“Tonight. Let’s go eat dinner.” He places a hand on my lower back to guide me out. Bastian follows. We go into the dining room, where Amadeo pulls out a chair, and I sit. They take the seats on either side of me, and the same woman from before comes to serve us.

Tonight’s meal is roasted chicken with potatoes, vegetables, and the salad I saw her carrying in. Once we have our dishes, Amadeo pours us each a glass of wine, and I don’t wait for them to get started. I pick up my knife and fork and eat, ravenous.

“How is Emma?” I ask as I chew.

“She’s fine. She ate dinner about an hour ago, and they’re going to make popcorn and watch a movie,” Bastian says.

“Good.” I shove a huge bite of chicken into my mouth. It’s so big that I have to swallow wine to get it down.

“Take it easy.” Amadeo lays his hand on mine, and I study his bruised knuckles. It’s the hand I’m holding my knife with. Does he know how easily I can stab his? Pin it to the table?

“Dandelion?” he asks. I shift my gaze up and look at him through my lashes. “Everything all right?”

I study his steely eyes. I think about how he watched Bastian fuck me. How he tossed him the lubricant. I think about how he came in my mouth. And I think about how I want it again. It’s that sickness in me. All people see is the pretty outside, but inside, I’m rotten. Rotting. Maybe that’s why they’re looking at me so strangely now. Perhaps they’re seeing the real me. They’d be the first.

Tears blur my vision. I shake my head and pick up my wineglass to swallow it all down. “I’m just hungry,” I say and continue to devour every bite on my plate. When I’m done, I set down my knife and fork and sit back in my chair to find both brothers watching me closely. I wipe my mouth and wonder what the hell they find so fucking interesting. I remember Bastian’s question again. Remember how when I’d said I was tired he’d made the comment that killing will do that to you. I’m a killer. I should feel guilt or remorse or something. Anything.

The kitchen door swings open, and two women emerge to clear our dishes.

“Give us a minute,” Amadeo tells them, and they retreat.

“We need to go,” I say.

“We have time,” Amadeo says as they both stand. “There’s something we need to talk about. Let’s go into the study.”

I look from him to Bastian and back. “What’s happened?”

“Come,” he says, Bastian moving to the exit as Amadeo pulls my chair out.

“What is it? Tell me.”

“Vittoria—”

“Just say it!”