Molly? My mother?
My head begins to spin the second I hear her name from this man’s mouth.
My mother … is alive? How can that be?
I remember the fire as if it happened yesterday. Our house went up in flames. I tried to save them, but there was no time, and I was suffocating in the smoke. How could she have survived that?
The more I think about it, the less I understand.
First, I find out my fake father is alive … and now, my fake mother is, too.
Why didn’t they ever try to find me and tell me they were okay?
Even if they stole me from my real father, that doesn’t mean I didn’t care for them. I always did.
Cillian’s eyes connect with mine through the rearview mirror. “We’ll be there soon.”
I don’t respond. I don’t know how. I don’t know if I’m supposed to be angry for being caught, or worried I will never be free again, or upset my mother is alive and well and that she never found the time to contact me.
The emotions swirling through my head are just too much to take, so I look away. Maybe my mother is still the gentle soul she was when she took care of me all those years ago. But if she isn’t … I’m probably going to wish I never ran away from Marcello.
When we finally get there, I can’t help but peer at the giant house in front of me. It’s much bigger than the one I grew up with, complete with a huge garden and a garage that could house several cars.
The car stops near a voice box, and Cillian starts to talk.
“I have her.”
There’s a beep, and the gates open. The whole property is surrounded by a gate that looks impenetrable as we drive through it. Even though the area is lush with greenery and beautiful trees, it still feels ominous going inside. Like I’m going from one luxurious prison into the next.
But this is my mother we’re talking about. She wanted to find me because she cares, right?
At least, that’s what I tell myself as the car stops right in front of the door.
Cillian steps out and quickly opens my door so I can get out, too. My eyes can’t help but peer up at the three-story building, wondering who would ever need such a huge house without a family to fill it. But then it hits me.
My fake father was part of the Irish mob, as Marcello said.
So that means … my mother is as well.
A cold shiver runs down my back. Cillian’s touch on my shoulder makes me jolt up and down.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I nod and walk toward the door because I know I have no choice. If I don’t come along willingly, he’ll force me to. I can deduce as much from his penetrative stare. I gulp as I approach the steps, each footstep feeling heavier than the one before.
When I get to the top, I don’t even have to ring the bell or knock on the door. It’s already open.
“Hello, Miss Fitzgerald,” a maid says.
The mere fact that she tries to address me with that name, as though it belongs to me, makes my skin crawl.
Still, I smile, if only to keep up the veneer of fake happiness. “Hi.”
“I’m so glad you’re back,” the woman says. But I don’t even know her. “C’mon.” She beckons me inside.
“Isn’t he coming?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder at Cillian, who goes back to his car.
“No, he’s got a job to do,” she replies.
I don’t think I want to know what kind of job that is.
I’m also way too occupied with staring at my surroundings, at all the beautiful tapestries and paintings hanging on the walls of this house, which reminds me of a nineteenth-century building. There are two rooms on each side of the hall and a big marble staircase in the middle that fans out when it gets to the top. Even the floors are made of marble, and I can’t help but wonder what kind of money they had to earn to afford this.
Blood money, I’m sure.
Suddenly, a woman in a dark red dress walks out of a room at the top of the stairs.
Mom.
Even though I haven’t seen her since I was a little girl, I still recognize that curly chestnut hair, puffy, round face, and signature lipstick from a long time ago.
My knees start to wobble as she clutches the railing, her light brown eyes boring into my soul.
“Harper …” The way she speaks my name makes all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
I didn’t think I’d ever hear her voice again.
She goes down the stairs with elegance and grace, her hand on the railing, her body sliding down like a snake slithers down a tree. While I’m frozen to the ground, she walks up to me and clutches my hands. “I’m so, so happy you’re back here.”
Her voice and over-the-top Irish accent make me cringe.
Her voice is so warm and filled with love that it undoes me. “Mom.” Even though I don’t know if I can trust her or not, my whole body yearns for her touch.
And when she finally opens her arms, I fall into them with happiness. My head rests against her chest as we hug tight, and for a moment, I can forget every bad thing that has happened to me since the fire. Since I started looking for my parents’ murderer.
But she is not dead. She’s here, in the living flesh, finally in my arms.
And still, the fire of anger in my heart cannot be quenched.
I unfurl myself from her arms and look up at her. “I didn’t know you were alive … All this time, I thought you and Dad were dead. Why didn’t you ever come looking for me?”
“Oh, A leanbh.” She grabs my face and looks at me. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to be hurt by everything.”
A leanbh. I have no idea what it means, but it sounds like “honey” or “darling” to me, so I guess I’ll take it as such.
“What happened to you at the fire?” I ask.
She makes a face. “Oh, c’mon now, let’s not talk about that horrible night. We have so much catching up to do.” She places a hand on my back and guides me along. “Come. Let’s go into the living room.”
I’m partly surprised she brushes over it so easily, but at the same time, I’m too overcome with emotions to care.
We go into the room to the right, a place that’s filled with couches, a big fireplace, and windows that go all the way from the ceiling to the floor, lighting the entire room. My mother sits down on the big white couch right in front of the fireplace and flicks her fingers at a maid, who quickly dashes off.
Within a minute, she’s back, placing refreshing drinks on a glass table in front of the fireplace.
“Thank you,” I say to the woman, who just smiles and blushes.
My mother says nothing. Instead, she rolls her eyes. “Leave us.”
No thanks for the drinks? Was she always so coldhearted?
“I’m glad Cillian was finally able to track you down. After you escaped Marcello’s grasp, I was afraid we’d never be able to find you,” she says, picking up her drink with flair.
I frown. “How did he know where to look?”
“Oh, we’ve been tracking your every move since your father ambushed Marcello in that warehouse.”
Tracking my movement?
Does that mean she also knows about Marcello’s hideout?
She takes a sip of her drink, but all I can focus on is the fact that she knew my father ambushed Marcello. And it doesn’t seem to do anything to her. There’s no emotion coming from her at all, and it makes the room suddenly feel chilly.
“I was so angry he had bought you at an auction,” she says, huffing. “Can’t believe the gall.”
“How did you …?” I murmur.
“A leanbh, we have eyes and ears everywhere,” she says, her glare making me feel hyperaware of my environment.
I can’t ever forget I’m in the lion’s den.
“Ever since that wretched Igor set our house on fire, we’d been searching for you nonstop, but you went under the radar … until you suddenly showed up at that auction,” she says, putting down her drink again while keeping her eyes on me. “But then Marcello bought you. I wanted nothing more than to personally wrap my fingers around his neck.”
I don’t know why, but it feels like she’s clawing at mine instead.
I shift in my seat, uncomfortable with where this is going. Why would she talk about Marcello instead of us, our family, and the night that shaped all of our lives?
“But your father and I fought hard to get you back.” She grabs my hand, gently caressing it. “And I’m so glad you’re back where you belong now.”
I slowly retract my hand from hers. “But you … never told me about my real father. Igor.”
Her brow rises. “Igor. So Marcello told you?”
Rage bubbles to the surface. “You knew, and you never told me. Don’t you think you should have?”
Her eyes suddenly turn icy. “That grimy schmuck didn’t deserve you.” Her voice is much raspier, just like her face has gone stone-cold. “Ripping your tiny little body from his wife’s dead fingers was the best revenge I could ever dream of.”
My eyes widen as I lean back on the couch, completely shocked at her viciousness.
“He killed my daughter, Alannah,” she says.
Alannah. Marcello’s fiancée.
It’s all connected.
“So you replaced her with me,” I mutter.
She nods unapologetically. “And I don’t regret a single second of my decision.” There’s that same dark smile again. “Because you’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman. My only daughter.”
When she reaches for my face, I lean back even more. “Don’t.”
Her face tightens again, and she grinds her teeth. “Tell me what happened to your father.”
“You mean Frank?” I say.
A father would never do what he did to his kid.
Her eyes narrow. “He is the man who raised you.”
“The man who used me to get revenge on someone else. The man who stole me away from my real father,” I spit back. “And I don’t know what happened to him.” I swallow. “After we landed in the water, he …”
I can’t even finish my sentence because I know what I did to him.
I still can’t face the reality that I’m responsible for his death. And that I chose to wrap my arms around his neck.
But it was the only way to get out of there, to make him stop.
“Vanished,” she finishes for me, and she sighs, tearing away her gaze. “I know. Our divers have been looking for him. I just wish you knew a bit more. I don’t want to give up.” She looks down at her trembling hands. It’s the first time since I came here that I’ve seen an inkling of the woman she used to be, the way I remembered her.
“I’m sorry …” I mutter. I know how she feels. I’m torn too because he still raised me, despite the fact that I hate him for doing what he did to my real father and to me.
She sighs again. “I just hope we’ll be able to find him.” She looks up at me. “It doesn’t matter what he did to you. He is still your father. And he wants you back.”
My fingers dig into my pants as I clutch my knees. “I …” I don’t even know how to respond to that.
“But let’s get you changed first,” she says, a smile forming on her lips. “You smell like you’ve been out on the street for a while now.”
An awkward laugh leaves my mouth. “Is it that bad?”
“I don’t want my daughter to have to go through that,” she says, and she gets up from the couch. “So let’s get you into some fresh clothes. I have a whole spare room at the top of the stairs set up just for you.”
Before I can say another word, she’s already grabbed my arm and hauled me up from the couch. “Come.”
Even though she is my mother, her grip is anything but gentle, and I’m struck by how it overwhelms me. Memories of the past collide with what’s happening. The mother I once knew is gone right before my very eyes. Even though she looks like her, she’s nothing like the mother I once knew.
And I must remember that as she drags me up the stairs. “That Marcello really did a number on you, didn’t he? Making you hide out in such a filthy old house,” she growls. “I’ll help you. First, we’ll draw a bath, then you’ll get some fresh clothes and a nice bed to sleep in.”
“He didn’t—”
I stop myself before I go too far. It just occurred to me that spilling information about Marcello might not be the smartest move. After all, I’m sure he’s looking for me right as we speak, and even though I hate that he never told me the truth … I don’t want to risk him getting caught.
“Hmm?” My mother pauses at the top of the stairs and throws me a glance.
“Nothing,” I mutter, and I look away.
“Well, just let me know when you change your mind,” she says, smiling. “You can tell me anything. After all, you are still my daughter, and I love you.”
Those words should fill me with warmth, but right now, all I feel is dread. And I gulp as she grabs my hand and guides me along into a room in the back.
Guards are literally everywhere—around every corner and next to every door—and it creeps me out.
“Here it is. Your new room,” Molly says, opening the door.
It’s gigantic. Well, at least compared to what I used to live in, way back before I landed into Marcello’s clutches.
The king bed in the middle of the room faces the big windows in the back, and a velvety black couch sits to the side. One door leads into an open closet, and another one has a lock on it, which I presume is the bathroom.
She quickly walks inside and opens the door, which indeed leads into a bathroom with marble tiles and a big tub in the back. She turns on the faucet and grabs a few towels.
“Normally, I’d let the maids do this, but I wanted to personally welcome you,” she says. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you that I don’t want to share that with anyone else.”
The gentle smile on her face makes me relax a little.
Maybe she isn’t as bad as I thought. Maybe my own experience with mobsters and fears of what could happen have clouded my judgment.
I enter the bathroom as she walks back out again and opens the closet to grab a few new clothes, placing them on the bed. “You can wear this. It should fit you perfectly.” She sounds so happy when she’s doing all this. Like she’s been waiting for so long. But it feels more like I’m some kind of pet, a plaything, than a real daughter.
While the water is still pouring into the bath, I look around the room and touch the expensive fabrics of the clothes she picked out for me. It’s so much more than I’d ever be able to afford. And the dump I’ve been living in really doesn’t make it easy to deny all this wealth and comfort that she so gleefully wishes to grant me.
Could I even say no if I wanted to?
My eyes draw up to the windows, and I notice the cameras hanging behind the curtains. My heart skips a beat. Panic swells inside as I check the other corners and find cameras there as well.
This isn’t just a room.
It’s a prison.
“I’ll leave you to relax a little. We’ll talk again later.”
I spin on my heels. She’s already gone before I can say another word.
And the door is locked behind her.
My eyes widen, and I quickly run to the door, fumbling the handle, but it’s no use. “Wait!” I call out.
“Just get some sleep, honey!” my mom yells back, but I can hear her footsteps as they move away from the door.
I bang on the door a few times and then stop, breathing out some fuming breaths.
Goddammit. I let her trick me into this.
I grumble to myself and stare up at the cameras, wondering who’s watching me. With those in place, I won’t ever feel safe here. But I don’t think I’ll have a choice in the matter. I’m stuck here now, and I know they’re watching my every move, waiting for me to try something.
Sucking in a breath, I walk back to the bathroom and shut the door behind me, then check for cameras. There doesn’t seem to be any, so I guess this is the only safe space I have.
Sighing, I sink down to the floor against the door. Anger makes me stomp the wood behind me, to no avail. I’m not going to fucking cry these tears she’s waiting for me to cry.
I didn’t cry for Marcello, and I damn well won’t for that woman I used to call “mother.”
The warm water fills the room with steam, the bath calling to me. So I get up, strip down, and sink into the water, forcing myself to put off whatever rage I have boiling inside and focus on the only thing I can do—wait.
