Page 31 of The Villain
“How long?” she asks, surprising me and I recall how she lost her mother five years ago. I suppose we have that in common.
I shift my gaze back to her ready to tell her I’m not interested in discussing our pasts, but I stop because I see something I don’t expect. An openness on her face. A vulnerability. It catches me off guard and I hear myself speak before I even think about how to answer.
“Twenty-nine years.”
She looks confused. She doesn’t know my exact age. I’m afraid she’s going to tell me she’s sorry for my loss, but then she speaks, surprising me again. “I was fifteen,” she volunteers. “I’m afraid I’m forgetting her face. Her voice. I’m scared I’m going to forget her.”
I don’t speak. I can’t. I can’t fucking breathe. I just sit there watching her.
“Sorry. Never mind.” She shakes her head, clears her throat and although her eyes are damp, she doesn’t cry. “I feel like the president,” she says, gesturing to the SUVs ahead and behind ours.
I’m glad for this change in topic. I’m ill equipped to respond to whatever that was.
“Your father traveled with a motorcade larger than this if I recall. I suppose Michael and Malek have slimmed down given budgeting issues.” I know the finances of the Moretti family have dwindled since her father’s death. Payments haven’t been coming in like they would when Alaric was at the helm. There’s a lack of respect for Michael. The tide for the Moretti family was changing even before I stepped in. Does Allegra realize that?
She’s quiet for a few minutes. “I’ve been here on a school field trip,” she says as we pull out of the gates.
“Excuse me?”
“St. Anastasia. Before you bought it. It’s a replica of a church in Verona.”
“You know that?” I ask. She nods. “Have you been to the original?”
“I’ve never left the country,” she says.
“That’s too bad.”
“It was rumored something like the Spanish Inquisition was held here by some bad priests, but nothing was ever found.”
“Is that so?” I don’t offer any details on what was uncovered during my rebuild.
She shrugs a shoulder. “What you said about my dad last night, you’re wrong.”
“Does your brain always work like this?”
“Like what?”
“Jumping from one topic to another? It’s exhausting.”
“Am I going too fast for you?”
I snort. “I’m more worried about you tiring yourself out.”
“Well, don’t worry about me and I’ll try to speak more slowly so I don’t overtax your brain,” she says, doing just that.
I raise an eyebrow.
She smirks.
“Your father wasn’t a good man if that’s what you’re trying to tell me,” I say.
“He never hit us.”
“Well, he hurt plenty of people, Allegra. And no matter how you feel about him, you’d have been a pawn to him.”
“You don’t know anything about him.”
“A daughter is always a pawn.”
