The Counterfeit Lover (War of Sins Book 3)
The Counterfeit Lover: Chapter 11

As the days trickled by, he found it harder and harder to maintain his usual patience and wait for the perfect opportunity to get her.

He told himself it was purely physical. Their last encounter had aroused him to such a degree, he’d had to suffer the effects for hours afterwards.

Since she’d left, he hadn’t tried to take himself in hand anymore, knowing that it was a paltry imitation to the real thing and what he really desired. Instead, he’d tried to exorcise her from his mind and body by pushing himself to new limits in the gym.

It had barely worked.

Daily, he had to deal with blue balls and seeing his pet naked on his monitor didn’t help.

Not. One. Bit.

He was so high-strung he ended up killing two prisoners he was trying to get information from.

And it was all her fault.

She’d infiltrated every little crevice of his mind. It wasn’t enough that his body was already a slave to her. Now she had to own his mind too.

Once more, Michele rebelled at the thought that she might have that much control over her.

No, it could never be that. It was merely the fact that he had sex on the mind twenty-four seven and the only thing that could give him some relief was out of bounds—momentarily.

But his luck changed the day he heard Vlad and Assisi talking about a potential mission outside of the country. The idea quickly materialized and they left instruction for the whole house to mange while they were away—including his pet.

The good girl she was, she didn’t even argue.

She offered them a smile, wishing them safe travels and telling them they shouldn’t worry about her because she would be at home all day, and thus unlikely to be in any danger.

Michele smiled at the screen, his hand moving softly over Lovely’s head.

Did she just offer a challenge?

‘You’re sure you’re going to be alright, Zia?’ Assisi asked her for the millionth time. ‘The kids aren’t here either, so it’s going to be just you and the guards. We could take you with us,’ she turned to her husband who shook his head.

‘No, no, Sisi. I’ll be fine. Really. I’m old enough to be able to spend some time in my own company,’ his pet cracked a smile just as a chuckle escaped Michele.

He liked this side of her—the sarcastic, almost funny one.

‘Are you sure?’ Assisi bit her lip in apprehension.

‘Yes. I’ll be perfectly fine. It’s only two days, no? What can happen in two days?’

‘Don’t worry, hell girl. No one would dare come to my house. You know that,’ Vlad came forward, throwing his arm over Assisi’s shoulders and drawing her close to his body.

‘You won’t go out?’ Assisi asked.

Damn it, but the woman wouldn’t stop. Just as Michele was thinking the subject would be dropped and his pet would end up all alone, Assisi kept going in circles.

‘I’ll stay in to finish my homework. I have a bit to catch up,’ his pet assured her in a soft voice.

‘I guess we could go then,’ she sighed.

Finally.

The moment Vlad and Assisi confirmed their trip, Michele started planning his break-in and how he’d get to his pet.

By God, but he was lucky. He’d have one entire night with her—watch her, touch her, simply be near her. And though that wasn’t remotely enough, considering how much he needed her, it would have to do for now.

Besides, if he managed to get easy access to her room, then it wouldn’t be the last time he paid her such a visit. Until he managed the logistics of stealing her away for good, it would have to do.

Vlad and Assisi departed later the following afternoon.

Michele had already scouted the area and Andreas had done an in-depth analysis of the security in place.

Kuznetsov may have a lot of guards, but that wasn’t enough to keep Michele from his pet.

Learning the schedule of the guards as well as their placement made it easy for Michele to sneak in when the entire household went to sleep.

By that point, Michele had become so accustomed to the house and its layout that it didn’t take him long to locate his pet’s room.

His movements slow, quiet and stealthy, he opened her door without making the least of noise.

And when he was finally inside, he was stumped to realize just how small it was—certainly smaller than it had seemed on the monitor.

There was one twin bed on the wall to his left, a desk with books and her various items on the wall opposite it, and the untouched suitcase to his right.

At the end of the room there was a door that led to an even smaller bathroom.

He was…baffled.

He didn’t know why the sight of her small room with her sparse belongings and impersonal touches got such a reaction out of him, but it simply tugged at his heart.

Just as he’d seen her on the video feed, she was curled in her bed, holding herself tight as she slept the night away.

She didn’t give any indication that she was aware of what was happening around her, or that there was a stranger in her room. Though he felt an unnatural pull to go to her side, be close to her, he didn’t want to waste this golden chance of learning more about her.

Curious, Michele started to look around. For weeks now he’d seen her shuffle her stuff on the desk and he couldn’t help but be intrigued by their contents.

After all, Michele was nothing if not thorough. And that meant he needed to know everything about his pet—including what she was studying.

He wanted to know her strengths and her weaknesses, but most of all he wanted to know what she was hiding in her drawer.

After the first time he’d seen her handle that item, she’d done it almost daily. At some point he’d wondered if it wasn’t a rosary or a religious item of sorts and she was saying a prayer before bed. Too bad the angles of the cameras Andreas had set up couldn’t capture everything.

Carefully, he opened the drawer, using the flash from his phone to browse its contents.

To his great surprise, it was almost empty save for a small object covered in a piece of material. Reaching for it, he pulled it out, surprised to see what it was.

The pendant.

The necklace he’d given her with their mixed life essences.

The moment he saw it, unimaginable joy spread through his core at seeing the confirmation that she wasn’t, in fact, indifferent to him.

No, she couldn’t be if she had not only kept the necklace, but she’d spent time with it on a regular basis—no doubt reminiscing their relationship.

A knowing smile spread over his features as he put the pendant back in its place, closing the drawer before focusing on the other things demanding his attention. He would address that later on when his pet was more receptive to his attentions, and he’d make her wear it once more.

The fact that she’d kept it—that she’d placed it somewhere close for safekeeping—was all that mattered.

Satisfied with that line of thinking, he pointed the flash towards the stack of papers on top of the desk, wanting to see what other mysteries about his pet he could solve that night.

There were school notes and some personal ones. But the one thing that struck him the most was her handwriting.

 It was exquisite—exquisitely her.

Elegant but minimal, just like her personality.

And Michele couldn’t help himself from taking one of the sheets of paper, folding it and depositing it in his pocket.

Research, he told himself. He’d study it in details later.

Yet as he continued to look, he realized there were pages upon pages of the same transcribed material. The earlier ones contained monumental errors, but as he sifted through page after page, he noted fewer and fewer errors.

His pet had been working hard to eliminate the errors from her writing, and his lips pulled in a soft smile as he recognized her effort.

So this was what she was doing when she was spending hours on end at her desk, writing away. She was repeating everything to reach perfection—an error free transcription.

In spite of her inherent disability, she put on double—triple—the work to ensure perfection, or as close to perfection as she could get.

And that he couldn’t help but admire.

She wanted to do better and she took the steps towards that instead of complaining about her lot in life—without yelling about the injustices done to her and wallowing in self-pity.

And the moment that thought arose, Michele realized he’d never heard her complain—about anything.

Not even once.

He knew about her home situation, of course. The fact that her father had died when she’d been but five and her mother had run away from home when she’d been even younger. She’d been taken in by Valentino, her older brother, and his wife, Romina. But even that had run afoul when Romina had been murdered and Valentino had dedicated himself to finding her killer.

His pet had soon been forgotten, abandoned to whatever servant was about to care for her. It was no wonder no one had detected her dyslexia, or helped her overcome it.

Yet in all the time he’d known her, even in the beginning when they’d been nothing but friends, she had never complained.

She never spoke ill of her family, never held a grudge against them.

And it would have been so easy to do so. After all, those who were supposed to protect and care for her had simply…forgotten about her.

Michele’s lips flattened into a thin line as his mind went in that direction. Somehow the thought of his pet alone—lonely—struck a chord in him.

He didn’t like the fact that everyone in her life had simply abandoned her.

And more than anything, he didn’t like it that he, himself, was part of that category.

Because he’d done that, too, hadn’t he?

He’d used her and thrown her away.

It was for revenge.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry. Yes, it had been for revenge. And maybe he’d made a few miscalculations when it came to her, but it was why he was here at the moment. He was rectifying that.

He begrudgingly admitted that in his quest for revenge he’d been rather…rigid in his thinking. From the beginning he’d had a plan and he’d followed it to a t. The fact that the situation had evolved in such a manner that he could achieve his revenge and keep her had been just as surprising for him.

But that was the beauty of it. Now he didn’t have to deny himself his pet. And he wouldn’t abandon her again for as long as she was his, she’d be only his and forever his—as long as his interest lasted, of course.

He wagered that as soon as she stopped mattering—as soon as she stopped fucking haunting his mind—he wouldn’t feel bad about seeing her so small and alone.

She would become like any other in his life—transient.

Yes, indeed, he nodded to himself. That was just the problem. At the moment he felt bad for her because she was still part of his world, part of his mind and part of what made him function properly.

As soon as he exorcised her from his life—for good—she wouldn’t matter anymore.

Pleased with his reasoning, Michele continued to look around, his hand brushing over a curious piece of paper. Withdrawing it from the bottom of the stack, he blinked twice as he perused it.

It couldn’t be…could it?

He could recognize his own drawing anywhere, just as he could his handwriting.

From Michele to Venezia, the prettiest pink princess.

Suddenly, a long forgotten memory poked the surface as he saw himself as he’d been before—when he’d still had a soul. And then he saw her too—the little pitiful girl she’d been.

‘What are you doing?’ a small voice asked, barely penetrating his ironclad focus.

He blinked, the tip of his pencil stopping in place as he lowered his notepad to look in front of him. A child of about five stood in front of him, studying him with curious eyes.

The first thing he noticed about her was the rich mane of auburn hair framing her porcelain skin stained with bits of mud. Her hair was streaked with dirt as well. And as he looked lower, he realized her clothes were dirty, too, the black dress she was wearing completely soiled.

She was a pretty child, her face resembling that of a doll. But she was a very dirty child.

‘I’m drawing,’ he answered in a soft voice, especially as she turned her big eyes towards him and regaled him with a wide smile.

‘Can I see?’ she squeaked, coming closer.

For a moment, he wondered what she was doing all by herself over here. She was too young to be left to her own devices, and given the condition of her clothes, he suspected she needed constant supervision.

‘Only if you tell me where your parents are,’ he said playfully. He didn’t like the thought of her wandering around by herself.

Immediately, the smile died on her lips as she took a deep breath in, turning slightly and pointing her finger towards the crowd of people.

‘There,’ she said with a small shrug.

‘Why don’t we go find them?’ Michele suggested.

‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘There,’ she pointed again, this time towards the casket.

‘That’s your father?’

She nodded, but didn’t seem particularly sad.

Odd.

‘What about your mother?’

Another shrug.

‘She left me. Loooong time ago,’ she said in a high pitched voice, but there wasn’t any trace of emotion—almost as if she was reciting something she’d heard one too many times before.

‘Then who are you with today?’

‘Tino,’ she gave a tremulous smile, ‘but he has no time for me,’ she added dejectedly. ‘Can I see the drawing now?’ she switched the topic immediately, placing her small hands on the bench and jumping in an attempt to haul herself up.

Seeing her efforts, Michele shook his head indulgently, a sad smile playing at his lips. He had the vague feeling she wasn’t very cared for, and that broke his heart a little—especially since she was trying very hard not to dwell on it.

‘Here,’ he placed his notepad aside for a moment as he swooped her up and placed her next to him on the bench. And before she could protest, he removed a pack of wet wipes from his bag, taking one out and dabbing it gently at her cheeks.

‘Drawing?’

‘After,’ he chuckled, feeling sorry for the state she was in. ‘Let’s get you cleaned a little and then I’ll show you the drawing.’

She blinked, looking at him with such awe, he didn’t know how to react. He’d always liked children, and he’d spent long periods of time with those younger than him in the hospital, so to an extent he was used to dealing with toddlers.

For some unknown reason, though, the state of this little girl, so dirty and neglected, tugged at his heart. In some ways, she reminded him a lot of himself.

A gentle smile on his face, he continued his ministrations, wiping the dirt smudges from her face and hands.

‘Now you’re good,’ he winked at her, grabbing his drawing and passing it to her.

‘Wow,’ she inhaled sharply, staring at the drawing for a few seconds before turning to him. She scooted closer, a mischievous smile on her face.

‘I love it,’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re good. Very, very good,’ she praised with effusive enthusiasm.

He hadn’t managed to draw much. There was the outline of the people and the casket, but he’d focused more on the forlorn surroundings—the tombstones and general atmosphere of the place. It wasn’t his best work, but he couldn’t deny her praise. More than anything, Michele found that he couldn’t stop himself from smiling, her bubbly attitude intoxicating.

‘Thanks,’ he chuckled.

‘I’m Venezia,’ she offered slyly, grinning from ear to ear, the missing front tooth only making her more adorable. But Michele knew the little hoyden had something under her sleeve.

‘Michele,’ he replied, taking her now clean hand and shaking it lightly.

‘Can you draw me too?’

‘Sure,’ he answered immediately, happy to indulge her. It wasn’t often that he was asked to draw other people, so it was a good opportunity for him too.

‘I want to be a princess,’ she continued. ‘I want a pink princess dress. And pink princess shoes,’ she scrunched up her face deep in thought, ‘and a pink bag,’ she squeaked.

‘Slow down,’ he laughed. ‘Let me get some colors,’ he told her as he rummaged through his bag, finding some crayons.

‘What type of princess do you want to be?’ He asked when he had everything ready.

‘Princess,’ she repeated, frowning.

‘Like the ones on TV?’ He needed some more information to work with, but she seemed even more confused when he mentioned the princesses on TV.

‘Tell me where you saw this type of princess you want,’ he urged gently when he saw her befuddlement.

Her face fell even more and she fidgeted with her fingers.

‘Hey, I need all the information so I can make you the prettiest princess ever, ok?’

She batted her lashes, slowly nodding.

‘I saw this doll,’ she started, her words a little stilted, ‘she was wearing a pink dress. Everything was pink,’ her lips tugged up in a smile. ‘And she was so pretty,’ she gushed, the word pretty sounding more like pewtty. But Michele just nodded along, not bothering to correct her speech.

‘Go on,’ he smiled.

‘But the woman there told me to leave,’ she sighed. ‘She said it was for princesses, not for girls like me.’

‘Girls like you?’

‘Unkept,’ she nodded sadly, probably meaning to say unkempt.

‘She said what?’ he couldn’t believe someone would be so mean to a child so cute. But he supposed some people only saw the outside—and if she’d called her unkempt, it was likely a common occurrence for her to be this neglected. He thought back to the unkind words he‘d heard from adults all his life, as well as those from other children, and he couldn’t help but empathize with her situation.

‘She was right,’ she continued, swinging her legs on the bench. It was then that he noticed the scuffs on her knees, some red and angry. ‘No one keeps me,’ she said, still thinking the woman had called her unkept.

‘She was just mean,’ Michele told her, ‘don’t listen to her. Some people are just mean.’

She stopped moving then, giving him an odd look.

‘Can you make me a princess, then?’ she quickly switched topics again, forcing a smile on her face.

‘Sure thing,’ he agreed—he didn’t think he had the heart to deny her at that moment.

‘A pretty princess,’ she reiterated as she moved closer to him, raising herself slightly to peer over his shoulder as he worked.

His lips stretched into a smile, Michele started with a sketch. It wasn’t hard to give her a princess-like look. He was sure that if she was more taken care of she would look every inch regal—especially with her adorable features.

‘Am I doing good?’ he asked and she readily nodded.

‘Love it,’ she breathed out.

And so he continued with his sketch until he had everything done, her princess dress, her princess shoes and her princess bag. It was when he started adding the colors that she became a little too quiet by his side.

One glance and he found her watching him with a mix of awe, sadness and happiness all in one.

‘Do you like it?’

She didn’t answer, merely moving her chin up and down, swallowing hard and blinking even harder—almost as if she didn’t think it was real.

‘It’s so pretty,’ she finally spoke, and he noticed she didn’t consider herself pretty, merely the drawing.

‘Like you,’ he smiled. ‘Pretty like you. After all, you were the model.’

She blushed, her shyness coming to the surface.

‘Here,’ he took hold of his pencil again and scribbled a few words in the corner.

From Michele to Venezia, the prettiest pink princess.

‘It’s yours now,’ he handed it to her.

‘Really? I can have it?’

‘Of course, I drew it for you.’

She held it in both hands as if it was something precious, her eyes greedily drinking in the drawing. He’d tried his best to make her a pretty princess—one to rival any doll out there and any lady that told her she couldn’t be one.

And by the look on her face, he thought he succeeded.

She continued to stare at it, but a glance at the crowd still gathered at the casket told Michele they’d dallied enough away from everyone.

Just as he was about to suggest he took her to her family, a low buzzing sound erupted through the silence.

Her hands went still on the paper, her chin tipped down in shame.

The noise continued, and Michele realized it was coming from her.

She was…hungry. And embarrassed.

‘Are you hungry?’ he asked in a serious tone. He’d only known her for a little while, but he could read her dire circumstances on her, and if she was that hungry, he doubted someone would give her food anytime soon. Especially since no one seemed that interested in her whereabouts.

A spark of anger ignited within him at the thought.

He knew what could have happened to him that night when he’d wandered off alone if not for Nicolo’s help. She was a girl. A much younger and defenseless girl. Countless bad things could happen to her.

‘Let’s get you something to eat,’ he told her with a smile, all the while thinking to himself that he had to give her a talk about safety.

Clearly no one in her life had done it if she so easily approached a stranger. And he wanted to ensure he was the last stranger she approached.

Maybe he could even put in a word with Nicolo, since he was her uncle.

Venezia turned her huge eyes on him, biting her lower lip in apprehension.

‘Come,’ he put the backpack over his shoulder as he stretched out a hand towards her. She eyed it for a moment before sliding her much smaller one into it, hopping off the bench and following him.

‘I think I spotted a place to eat across the street,’ he gave her a smile.

She nodded, her eyes on him, unblinking. It was as if she was awestruck by him and the fact that he was considering her needs—as if that had never happened before.

He pushed down the rage he felt at that thought. He knew it on his own skin—knew exactly what the cost of such neglect was in the long run. And he was a boy—almost a man. She was just a small girl.

Her hand was warm in his, and he felt a surge of protectiveness over her. For a moment, he wished he could shield her from all the evils of the world—from everything bad that was out there, just waiting to strike at her. But just as the thought surfaced, he pushed it aside. It wasn’t his job to do it.

He was just a stranger.

They reached in front of a small fast food restaurant, and he opened the door for her to come inside.

The staff took one look at her and their lips curled in disgust, undoubtedly at her messy appearance. Still, he didn’t let that deter him as he led her at a table in the back.

‘Wait here and I’ll get some food, ok?’

She nodded at him, the drawing still in her hand as she clutched at it as if a precious possession.

That made Michele smile.

It was probably the first time he met someone who prized his art as much as he did.

‘I’ll be right back,’ he repeated, slowly leaving her side and heading to the counter.

He pushed one hand into the pockets of his pants searching for cash all the while perusing the prices on the board.

‘Damn,’ he muttered as he felt around for money.

He didn’t think he had enough for two portions. He had a meager allowance, and he used most of it on his art supplies. And so what was left was mere pocket change.

Still, he managed to pull together about ten dollars for a large menu, saving some coins to head to the pharmacy afterwards.

He wasn’t that hungry anyway. Why, he’d already had breakfast. But her…he had no idea when was the last she ate if the people around her didn’t even care enough to change her out of her dirty clothes.

After placing his order, he only had to wait a few minutes before it was done. Grabbing onto the tray, he walked back to their seats and placed everything on the table.

The large menu consisted of a massive portion of fries, a big burger, a side of salad and a drink. By some luck, it had been under ten dollars and he’d been able to also get a small chocolate muffin for Venezia.

Her mouth was hanging open as she looked at the food in front of her.

‘Go on, eat,’ he urged her.

She seemed reluctant to dive in, and a few moments later he realized why. She was trying to wipe her hands on the dress.

‘Give me your hands,’ he said as he took out the wet wipes and cleaned her hands until she was pleased enough with herself to start eating.

Immediately, she took a bite of a fry, smiling as she chewed it.

‘Thank you!’ she exclaimed. She was a bit of a messy eater, but he didn’t mind it. She looked so cute in that moment Michele couldn’t help but be glad he had the extra cash to spare.

‘Why you no eating?’ She asked when he saw him only watching her. ‘Here,’ she thrust a fry at him.

‘No, I’m not hungry,’ he shook his head lightly.

‘You don’t eat,’ she pointed at him, almost poking his chest, ‘I don’t eat,’ she pointed back to herself with a pout.

‘Come on, Zia. You’re the hungry one,’ he chuckled.

‘Zia?’ she stopped mid-chew as her eyes grew wide.

‘A nickname,’ he offered. ‘Hasn’t anyone called you that before?’ He’d noticed she had a hard time pronouncing her name, most likely as a result of her missing front tooth. But he belatedly realized he should have bit his tongue. He was asking a child that, by the looks of it, barely had someone to care for her, if she’d ever been given a nickname.

She shook her head, pondering the word for a moment before nodding.

‘I like Zia. It’s easier to say than Venezia,’ she screwed up her face, making a funny expression before laughing at her own skewed pronunciation.

‘There you have it, so now eat,’ he motioned her playfully.

She shook her head again.

‘No. You eat, I eat,’ she continued, smiling in satisfaction as she leaned back to wait for his next move.

‘You’re quite the blackmailer, aren’t you?’ he couldn’t stop himself from smiling at her antics. Still, he wanted her to eat. ‘How about we do this? You have two bites, I’ll have one. Then again.’

She narrowed her eyes at him, probably thinking if he was trying to cheat her. Eventually, she nodded.

And so she would eat a little, then feed him a fry. It went on like this until the end of the meal. By the time the food was gone, both Venezia and Michele were full.

‘Thank you,’ she sighed in pleasure, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

He tsked at her, cleaning her hand again before noticing her giggle.

‘You’re doing that on purpose, aren’t you?’

She gave a shrug, smiling.

‘You’re a little troublemaker,’ he said, amused. But he quickly sobered as he remembered the topic he wanted to address with her. ‘Zia, from now on, you shouldn’t talk to strangers again, especially men.’ he told her sternly. ‘And you should never follow them anywhere.’

‘Why?’ she frowned.

‘Because they can harm you.’

‘Harm me?’

He muttered a low curse under his breath, searching his mind for a way to explain it better. ‘There are a lot of people out there that want to take advantage of you. Hurt you. You don’t want to be hurt, do you?’

She immediately shook her head.

‘No. I fell yesterday and hurt my knee,’ she complained. ‘It hurt a lot. I don’t like pain.’

‘Good. Then to avoid it, avoid strangers,’ he nodded at her, grimly reminding himself of those scuffs he’d seen on her knees.

‘What about you, then?’ she blinked, the question so innocent yet it felt like the ultimate test.

‘I won’t hurt you,’ he smiled. ‘And I’m not a stranger anymore,’ he winked at her.

Her lips spread into a blinding smile, even her tooth gap looking cute as hell as she looked at him adoringly.

‘Now let’s go. There’s one more stop before I take you back to your family,’ he said as he stood up, getting his stuff and taking her hand.

He didn’t miss the way her face fell when she heard about her family, and he felt bad for her situation.

If he had a sister her age, he’d protect her at all costs. Like Gianna and Rafaelo had protected him whenever they could. More so even. He would make sure that nothing and no one could harm her, and that she would never complain about being unkept again.

Swinging by a pharmacy nearby, he got some band-aids and some antiseptic cream with what little spare coins he had left.

‘What’s that for?’ she asked in confusion as he brought her to sit on a bench by the road.

‘For your knee, so it heals faster,’ he told her gently.

She didn’t reply, merely watching him as he took some of the cream and spread it over her injured areas. She winced every now and then but didn’t make a sound. When he was done, he put a band-aid over each knee and instructed her to do the same while handing her the rest of the supplies.

‘If you hurt yourself again just do like I did,’ he told her, stretching out his hand to help her hop off, finally ready to return to the cemetery.

He hoped the ceremony had ended.

Zia was already yawning, her eyes droopy as she undoubtedly wished to go to sleep.

When they got back to the cemetery, they saw it was almost empty. The procession of people had already departed.

‘What…’ Michele blinked as he looked around. Everyone had left—including the girl’s family.

Not wanting to let panic overtake him, he went back to where Nicolo had left his car, sighing in relief when he noticed it was still there. Upon noticing him, Nicolo opened the door, his sharp gaze skittering from Michele to Zia and their joint hands.

‘She was hungry,’ Michele merely said, attempting a boyish smile.

Nicolo rolled his eyes and shook his head at them, motioning for the car.

‘Valentino and his wife left already,’ he said when Michele helped Zia take a seat next to him.

‘How could they leave and forget about her?’ Michele asked, outraged.

Zia didn’t seem too concerned about this turn, and she kept her eyes on the floor, quietly ignoring the noise around her.

‘It wouldn’t be the first time,’ Nicolo mumbled, his eyes landing on her. ‘My brother didn’t really care for another child. Valentino doesn’t have children of his own, and I don’t think he wants any.’

‘Who’s taking care of her then?’

Nicolo shrugged.

‘Whoever can,’ he answered flippantly.

For some reason, his words made Zia uncomfortable as she snuggled deeper into Michele in search of safety, bringing her knees on the seat and placing them under her. She was so tired, she was struggling to keep her eyes open.

‘Sleep,’ he smiled at her. ‘We’ll take you home, but it’s going to be awhile until we get there,’ he told her as he patted her head lightly.

She gave a small nod, wiggling closer and placing her head on his lap.

His eyes widened, but he didn’t move her. She seemed right at home as she was.

Nicolo, though, gave him an odd look as he regarded them languidly.

‘You have too big of a heart, son. And one day, that’s going to be your downfall,’ he added cynically.

Michele frowned.

‘Maybe,’ he eventually agreed. ‘But I’ll have my conscience clean.’

Nicolo’s brows arched in surprise before he burst into laughter.

‘You’ll have your conscience clean?’ he asked in amused outrage. ‘There is no such thing as a clean conscience in this world. But I guess you still have a lot to learn,’ he waved his hand. ‘Go on. Do you. At one point you’ll have your wake-up call.’

Michele grunted, not wanting to dwell on what his friend was saying. He’d survived for so long being exactly who he was—who he was comfortable being—that he knew he could continue on just like that.

The journey took some time, and in the meantime, Nicolo regaled him with some stories about his brother and the fact that he’d had four wives, and all had left him one way or another—the last being Zia’s mother.

‘She ran away,’ Nicolo told him. They didn’t know how she managed, but they assumed she must have had an influential lover to facilitate her escape. She’d cared nothing for her daughter as she’d left her defenseless.

Michele looked down at the sleeping girl, and he couldn’t help but compare how similar they were, a fact that served to make him feel even more protective of her.

They reached the Lastra mansion, and taking Zia in his arms, Michele exited the car. Nicolo signaled him to go ahead, and he merely nodded. He could gather his friend wasn’t on the best of terms with his family.

She was light in his arms as he stopped at the front door, knocking lightly. A staff member opened the door, appearing quite disinterested as she saw Zia in his arms. She merely pointed the way to her room. And as Michele walked up the stairs and to the designated room, he couldn’t help but feel the chill that went down his back when he saw her living conditions. They were…abysmal.

Everything was messy and dirty, as if no one had gone inside to clean in a very long time—as if no one had cared.

She was five, for God’s sake.

Muttering a curse, he couldn’t in good conscience leave her there. Turning, he found an empty bedroom where he laid her on a clean bed while he went in search of the house staff.

Clearly, her family hadn’t returned home from the funeral so there wasn’t anyone he could exchange words with—as if anyone would take a thirteen-year-old crusader that seriously.

Still, without even thinking, he found a few of the workers and asked them to clean her room. They protested for a while, but eventually Michele managed to convince them to do their job properly.

Half an hour later and the room was clean—or as clean as could be.

‘It wasn’t that hard in the first place,’ he shook his head in disgust as he went for Zia, swooping her up in his arms and taking her back to her newly cleaned room.

Just like him, she didn’t have many possessions. Almost no toys, and certainly no dolls. He could see why she’d been so hung up on that one pink princess—she’d probably never had anything of the sort. She had very few clothes as well, with some she’d clearly outgrown and some that were too big for her small frame.

‘Home?’ she asked sleepily as he laid her down on her bed, startling Michele from his thoughts.

‘Home,’ he attempted a smile that she could not return. Instead, she just sighed.

Did children sigh?

‘Thank you for today,’ she told him in a small voice, watching him with big, innocent eyes. ‘Thank you for the drawing,’ she continued, and before he could reply, he felt her lips on his cheek. ‘I’ll keep it safe,’ she declared with more pathos than anyone living in her conditions should have.

‘I know you will, Zia,’ he added sadly, taking her in for one last time. ‘It’s time for me to go.’

The sadness was apparent on her face, but so was another thing—resignation. She’d known it was coming. This was a child used to people abandoning her, and that broke him a little.

‘Maybe we’ll meet again someday,’ he tried to placate her, though he knew it was unlikely.

She nodded, plastering a smile on her face, her hands clutching at her little drawing.

‘Goodbye, Zia,’ he whispered as he laid a light kiss on her forehead. He heard a ghost of a goodbye behind him, but he was out of the room before he could come up with worse ideas—like confronting her family and demanding they took better care of her.

Yet, as he’d seen with Nicolo, her uncle, it might all be in vain.

He… He couldn’t process.

The memory was like a flash, his head throbbing as he remembered her sweet, innocent voice. But also as he remembered that side of himself—the one he’d buried so deep within he didn’t think existed anymore.

He pivoted.

The drawing in one hand, he stared at her form on the bed, recalling the outrage he’d felt, years before, when he’d seen her abandoned, hungry and alone. When she’d thought no one wanted to keep her.

Discomfort stabbed at his chest, and he brought his fist over his heart to alleviate the ghost of a pain that seemed to make its home there.

How? Why?

The questions continued in his mind, the answers all out of reach.

Had she known? Had she recognized him when he himself had buried all memories of before deep within his mind, ever to see the light of the day?

Had she…?

Otherwise why still have this?

The sheet of paper itself was worn, the edges of the page already yellowed and some of the colors smudged. It looked like something that had been handled one too many times—looked at one too many times.

It struck Michele that though he’d locked away that part of himself deep within, forgetting all about his past existence, it hadn’t been the same for her.

At least that one interaction must have affected her strongly enough for her to keep that drawing for years to come—decades to come.

As the memories reached the surface, he could once more pinpoint the encounter. It had been at her father’s funeral.

Thirteen years ago.

Good God. Thirteen years.

Had she held onto the drawing for that long?

Yet looking around her room once more and accounting for all her belongings—all her few belongings—he realized it must be something incredibly important to her.

More than anything, it was something she reached for often—evidence being its location at the desk she spent all her free time.

For the first time in forever, Michele was speechless.

He didn’t know how to feel. He certainly didn’t know how to process the information.

He’d met his pet before—he’d met her at a time where he’d still been himself. And maybe, if circumstances had been different…

No, he couldn’t think about that—could not dwell on the past and the what-ifs. There was just pain to be had the moment he allowed himself to feel anything other than anger at the world.

Before he could give himself to the pull of the drawing, he put the paper back on the desk, stepping away from it and closer to his pet.

After all, this was why he was here. For her. Not for some idiotic past that he’d already completely ejected from his mind.

Moving the chair quietly, he placed it next to her bed as he took a seat, his eyes affixed to her. She was wearing the same bland white nightgown as before, a thin sheet covering half of her body.

She was curled in a fetal position—her default sleeping position. For as long as he’d monitored her, he’d only seen her like this. It was almost as if, unconsciously, she sought to protect herself from the world. Even in her sleep, she was wary—afraid.

Michele’s fists clenched in anger. It was because of those boys, wasn’t it? Those puny boys who’d laughed at her, later to be joined in by the adults—by her teachers and even the principal. Suddenly, he was pissed that he’d gone too easy on them. They should have suffered tenfold what his pet was suffering, and even then it wouldn’t have been enough.

It would have never been enough.

He was sure it was them who’d made his pet become so terrified and so withdrawn.

Never once did it occur to him that he might be the source of her nightmares, of her constant anxiety. His only fault, as he’d convinced himself, had been to leave her unattended for a few weeks and thus without defense for others to attempt to hurt her.

That he could accept.

He couldn’t see that he’d permanently broken her heart—destroyed every little bit of love she’d held for him. In his mind, she was merely put off with him because he’d temporarily dashed her dreams of love. Considering her complete adoration of him, anything else was out of the question.

But that was inconsequential as he would rebuild everything once more, ensuring they went back to the way they’d been before. Even better, this time he would make sure there would be no boundaries between them, and he would own her unlike he’d ever owned anything—utterly and irrevocably.

Smiling to himself, he leaned closer so he could watch her better.

Her face was tipped upwards, her lips slightly parted as she released a small, breathy sound. Like that, he could take his time studying her—observing and committing to memory every little detail that made her who she was—and what she meant to him.

It was odd to think he’d had so many opportunities to see her like this, but he’d never truly seen her, had he? He’d looked, but he hadn’t seen.

The beam of light from the moonlight made its way through the semi-drawn curtains, giving her an ethereal look that bewitched Michele.

There was something about her—something ineffable that could just be felt, not spelled out. It was something that reached deep within and took vicious hold of him, threatening to never let go. It was the only way Michele could describe what she instilled in him, something incredibly violent but equally tender, and the dichotomy confused him more than anything.

He wanted to own her. Even now, as he watched her sleep peacefully, he wanted nothing more than shake her awake so he could imprint himself on her—so she would know it was him and only him. Yet there was another side of him that wanted nothing more than hold her gently, touch her tenderly and kiss every inch of her skin—drape himself in every bit of her.

He continued to gaze at her as one would the wonders of the Ancient world—in awe at the absolute perfection, yet in constant trepidation that everything would be gone in one blink of an eye.

Because, deep down, that was what his pet signified for him.

Utter fulfillment. But also the potential for utter loss.

Unable to help himself anymore, he tentatively reached out, brushing the back of his hand against her soft cheek and stifling a groan at the sensation of pure bliss that assaulted him.

Touch. Pure, incredible touch. Debilitating, yet uniquely supercharging touch.

But then that was specific of her, and only her.

Whereas with others he would already be in agonizing pain just from one brush of skin against skin, this was the opposite. She was able to free him from his cage—show him he didn’t have to isolate himself from the world. That he was still a man—a living, breathing man.

Michele’s world, at that point in time, was split between the two realms—living, and not living. His default setting was the latter as he’d accustomed himself to keep his distance from anything and everything a normal human would derive joy from. He’d closed himself in his icy prison where his anger was the only force pulsing in his veins.

But then there was her, and she pushed him into the former, showing him that there was a life to be lived—that there was living even after death.

Over the years, he’d cultivated such a reputation that no one intuited what lay hidden beneath his mask. A sardonic smile pulled at his lips as he wondered how people would react if they knew that his pet was the first and only person he’d willingly touched—and allowed to touch him in return—in almost a decade.

They’d probably think him mad, and rightly so. But his pet was part of that madness—she fueled it in a way nothing else could.

Bringing his hand lower, he stopped as he reached her lips, his thumb skimming the surface of her plump lower lip as he wet his own in response.

So soft. So pretty. So…

He bit a curse as he imagined her on her knees, her lips stretched to their fullest to accommodate the thickness of his shaft. Fuck, but it had been too long—way too long. And as soon as that thought surfaced, he squashed it down.

He wanted to take things slow—certainly slower than ever before. If he allowed his baser instincts and his unbridled lust to rule him he would make a mess of everything.

Michele had already done his due diligence, studying every material he could find on women and what appealed to them in an attempt to woo his pet even better—coax her to his side and seduce her into giving him power over her again. As such, he knew he had to act carefully, with tact.

It might go against everything they had established in the past, but he wanted to earn her trust again. And more than anything, he wanted her adoration anew.

So he pushed down his frustration and all the visions of her on her knees out of his mind.

Slow. He was going to go slow. Enjoy her. Woo her.

Yet his eyes were still stuck on her lips.

It must be witchery, he thought. Though he would never give credence to such foolish notions, nothing else made sense. Nothing else could explain this odd affinity he felt to her, this utterly implacable pull towards her.

Against all odds, she was the exception to the rule.

Once more, the rational side of his mind took the front seat, giving him a list of all the explanations. He was feeling this strongly because she was the exception to the rule.

With her he’d done things he’d even entertained the thought with another. She’d given him a taste of what it was like to be free, physical—normal.

Right at that moment her eyes snapped open, widening as she realized who was by her side.

He expected her to move—jump out of his hold.

She did neither.

She merely stared at him, her gaze hardening to the same indifference he’d witnessed in her before—the same type that raked its claws over his insides.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked in an even voice, though he detected a slight tremble.

The beast inside of him preened. She was scared—which meant she felt.

‘I told you I’d come for you, pet,’ he drawled, the corners of his lips drawing up in a carefree smile—the opposite of what he was feeling at the moment.

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