his hideaway, waiting like a prisoner for my sentence.
The silence stretches again. Minutes blur into hours. I check the time and don’t even register what it says. Just numbers. Numbers that mean nothing in this vacuum.
I go back to the piano.
Another key. Another note. A low, hollow sound that vibrates in my bones.
And then the tears come. Slow at first, like raindrops. Then faster. Harder. Until I’m sobbing against the keys, my shoulders shaking, my whole body folding in on itself like I can hide from the weight of what I’ve done.
I try to catch my breath. Try to convince myself that he’ll come back. That he still loves me. That I’m not completely alone in this fucking nightmare.
But the truth is? I don’t know anything anymore.
Except this: I’m sorry.
I’m so fucking sorry. And I’d do anything to take it all back.
The house is too quiet.Not the peaceful kind. Not the kind that makes you feel safe, like you can breathe again after the chaos.
No, this kind of silence iswrong. It presses against the walls like it’s trying to squeeze the truth out of the shadows. It wraps itself around my throat like a wire—tight and cold.
I sit on the edge of the bed in the guest room Lucio told me not to leave. My eyes dart to the crack in the door, then to the knife in my lap. My fingers curl tighter around the handle.
I haven’t slept since he left. That was…what? Two days ago? Three? I’ve stopped counting after the fourth day.
He said he needed to “handle something,” but he didn’t say what. Or when he’d be back.Ifhe would.
And now, every time I close my eyes, I see the blood. His. Mine. His mother’s.
I should have left already. Imeantto. I told myself I would. But every time I get near the door, I freeze. Like walking out would make it all real. Like it would mean I’ve chosen survival over him.
A creak sounds down the hallway.
I stop breathing.
