Page 70 of His Queen

“The Ferreros were looking for a way to get rid of our family. All I did was give them the opportunity to do it.”

I sit there, frozen in shock, as my mind tries to process everything Marco is telling me. How could my own brother be responsible for everything that’s happened to us? How could he have been so manipulative, so evil? It’s like all the puzzle pieces that never fit together are clicking into place, and I’m left feeling horrified and sick to my stomach.

“You son of a bitch,” I hiss through tears, my body shaking with rage. “It’s your fault. You did this.”

“You should have seen Dad’s face when I found him in the hallway, bleeding to death. He was so surprised. So caught off guard. It was almost too easy.” He stares into thin air, his eyes glazed over with a distant look. “I think he thought I was going to help him. That I would call 911 or do something. But I just stood there, staring down at him, watching him die.” Suddenly, he flicks his gaze over to me. “But want to know what the best two minutes were?”

My cheeks burn with tears, my chest and insides aching with a pain I’ve never felt before.

“It was when I found Mom lying in a pool of her blood. It was an amazing sight.”

Anger rises, my vision turning red along the edges.

“She was a beautiful woman. I used to sit outside their bedroom door and listen to them fuck. She would cry out Dad’s name, and he would growl like a fucking animal. I had half a mind to fuck her right there on the floor, see if her pussy was as good as Dad’s grunts made it sound.”

“Jesus, you’re sick, Marco.”

“We’re all sick, Mira. Every single person on this Earth is sick or fucked up in some way or another. No one is whole anymore. Sane. Stable. We’re all just evil fuckers waiting for the world to end.”

I watch him struggle against his restraints, and a dark thought crosses my mind. I’m so angry, I want to weep out my rage that’s squeezing my insides up into my throat. The longer I sit there listening to him rambling the truth like he’s telling his favorite story, the more intense this feeling becomes. I’m losing control of my thoughts, like they’re no longer mine, driven by an endless fury that won’t be silenced.

I clench my fist as I rise to my feet, sweat dripping down my spine, but I no longer feel the summer heat. I don’t hear the crickets or the breeze rustling through the trees outside. Maybe it’s because I’m no longer here. I’m not in this mausoleum listening to the brother I thought was dead. I’m not in this city. I’m not even in this fucking life. I’m nowhere, yet I’m spinning out of control, and all I see is her face. Her eyes, bright and alive, then one breath later, dull and dead.

The dark crimson shade of her blood trickles in along my vision, everything turning into a red haze while my chest boils, my muscles constrict, and this raging fire scorches the back of my throat, burning away the last bits and pieces of my sanity.

“You killed her,” I say, but I don’t recognize my voice. “You killed Momma.”

He scoffs. “Every last fucking person on this planet will kill for what they want. It’s called survival, and everyone does it. Wouldn’t you? If you had a chance to get rid of all the people in this world who brought you harm? Wouldn’t you?”

I don’t even realize I’ve taken the crucifix off the wall until it’s tight in my hand, and I’m staring down at him from behind.

“I wish she knew it was me,” he continues as if I’m not even there. “If I could go back in time, I would make sure to arrive thirty seconds earlier so I can see her face when she realizes she’s bleeding out on her expensive fucking Persian carpet all because…of me, her precious boy with the broken mind. That’s what she called me when they told me I had to go away. Bitch deserved to die.”

A roaring growl erupts right up from my stomach, and with every ounce of strength I have left, I sledge the edge of the crucifix into his head. He screams, curses, and I do it again. Again and again and again. Blood and brain matter splatter everywhere, and my screams replace his. I no longer see his blood. I see hers, how it pools around her and slowly moves closer toward me while I lie silent under the bed because I promised. I promised!

“I promised!” I scream, bashing his head, blood hitting my face, and I can taste it on my lips. But it only feeds the rage, erupting like fire from my gut.

“I promised!” I slam the crucifix down again.

“I promised!” And again.

“Mirabella!”

“I promised!”

“Mira, stop!”

“I promised!” I can’t stop. I can’t stop this. I don’t want to stop.

“Mirabella! You have to stop.”

“No!” My scream ricochets off the walls, but it can’t be mine. It’s some wild animal or other possessed with bloodlust, and it’s out of control.

“Mirabella! Please, stop.”

“He killed her. He killed Momma!”

“Hummingbird!”

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