Liar's Lullaby

Chapter 3 Episode 3

I glance at Adriano and give him a brusque nod. He puts his hand on her back and gives her a littlepush in my direction.

She shuffles forward, her feet dragging against the carpeted floor.

But she still refuses to look up.

There’s something about the hunch of her shoulders and the barely noticeable trembling that makes mekneel down in front of her.

I can see the little stub of a nose, rosy cheeks, and the bow-and-arrow shape of her lips.

Then, as though she can’t keep her curiosity at bay any longer, she lifts her face. Her eyes go wide asshe studies my features in the same way I study hers.

I can understand now what Adriano meant about the eyes.

I see myself when I look into them.

The gray borders on silver, bright and pure and untarnished. The only other time I’ve ever seen such aclear shade of gray is when I’m staring at my reflection in the mirror.

Once I’ve gotten over the shock of her eyes, I focus on her expression. She’s caught between fear anduncertainty.

And maybe the smallest hint of wonder?

Maybe she sees what I see. A little bit of her own soul reflected back in the face of another.

“What’s your name?” I ask. My harsh tone has softened all on its own.

She hesitates before whispering, “Evie.”

“Is that short for something?”

“Evelyn.” Her nose wrinkles, just a little.

The corner of my mouth twitches up. “You don’t like your full name?”

“Six and a half,” she replies. She can’t help but say it pridefully. Like it’s a badge of honor.

But I’m too busy doing math in my head to notice much of that. Counting back and back and back, witha growing sense of cold dread in my stomach.

“How did you get here?” I demand. The harshness is back. Evie flinches at the sound of it so close toher face.

“A man brought me,” she whimpers. “He told me to go and knock on the door. I had a note… but thatman took it.”

Her eyes slide to Adriano accusingly.

He unfolds an unassuming piece of white paper and hands it to me. I don’t recognize the handwriting.

There are only a few words written across the lined sheet. Three sentences. Each one hits me like arazor-sharp knife to the chest.

The dread deepens. A weaker man would’ve collapsed to his knees. As it is, I barely manage to stayupright. To keep breathing and refocus after this brutal shock to my world.

I read the words again. Daughter. Mother. Dead.

I wrench my gaze up to glower at Adriano from where I’m kneeling on the carpet.

The child backs away from the fury on my face. Her lower lip trembles.

I try and dial back my anger so as not to frighten her, but I find it surprisingly difficult.

Restraint has never been necessary in my world.

Adriano just shrugs. He knows as much as I do at this point. But I’m certain he’s read the note anddone the same math I just did.

He understands what it means, just like I do.

But I need more information.

“Who was the man that brought you here?” I ask Evie.

She flinches again and drops her chin to the ground once more. She’s frightened. Too frightened tospeak.

I growl and try to repeat my question in a softer voice. “Who brought you?”

“I don’t know,” she answers. Her voice is as tiny and frail as she is.

“What did he look like?”

“Evie,” I say, trying to swat away the impatience. Her name sounds clunky and wrong on my tongue.“Try and remember.”

The trembling becomes more pronounced now. Even Adriano notices it, which is the only reason hesteps forward.

“It’s okay,” he tells her comfortingly.

I rise to my feet and walk back to my desk. I need to put as much distance between me and the girl aspossible.

I feel a tiny bit better when I settle back into my seat. It reminds me of who I am: Lucio Mazzeo, donof the Mazzeo mafia.

She is just a little girl who’s taken a wrong turn into my world.

“Where’s your mother?” I ask.

I don’t voice the underlying reason for my question. The truth is, I don’t believe her mother is dead.

But Evie doesn’t reply this time. All I get is a noncommittal shake of her head.

She shakes her head again.

“Do you know who I am?” I ask.

“My papa,” she says, though she sounds uncertain.

“Who told you that?” I ask. “The man who brought you here?”

“What do you think of that?”

Her eyes go wide, and I immediately regret asking the question. She’s too young to answer it in thefirst place.

“You look… scary,” she says.

I almost smile. “You’re observant.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Sometimes.”

Her head drops again, blocking her expression from view. She says something, but it’s so low I can’thear.

She clasps her little hands together. “I want to go home,” she says, and this time, her voice cracks.

I just sit there, completely ill-equipped to comfort her.

Adriano glances at me. He’s not sure what to do, either.

“Take her back to the common room,” I tell him, speaking over her sobs. “Keep her there until I figureout what to do.”

Adriano steers the girl out of my office. The door shuts and silence descends again.

But it’s a completely alien silence. Like my whole world just shifted.

Everything feels wrong. Out of place. Broken.

I stare down at the three-sentence note that had accompanied Evie here.

She’s your daughter. Her mother is dead. She’s your responsibility now.

Just mysteries wrapped up in mysteries.

I’m still looking at the note when Adriano walks back in.

“How’re you holding up?” he asks.

I crumple the note and fling it across the room.

“What the f**k?” I snarl by way of an answer.

“My sentiments exactly,” he agrees. “It has to be true though, right…? I mean, you have to admit thekid looks like you.”

“No, she doesn’t,” I snap. “She has my eyes. But the rest of her… she looks like her mother.”

“It’s definitely Sonya then?” he asks.

But I know it’s a rhetorical question.

It can only be Sonya.

Sonya had disappeared seven years ago.

The math works out too f*****g perfectly.

“Sonya Prescott,” Adriano voices softly. “f**k. I was sure she was dead.”

“I always knew there was a possibility she was still out there,” I admit.

“What?” Adriano balks. “We had a funeral for her, Lucio.”

“Do you think I forgot?” I say. “But no matter how much digging we did, a body never surfaced. Therewas no trail, no indication that she’d been taken by my enemies. It was just easier to believe she wasdead.”

“Yeah. I never liked her.”

“She was pregnant when she disappeared,” Adriano says, though really it’s more of a guess.

I know he’s trying to gauge my reaction, but I honestly don’t know myself. My head is clogged withold memories and new betrayals.

“What are you gonna do?” Adriano asks.

“I don’t know yet,” I mutter under my breath. “This is no place for a child.”

I turn my back on him and stare out my window. The grounds of my mansion sprawl into the distance.Stone and shadow as far as the eye can see.

The world beyond my window is the same as it’s ever been. Bleak. Brutal. Unforgiving.

That fragile look in Evie’s eyes wouldn’t last a second here.

“There are places we can put her,” he suggests. “Places that will take her, no questions asked.”

I weigh the possibility. Giving her up. Pretending she’d never arrived on my doorstep. Scrubbing herfrom my memory entirely.

And I know one thing for certain, even if everything else is still shrouded in mystery:

I’m not f*****g doing that.

I frown. “I may not have known of her existence until a few minutes ago. But she’s still my fuckingblood. I’m not putting her in an orphanage.”

“It doesn’t have to be an orphanage,” Adriano goes on, unfazed. “There are foster homes. We can finda nice couple—a rich couple—to take her. She’ll be well-looked-after and you can keep tabs on her,if you want to.”

The suggestion makes sense. It might even be the right choice for all parties concerned.

But it still doesn’t sit well with me.

“She’s not going to anyone else,” I announce.

Whoever wrote the note—no matter what their real intentions were—they were right about that.

Adriano raises his eyebrows. “You’re sure?”

“Brother, don’t take this the wrong way,” Adriano says cautiously. “But do you think you are capableof being her father?”

One I don’t have an answer to right now.

My old man’s face floats in the recesses of my subconscious. I see his grizzly, salt-and-pepper beard.His small, dark eyes. The furious, disgusted expression he always wore when I was around.

What is a “father,” anyways?

The old bastard I’m picturing gave birth to me, yes.

But he wasn’t my f*****g father.

Not after what he did.

So I have no model of a ‘good’ father to go by. No frame of reference.

All I have are my instincts. And I’m not even sure I can rely on them in this instance.

“I’ll need someone to look after her for me,” I say, ignoring Adriano’s question altogether.