Chapter Three Common Ground

CHAPTER THREE COMMON GROUND

I wanted to say something, anything to distract from the feeling of hurt blooming in my chest, but in the next instant, he was gone, and I was alone again. Dwarfed by the sudden, jarring silence, the realization that I had just been dumped by the only person in this house I felt I could rely on. Dumped by someone who probably never felt a shred of what I felt for him. And what did that mean for my future? If I didn’t have this family, I had nothing. If I didn’t have my cause, then I had nothing to move towards.

I left the library and made my way back into the house. Elena was in the kitchen, soaking tea towels in disinfectant in a basin. She had been tending to Dom and Gino all afternoon. She greeted me by way of a hiss.

‘Save it,’ I snapped. ‘I’m not in the mood.’

She followed me across the room, stood over me as I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. I slowed my movements, tried to show her I wasn’t intimidated, even though I could feel her gaze in the hairs on my neck. ‘Well, maybe I’m not in the mood for a Marino living under this roof, girl. Maybe I’m not in the mood for the gifts your family sends us.’

I slammed the fridge shut and threw her a withering look. ‘Well, maybe you should get over it.’

‘You’re too close to my sister, girl.’

‘And yet it’s you who share her blood,’ I pointed out. ‘I’ll never be as close to her as you are.’

Her expression changed, her eyes narrowing, and then something weird happened. Her lips quirked up, and she offered me a half-smile. ‘You’ve gotten tougher, little Marino.’

‘Trust me,’ I said, returning her smile and matching the faint maniacal undertone in it. There was no happiness in this moment. ‘This is only the beginning of my strength.’ I felt the slow burn of all that rage inside me and kept it there, ready to use as a weapon when the time came. Luca, or no Luca, I would have my revenge. I would finally stand up for myself. ‘I am going to kill your sister.’

Elena’s smile grew, stretching her cheeks wide. ‘Not if I get to her first, Persephone.’

There. My name. Not the ideal version, but still. It was better than ‘worm’. It was better than ‘Marino’.

‘I hate her,’ I said simply. ‘I hate her, and I want her to pay, and I don’t care how or when it happens, but I want to be a part of every second of it.’

‘Well,’ said Elena, stepping closer until the air between us became a potent mixture of her floral perfume and the faintest scent of smoke. ‘There is something, then, that we have in common.’