Page 21 of Brutal Crown
Marco shifts in his seat, almost like he’s holding himself back from stopping her. Or me. I watch her. Watch the shame ripple through the lowered frame. She isn’t crying, but I can tell she wants to.
And still, she stays on her knees. Obeying me.
When she finally stands and steps back, her hands stained red with the wine, she doesn’t wait for another word. She turns and walks out without a word.
I flex my jaw as I watch her retreating figure. There’s an ache in my chest, but I’m too damn stubborn to acknowledge it.
Silvia leans in, her voice a soft murmur beside my ear. “What’s going on with you tonight?”
I don’t answer her. I can’t. Instead, I refill my wine glass and take a drink. The wine tastes bitter now, the lingering taste settling on my tongue.
Dinner continues. The Morettis chatter away, their voices blurring into the background of my brain. At some point, Silvia rests a hand on my arm and says something in my ear. I don’t hear it. All I can think about is her.
Through the remaining torturous hours, I feel Marco’s cold and furious eyes on me. I meet his gaze and hold it, pretending not to care.
When the last toast is made and our guests prepare to leave, I go through the motions of saying polite goodbyes. I kiss Silvia’s hand and pretend I don’t notice her cold smile before walking away.
My feet don’t take me to my room.
I find myself heading toward the servants’ quarters. The last time I was here was two years ago. The dark hallways are still familiar as I follow the path that leads me straight to her bedroom door.
My hand is raised, ready to knock before I can stop myself. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m here. And I won’t leave until I see her.
7
LIA
Ilie on my side, facing the pale-colored wall, my fingers curled into the sheets as I struggle to anchor myself to the few happy memories I have of my short life.
I think about my mother, before she fell sick, how life was so simple. We were barely able to afford three square meals, but we were happy, and that was all that mattered. Back then, when the air didn’t feel like it was strangling me, when I didn’t pray for death, names like Romano and Moretti were distant—tales of powerful, wealthy men I would never get to cross. And I was fine with it.
Now, I’ve lived under their roof since I was eighteen. Tortured, humiliated, and hurt by them just for the fun of it.
A hot tear escapes my eye, sinking into the flat pillow beneath my head. My fingers claw at the bedsheet as I struggle to keep my tears at bay, struggle to forget them.
To forget him.
But it’s impossible, especially since his voice keeps echoing in my head. His actions shouldn’t sting like they do. I shouldn’t still feel the burn of his words from dinner, like they’ve tattooed themselves onto my skin.
Kneel.
That one word broke something in me. I’ve prided myself in the knowledge that the Romanos hadn’t taken everything away from me. They took my father, my freedom, and my happiness. But I still had my pride, my dignity. It was a small, insignificant thing. But it was still something.
When he told me to kneel before him, in the presence of his entire family and his future in-laws, he took away the last thing I had left.
I squeeze my eyes painfully shut.
God, I hate him. I hate that I let him humiliate me. I hate that I stayed on my knees while they laughed. I hate that I still feel the coldness of the wine he spilled on purpose against my hands. I hate that I can still remember the way he looked down at me, like I was dirt under his shoes.
But most of all, I hate that a part of me still wants to know why he did it. What was he trying to prove? That I am beneath them?
My chest aches. It’s a dull, lingering kind of pain, one that might never go away.
I freeze when I hear a knock on my door. One sharp, deliberate tap. Then another. I sit up.
It’s not Allegra coming to ask me for something. Her knocks are always quick and timid, like she’s apologizing for needing anything. And it’s definitely not any other one of the maids. They don’t come here this late.
I already know who it is before I hear his voice.
