Page 138 of Condemned By Pain
Their eyes land on me the second we step inside.
“She’s mine,” Mom says, eyes narrowing. “And here someone was saying it was one-sided, nothing serious, and she was over that Stockholm syndrome.”
I sit beside her. “I’m really sorry about your garden.”
She purses her lips. “Sorry doesn’t fix this.” Her eyes glisten. “Those plants were very dear to me.”
I wrap my arms around her. “I’m so sorry, Mom. I’ll help you replant every single one. Please don’t be so sad.”
I’m going to give this De Falco a serious punishment for this. He could have burned anything else, why did he have to burn my mom’s garden?
“She’s right, Mom. Don’t be sad. We’ll catch that bastard and make him work as your gardener.” Leo’s relaxed voice arrives with his footsteps.
“Don’t call him names.” I hiss, pulling away from Mom.
He settles across from me, arms crossing over his chest. “Or what?”
I grit my teeth. “You don’t have to be so disrespectful, Leo.”
“I don’t owe him any respect.” He drawls, “I don’t think a man who kidnaps women, burns cities, and kills innocents deserves anyone’s respect.”
“He only burned the garden, not the city. Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Don’t argue,” Mom scolds us.
Leo clicks his tongue. “She’s so delusional. I feel bad for her.”
“You don’t feel bad for anyone.” Avi scoffs. “You just want to get under her skin.”
I nod. “She’s right.”
Mom sighs. “Don’t argue, kids.” Her voice is heavy with sadness.
I hug her again. “Okay, we won’t. Please don’t be sadder.”
She rubs my forearm. “Do you really love him?”
I hum, pulling away.
“Don’t feed her Stockholm love, Mom. It’s a temporary attraction. It’ll go away.” Leo’s eyes stay fixed on me.
“How much do you know about attraction and love? You’ve been single since birth, now forc—” I stop myself, realizing I can’t finish that sentence in front of Mom.
Leo raises a brow, daring me to continue. I roll my eyes and look at Mom.
“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
Leo stands. “When you see him next—which we all know you will—tell Il Macellaio di Napoli that his days are numbered.”
I frown at the same Italian words.
“What does that mean?” I ask Aunt Abi. She knows Italian well.
“The Butcher of Naples.” She murmurs, frowning. “It’s the infamous title of a man who has burned Naples five times in the past decade. If that’s the same man who kidnapped you, then Leo is right, Wen.” She grows anxious. “He’s not the kind of man who can love. He’s killed so many innocents that there can’t be a human left inside him.”
The color drains from Mom’s face. Mine must be matching hers right now.
Mom cups my face in her hands. “Don’t see him again. Forget him. Please, Weni. A man like that will destroy you.”
