Luca Vitiello by Cora Reilly EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Cora Reilly
- Language: English
- Genre: Billionaire Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
LUCA, 9 YEARS OLD
Matteo and I sat at the dining table, our eyes trained on the door, waiting for
Mother. The bell for dinner had rung a long time ago.
Our nanny Marianna stood against the wall, glancing toward the clock
on the sideboard, then back to us. Father rarely ate with us, but Mother
always did—at least dinner, even when she could hardly stand. She was
always on time in case Father decided to show up.
Where was she?
Was she sick?
Yesterday she’d looked white, except for the blue and yellow blotches
on her face and arms where Father had disciplined her. She often did things
wrong. It was difficult not to do wrong with Father. A thing that was okay
yesterday could be wrong today. Matteo and I often confused one with the
other and got punished as well.
Matteo took his knife and stuck it into the bowl with mashed potato that
had stopped steaming before slipping the mash-covered blade into his
mouth.
Marianna clucked her tongue. “One day you’ll cut yourself.”
Matteo shoved the knife back into the mash and licked it off again, his
chin jutting out stubbornly. “I won’t.”
I pushed my chair back and stood. It wasn’t permitted to get up before
dinner was eaten, but Father wasn’t home, so I was the master of the house
because Matteo was two years younger than me.
I walked around the table. Marianna made a step in my direction. “Luca,
you shouldn’t…” She trailed off as she looked at my face.
I looked like Father. That’s why she was more scared of me than
Matteo. That, and because I was going to be Capo. Soon, I’d be the one to
punish everyone for doing wrong things.
She didn’t follow me when I walked through the foyer and up the stairs.
“Mother? Dinner’s ready.”
No answer. I stepped onto the landing, then approached Mother’s
bedroom. The door was ajar. The last time that had happened, I’d found her
wailing on her bed, but it was quiet inside. I pushed the door open,
swallowing. It was too quiet. Light spilled out of the open bathroom.
Downstairs, I heard Father’s voice. He had arrived home from work. He
was probably angry that I wasn’t sitting at the dining room table. I should
have gone downstairs and apologized, but my feet carried me toward the
light source.
Our bathrooms were white Carrara marble but, for some reason, a pink
glow reflected in the room. I stepped into the doorframe and froze. The
floor was covered with blood. I’d seen it often enough to recognize it, and
its smell, a hint of copper and something sweet, was even sweeter today as
it mixed with Mother’s perfume.
My eyes followed the river of blood, then the dried waterfall of red
staining the white tub up to a limp arm. The white flesh was parted, giving
way to dark red below.
The arm belonged to Mother. It had to be her, even if she looked alien.
Masklike and stiff, her eyes were dull brown. They were staring at me, sad
and lonely.
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