Page 210 of Vicious Intentions
“No. The last time I heard her speak was when she begged me to call Matteo’s mother a few days back,” Stella answers for him, sounding just as worried.
“Anna? Hey.” Lucky steps beside me, gently tugging at my sleeve until I finally turn toward him and the rest of the room. “Frankie and I were thinking maybe you’d be up for a trip to Russia this summer. Fresh air, horseback riding, gardening…there’s loads to do there.” He glances toward Stella and Kirill for backup. “Tell her about those ridiculous flowers Misha is obsessed with.”
Stella forces a hopeful smile. “He’s right. I think you’d really like the Petrov compound. It’s very peaceful there, and Misha’s has a library that puts ours to shame.”
I say nothing.
Instead, I walk over to Matteo’s piano and brush my fingertips across the closed lid.
“For fuck’s sake, Anna,” Lucky snaps, finally losing patience. “You can’t keep giving everyone the silent treatment.”
“Lucky… stop,” Frankie warns softly.
“No, babe. I’m sick of watching my sister walk around like a ghost. This isn’t healthy.”
“Leave her alone, Lucky,” Marcello says, his tone making it clear it’s an order, not a request.
“No. Us leaving her alone is how she got into this mess in the first place. We have to do something,” Lucky counters.
I should feel guilty for causing my family so much misery. I should feel… something.
But I don’t.
All I feel is numbness.
“Dolce angelo,why don’t you play something for us? Maybe one of your songs?” my mother asks softly, now standing behind me.
“Tesoro… maybe we should let Anna play when she wants to,” my father gently suggests, worried my mother is asking too much of me.
“I’ll play,” I reply, opening the lid as the entire room falls silent at the sound of my voice.
Pretending I don’t notice how the room has gone quiet, I lower myself onto the piano bench and press my fingers against the keys, letting them rest there for a moment before I begin.
The first notes come out soft. Hesitant. Like they might shatter if I press too hard.
They carry something warm… something that feels like light. Like the memory of love before it was stolen from me.
I can almost see Matteo. Almost feel his hand in mine.
And for one brief moment, breathing doesn’t hurt quite so much.
But it doesn’t last.
My hands begin to move faster, heavier, the melody slipping into something deeper. Something hollow.
The warmth fades and is quickly replaced by an ache that claws its way out through every note. Each key feels like another crack splitting through my chest, like I’m reliving the moment I lost him over and over again.
The music turns raw. Grieving.
No longer a memory, but an open wound laid bare for everyone in the room to hear.
“Fuck, I can’t handle this,” Lucky chokes out somewhere behind me before his footsteps hurry from the room.
“Lucky, wait,” Frankie calls, racing after him.
By the time I reach the end, my fingers tremble against the keys. The final notes linger through the room, unfinished and aching… just like me.
When I finally turn around, my family looks even more devastated than before I started playing.
