“You told me you would give me Skully.” I say, but stepping closer to the door, afraid it will close. That first brush of air flicks over my skin and I close my eyes to feel it whistle through my bloodstream and calm me.

“And I will. In time. For now? You’re free.”

I jolt forward, not bothering to get any of my clothes. I run so fast the wind slaps me across my face. I continue running through the dirty tracks until I come to a grass opening and field. I don’t want to go toward the asylum where he is. I wanted out this way. I needed it. To feel dirt between my toes and the air massaging my skin.

I stop when I reach a wired fence, grabbing it in my palms and ignoring when the stabs of barbed wire rip through them. I keep running. To feel blood finally rushing through my body as if it has been vacant all along. Headlights flash past up ahead and I know that I’m close to a road. A busy road. I keep running, shoving through fallen branches and dodging tree trunks. I tear through a clearing and pause when I see a car idling on the curbside. Blacked out windows on a BMW isn’t what has me stopping. It’s when the door opens and the man who comes out stares back at me.

“Royce?”

He nudges his head to the car. “Brother.”

Chapter Twelve

Time stands still when you’re waiting for death. The words replay in my mind like a bad song that won’t get out. A song with no tune, no melody, no lyricism. Death is God’s way of regaining control. As if He needed a reminder because He knew that for years, it was Papa that held all of the control. It is Papa who owns all of the control. It has been one whole year since I gave Papa that envelope, and I still don’t know what was inside of it.

“Principessa…” Mama’s voice filters through the room and I turn slightly to face her. She stops at the threshold of the door, as if she knows how much they’ve taken from me but do it anyway.

Mama straightens her shoulders and continues all the way into the bedroom in my penthouse apartment in the city. It is fitting for them to do this for me. Keep me in Chicago for the reasons Papa always threatens. I know the threats aren’t empty, and yet here we are, staring at each other because we both know.

We know that all of the threats over the year, the things we both did, mean nothing. Nothing because now? Now Papa is dead.

“I need you back at the house, Ruby. You don’t need to be here anymore—”