Vicious Minds (Children of Vice #4)(58)

I turned back to her and she was holding a blonde wig and thick rimmed glasses.

“I’m not wearing those.” I was sick of wearing a disguise when I went to see my own damn daughter.

She didn’t bother asking. She met me outside the bedroom door and put the glasses on my face before shoving the damn wig on top of my head, packing my hair inside. She was concentrating hard, and even though she didn’t smile or even look at me, I found her cute. Just as I was about to reach out and touch her, she backed away from me, walking down the hall without another word. I watched her go for a moment before I reached for the doorknob. A green light blinked right beside it and the door opened. There in the middle of a large low platform bed, holding on to a stuffed lamb, was my little girl. Her dark brown hair was neatly tucked behind her ears, which were a little red, and she had an ice pack on her forehead. I stared at her for a few beats, listening to her soft snoring. Walking inside, I heard another beep, and I looked over to the mirror mounted on the wall where another small green light went on.

What happens if it isn’t green? Do I fall through a trap door? Ignoring it, I sat down beside her, brushing my hand on her cheek.

“Tesoro mia, perdonami, (My treasure, forgive me.),” I whispered softly to her, placing my hand on her forehead and luckily, she wasn’t burning up. “Papà avrei dovuto essere qui, (Dad should have been here.) Sei forte, (You are strong.).”

I kissed her cheek. She sniffled, turning on her side and holding her lamb tighter. She was beautiful, still so small, but from the videos and pictures Calliope had shared with me, none which ever lasted after I’d viewed them, our daughter was just as strong-willed, talented, and intelligent as her mother. Tucking her in more, I wanted to her see her smile.

“Mr. Nicci?” She sniffled again, struggling to keep her eyes open. She smiled and tried to lift her hand to wave. “Hi…”

“Hi…” I took her hand.

She squeezed my hand tightly and it felt like she was squeezing my heart instead. My plans, everything I wanted to do, all seemed so perfect and attainable in my head, but what could I do when my heart made me want to stop all of this and just take them back home with me? Take Giovanna and her mother before I lost them.

Lost them? I wasn’t sure how that thought had come to mind. I could never lose my daughter, she was mine. But her mother…Was that what this feeling was? Was I losing her? How? We’d been doing everything as we planned.

Just like that, my thoughts were clear…and it did nothing ease my fears.

That’s what I was feeling. Fear and dread.

Kissing her once more, I got up and walked out of the room, closing the door behind me. I heard the low hum of a blender as I walked back into the kitchen. She stood there making what I could only guess was breakfast for Giovanna. She didn’t acknowledge me. It was she like she was thousands of miles from me.

“I slept with Klarissa last night.” She froze for only a second before going on back to cutting the tomatoes in front of her.

“According to plan, I know.”

I moved to her side. “You’re hurt by it.”

“I’m not that fragile. I understand the mission.” She picked up the cutting board and tried to move, but I grabbed her arm. She glanced down at my hand and then to me, and I preferred the annoyance in her eyes to the emptiness.

“You mean you don’t want to be that fragile,” I explained, “and you want me to be just another mission, but I’m not. I am the father of your daughter, your future husband, someone you love. And while you were taking care of our daughter, I was in bed with another woman. You know she means nothing to me. You know that the moment I can, I will kill her, because the only woman I want or need is you. You know all of that, but you’re still hurt.”

“Are you done? The pan is getting hot.” She yanked her hand from my grip and walked away.

You’re losing her.

The thought angered me…hurt me. I turned off the stove, snatching the board from her hands and tossing it on to the counter.

“What are you doing–”

I kissed her, and it didn’t last a second before her fist collided with the side of my face. I had reached out to brace myself but because I was confused, or just an idiot, I ended up touching the damn stove.

“Ah!” I hissed, my jaw tight.

“What fuck is wrong with you?” she snapped, grabbing my wrist and moving me over to the sink to run cold water over it.

“You! You are what’s wrong with me!” Couldn’t she see that? I thought it was obvious.

CALLIOPE – AGE 24

Rome, Italy

Friday, April 25th





I’d just finished dealing with one child and now I was dealing with him. When did this become my life?

“I’ll get my first aid—” He held onto my wrist with his good hand. This again? “Ethan, I’m warning you stop—”

“We have a plan,” he whispered, and I wish I didn’t, but I looked into his eyes. It was as if they were begging me. “We have a plan. It is logical, it is vicious, it is calculating…and it would be impossible for any other people to achieve because it requires us to not only sacrifice our own happiness, but to hurt ourselves and each other. We are prepared for the physical pain, but the emotional agony? We couldn’t have prepared no matter how hard we tried.”