Chapter 55

FIFTY-FIVE

XERO

I step back, letting Amethyst into the kitchen. Our eyes lock, and I see a flicker of the woman she used to be before her expression shutters into a blank mask.

My heart sinks, but I hide my disappointment behind a smile. It will take more than a week of bedrest to overcome her ordeal, and I’m determined to give her time.

Myra stares up at me with wide eyes. The last time I saw her was when they were both unconscious in the back of that limousine after the book fair. Isabel and Dr. Dixon picked them up in a triage van and put them both on saline until they regained a semblance of consciousness. After that, Camila transported Myra to her apartment, and I took Amethyst back to Parisii Drive.

Back then, I wanted to throttle Myra, both for retaining a physical copy of the manuscript I’d taken trouble to delete, and for leading Amethyst into danger. I let her live because she’s the younger sister of my attorney and a loyal friend to my little ghost.

Amethyst gasps at the platter of arancini on the table. I made it with a marinara dipping sauce, based on something I read in the diary I obtained from the Salentino sisters.

“This is my favorite,” she cries.

Myra frowns. “Really? I didn’t know you liked Italian food.”

Amethyst rubs the back of her neck and frowns. “Maybe I ate it at my other school?”

The pair continue to the table, where I’ve laid out a parmesan and arugula salad and jugs of lemon-infused water. Sun filters through the tall windows, casting a warm golden light over Amethyst’s blonde curls. Her skin is paler than usual, with dark circles under her eyes, but the smile on her lips is genuine.

“So, how did you escape the electric chair?” Myra asks as I take my seat opposite Amethyst.

“With great determination and cunning,” I reply with a flash of my teeth.

Camila sets down a platter of antipasto, takes her seat opposite Myra, and kicks me under the table. Ignoring my sister, I watch Amethyst, wondering if she’ll eat. Isabel put her on a liquid diet because she wasn’t keeping down solids. I hope this dish will make a difference.

“Did you make this, Xero?” Myra asks.

I turn my attention to the redhead. “Don’t worry, Myra. No hearts were sliced up to create this arancini. I usually reserve body parts to serve with fava beans and chianti.”

She shifts in her seat and pales.

“Xero, stop being a dick to my best friend,” Amethyst says with more passion than she’s expressed since the night she broke through the illusion.

“Sorry, my love,” I reply with a smirk.

Amethyst flushes. “You should apologize to Myra.”

I turn my gaze to the redhead, who shakes her head.

“It was a joke.” She picks up a piece of arancini and pops it into her mouth. After taking several careful chews, she adds, “But your talents are more suited to cooking.”

Grinning, I turn back to Amethyst, who shoots me a stern glare, but the corners of her lips twitch at her little friend’s comeback.

She picks up a golden ball and studies it for several seconds. I lean forward, wondering if it triggers any memories. Melonie Crowley’s diary was disturbing, and the mental torture Amethyst endured drew a surprising parallel to what I put her through when I first left prison.

Knowing what happened to her all those years ago might help her understand a little more about her sister. And Amethyst’s own connection to Father. But I’m not sure she’s ready to read the diary

On the subject of my bastard sire, some of the information from my recent encounter with Carl Hunter was unexpected. No one I’ve ever captured has given me such in-depth insight into Father’s background. The Deputy Chief of Police was such a valuable font of information that I kept him alive for further interrogation. Now that he’s started to talk, getting more background information on Father will be a breeze.

Cooking this dish from scratch was necessary to give myself something to do other than oscillate between my hatred of Father and fretting about Amethyst’s mental state.

Amethyst finally takes a sniff, then a bite. She closes her eyes as she savors the mozzarella-filled rice ball. My breath catches as the corners of her mouth lift with a smile.

Satisfaction roars in my heart at having nourished the woman I love. The thought of lifting her mood ignites my heart with sparks of joy.

“My mom used to make these when I was little,” she says, her voice wistful. “I liked this one, but my sister preferred the one she stuffed with meat.”

Her eyes widen, and she sucks in a sharp breath. “How would I know that?”

“Are your memories returning?” Myra asks with a gasp.

Amethyst shakes her head, her brow furrowed. “No. Maybe… It just came out.”

Silence settles around the table. I sit back, watching her take another tiny bite. Her features pinch as if trying to dredge up another memory.

“I don’t actually remember Mom making this for me,” she says, lowering her lashes. “She doesn’t even like carbs.”

Camila shoots me a glance, seeming to ask if Amethyst remembers her mother is dead. I give her a discreet nod.

Myra leans into Amethyst and places an arm around her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Amethyst nods, her eyes meeting mine. “This is lovely. Thank you.”

I return her nod and smile. Then the tension around the table lifts as my sister and Myra break into a conversation about the happenings in her apartment block. Amethyst returns to her arancini, takes another small bite, and chews.

“Are you still accepting clients?” Myra asks me.

My brows rise, and I suppress a surge of irritation that she even knows I’m an assassin attached to a clandestine organization. “Is there someone you want me to kill?”

She smirks. “Maybe?”

“Your boss?” Amethyst asks with a tiny smile.

“If you can throw my ex-boss in a truck and scare him into sending me a text, that would be perfect,” she replies, her eyes dancing with mischief.

Amethyst chokes, coughing and sputtering. I rise off my seat, but she waves me off, still laughing. “Cesare from Wonderland?”

“Yeah,” Myra replies with a nod.

“What’s he done now?”

“I told him I wasn’t coming back, and he said okay.” Her features harden into a scowl. “No fight, no questioning, no bargaining. Just a bland ‘okay’.”

“Good riddance,” Amethyst mutters. “Cesare Montesano is bad news anyway.”

Camila nudges my arm. I turn to meet her meaningful look that I translate as a strong suggestion to tell Amethyst about her real family. I force back a grimace and nod, wondering how the hell she’ll react when she discovers her birth father is a second cousin of the Montesano brothers.

Dessert is a red velvet cake to replace the one I destroyed on her birthday. Amethyst picks at her portion, but Myra dives in, her silver fork sinking into the creamy frosting.

“This is so good. Did you make it?” Myra asks.

I nod.

“I’ve never had a red velvet cake like this. What’s the secret ingredient?”

“Blood,” I deadpan.

She chokes, her brows shooting to her hairline. “What?”

“And a large quantity of criollo cocoa beans,” I add.

Myra glances at Camila. “Is he joking?”

“Probably not.” My sister takes a huge bite of cake.

Amethyst picks up her fork and begins to poke at the red velvet sponge, her brows knitted together. “It looks the same as any other cake.”

“Have you ladies heard of cochineal?” I ask.

When all three of them shake their heads, I lean forward. “Once upon a time, there was a little bug who lived on a prickly pear cactus. One day, the bug was just minding its own business, inches away from a juicy, ripe pear when a human crushed it between his fingertips. As life drained out of its carcass, it dyed the man’s skin red.”

“This is bullshit, right?” Camila asks.

I shake my head, my grin widening. “The other humans saw the dye and were amazed by the radiant, deep red. Word spread, and soon humans used the cochineal bugs to dye their clothes, to make art, and even to color their food. And that is the secret ingredient to the red velvet cake.”

Myra sets down her fork and grimaces. “Remind me not to ask how you make salted caramel ice cream.”

Amethyst laughs. It’s a rich, genuine sound that fills the kitchen and lifts my heart. She takes a generous bite of the cake and hums her appreciation. My chest aches that it was Myra who drew out this reaction and not me, but I appreciate it just the same.

After lunch, I light the fire pit outside, and Isabel joins us for coffee, where Amethyst repeats my tale about the red velvet cake. This time, she adds embellishments to the bug’s backstory, and adds a love interest who seeks out the first human to get revenge.

I sit beside her on the bench, hanging onto her every word, enraptured by her story. This is the woman who captured my heart with her Rapunzel retelling. Amethyst made the time I spent on Death Row bearable, and here she is again, lighting up my life.

Guilt twists my heart at the reminder of how I unknowingly mirrored a trauma so heinous that her mother was forced to erase it from her mind.

If Amethyst is ever going to heal completely, then she needs to know the truth. About everything, from the root cause of her hallucinations to why my actions got her captured. If I hadn’t aggravated that sore spot in her psyche, she might never have set her crawlspace on fire and escaped into danger.

The conversation lulls, and she leans on my arm, her eyelids drooping. Myra glances over at us from the other side of the fire pit and smiles. She may have reservations about her best friend being involved with a mass murderer, but she doesn’t know the extent of Amethyst’s darkness.

Amethyst slides her hand over mine, and the touch of her fingers infuses my veins with hope. Hope that she’s on the way to recovery. Hope that she will overcome her tragic past and will still want me in her future.

As the fire dances and crackles in the pit, I gaze down into the curls nestled against my shoulder and wrap an arm around her waist. Inhaling her peach-and-vanilla scent, I luxuriate in this moment.

No matter what, she’ll always be mine, and I’ll follow her to the ends of the earth. I’ll wait an eternity for my little ghost to return. And when that day comes, I’ll cherish her with every fiber of my being.

Clouds drift over the sun, bringing with them a shadow of doubt. I tighten my hold on Amethyst, wanting to freeze time and keep her here, safe and unaware of the darkness that binds our souls.

This might be our last moment of closeness for a long time after she discovers how deeply connected I am to her trauma.