Page 87 of The Madman and his broken Princess
“Nestore, if you love me, stop. If any part of you, of the boy I love, has survived, stop this madness. You’re becoming like him. Don’t give him this power.”
Fury lit up his eyes. “Don’t doubt my love for you. Why can’t you love the man I’ve become? The boy you keep mentioning is dead. He was killed by your father during the years locked in the basement. You should know.”
I knew. I ran my thumb over the stubble on his cheeks. “I love them both, which is why I want you to salvage your humanity.”
“I can’t kill him.”
I nodded because I’d expected that answer. Maybe he really couldn’t end his life.
But I could.
Could I?
I thought about ways to kill my father over the next two days. Nestore was busy with work, while I went through the arsenalof weapons that I had easy access to. The samurai sword in the foyer was out of the question, as were the kitchen knives. The idea of getting close enough to my father for either of those weapons to kill him was out of the question. I needed a less personal way to end his life.
But wasn’t killing someone always personal, no matter how you did it?
Eventually, I decided to steal one of the guns my bodyguards always carried in the holsters around their hips. They always took them off together with their jackets when they had lunch in the kitchen, a fact that I used to my advantage.
When I entered the kitchen, everyone stood at attention. My bodyguards rose from their chairs.
“I just want to join you for lunch. I don’t want to eat alone as long as my husband is away for business.” I had done it a couple of times before, but had always felt uncomfortable because of their tenseness.
Today, however, I had a task in mind. Steaming bowls of minestrone sat in front of each of my three present guards. I stepped up to one of the vacant chairs where they had draped their gun holsters and jackets over.
“That looks delicious,” I said.
“Would you like us to fix you a bowl?” Mindy asked with a shy smile, her hands clasped in front of her belly.
I smiled. “Yes, and a chunk of ciabatta if you don’t mind.”
I pulled the chair back and pretended to accidentally throw the top jacket and holster to the ground. My bodyguards began to rise, but I lifted my hand. “Let me. I dropped them, so I’m picking them up.” I waited for them to sink back down before I bent down, making sure my ass was turned their way so they had no choice but to avert their eyes. They never knew whether the kitchen staff would rat them out if they checked me out. I used their moment of inattentiveness to open the holster and slip oneof the two guns into the waistband of my tights. My dress was a loose-fitting A-line, so it concealed the shape of the gun now hidden beneath it. I draped the holster covered by the jacket over the chair, then sat down. The gun dug uncomfortably into my belly, but I couldn’t do anything about it now.
A bowl of minestrone was waiting for me with a big, chunky piece of ciabatta. I poured some olive oil onto a small plate, then sprinkled on a little salt and pepper before I dipped the bread in. I let out a sigh when I took a bite of the ciabatta, then dunked it into the soup and let the bread soak up the broth and olive oil. The result was melt-in-your-mouth delicious.
My bodyguards resumed eating their own lunch, and I noticed the leather satchel where they kept their dice. They always played a couple of rounds for money after lunch. I counted on them to do the same today. That way, it would take a while before one of them would notice the missing gun. It was a risky plan, but the only one I could come up with. I didn’t want to ask Flavia to buy a gun on the black market. Nestore hadn’t punished her for helping me hide, and I didn’t want her to raise his ire in any other way.
When I had eaten my bread and half of the soup, I rose to my feet. “Thank you for lunch. I need to lie down a bit. I’m tired. Enjoy the rest of your meal.”
My bodyguards rose a few inches from their chairs, then sank down in unison when I turned. I walked out in unhurried steps even as my pulse spiked. The moment I stood in the entrance hall, I sucked in a deep breath.
I wished I had time for a pep talk, but I couldn’t risk my bodyguards finding out what I’d done. My gaze moved past the kitchen door to the heavy steel of the very door that led down into the basement. It wasn’t the first time I’d gone down there after my escape, but I’d never been alone and never with the intention to kill my father.
I took a step closer, then another. Laughter rang out in the kitchen, reminding me of the very real danger of being caught before I managed to follow through with my plan. I couldn’t falter. I needed to gather my courage and do what needed to be done.
My pulse raced in my veins as I walked purposely toward the door and opened it. The darkness of the stairwell gaped menacingly before me. Fear clawed at my chest and made my throat tight. I took a step down, then another, goose bumps rising on my skin from the cold and the terror taking hold of me.
I could do this. For Nestore. For me. For both of us.
When I reached the last step, I paused and sucked in several quick breaths.
“Those are female steps,” a raspy, old voice said from the dark.
I jumped, my heart jerking against my rib cage as if it was trying to get out.
“It’s you, Amelia. My daughter.”
I shuddered and finally took the last step down into the basement. The stench of feces, blood, and urine permeated the dank air. Horrid memories scratched at the forefront of my mind, wanting to take over.
