Ava's POV
"You will need this."
Lorenzo's hands moved around my waist, sliding something into my pocket. I felt the hard edge of a card against my hip.
"No—" I pulled the black card from my pocket, trying to hand it back to him.
"Just take it. While I am being nice." His voice was soft, almost gentle.
Hold on a minute.
Did he like what happened last night?
He pulled me closer, his chest pressing against mine. He brushed my lips with his and lingered there. My lips spread into a smile despite myself. I was happy. Happy that I was finally going to see my mother.
Lorenzo pulled away and walked to the window, his back to me. He lit a cigar, the flame from the lighter casting shadows across his face. I could tell something was bothering him. The way his shoulders were tense, the way he stared out at nothing.
Well, what's my business?
"Take all the time you need," he said without turning around.
Tired of me already.
I turned to leave when I overheard the house guard talking to Ellen and the bald butler in the hallway.
"Sire has some business outside the city. You can leave the house to visit family and friends. Here are your bonuses."
He handed them each an envelope. Their faces lit up with surprise.
"The car is ready, ma'am." Ellen appeared at my door with a small bag already packed.
Ellen had packed everything I needed and placed it in the car. The fact that I have all this luxury now doesn't stop me from wanting to see my mother. Nothing could replace that.
The car made a stop at a park filled with camping vans. Broken bottles littered the ground. The grass was brown and patchy. A group of men stood around a fire barrel, their faces hard and weathered.
Why would they bring our mother to this filthy place?
My stomach turned with disgust and worry.
"They are inside. I will keep watch from here." The driver's voice was flat, emotionless.
I walked across the narrow street to a black camp van. The sound of loud music filled my ears, bass thumping so hard I could feel it in my chest. Smoke poured out from under the door, making me cough. I pounded on the door three times.
"What in the bloody name of God?" The door swung open. "Ethan, come!"
Ethan stumbled to the door, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand. I scrunched my nose from the smell of alcohol and something else that filled the air between us. Piss. The stench from the room filled my nose.
"Became his hoe, did you?"
His words hit me like a slap. I swallowed hard, my hands clenching into fists at my sides.
"Having the best time mourning my death? Where is our mother?"
"Our mother?" He laughed, a cruel, ugly sound. "Shut the hell up! You don't deserve to call her that now, hoe!"
Marco appeared behind Ethan, his eyes bloodshot and glassy. He looked me up and down, a smirk spreading across his face.
"Look, Ethan, she's even got one of the Valentis to escort her. Bloody hoe."
I glared at both of them, my chest heaving. They were drunk as hell.
"Is that the thank you I get for you helping change your life?" Marco's voice dripped with sarcasm.
Tears rolled down my cheeks. Hot, angry tears that I tried to wipe away, but they kept coming. I bit my lips.
"change??"
"Don't be a sorry piece of shit. Fuck off!"
"I won't leave till I see Mother." My voice shook. "You told her I was dead. I need to know she is okay."
"Well, I thought you would—"
"Ethan, that Valenti, I know him." Marco's face went pale. "Give her the information she needs!"
My blood ran cold. Ethan stepped closer to Marco, grabbing his shirt.
"What did you do again, Marco? Motherfucker, what did you do?"
"Nothing, I swear, just that—"
WHAM.
Ethan's fist connected with Marco's face. The sound was sickening. Marco's nose started to bleed immediately, blood dripping down his chin and onto his shirt.
"Leave him alone, Ethan!" I managed to come between them, pushing against Ethan's chest. They both smelled like piss and sweat and alcohol.
"Leave him alone!"
Ethan brushed past my shoulder as he walked out, cursing under his breath. The door slammed behind him, making the entire van shake.
I walked into the tiny room and came closer to Marco. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
"What did you do again?"
"Nothing. I just know him from the club." He wiped the blood from his nose with the back of his hand.
I let out a breath. For a second, I thought he got into trouble with Lorenzo again. That would be the end of all of us.
Empty bottles of beer littered the floor. Beer cans were scattered at every corner. A woman's underwear hung from a door handle. I remembered coming home late from work to meet women's clothes scattered all over the floor, mixed with beer cans and cigarette butts.
I could hate my brothers, but they were just sorry losers who needed more of my pity than my hate.
"Where is Mother, Marco?" I said, my voice dropping to barely a whisper.
"We couldn't afford keeping her at home, so we took her to this hospice." He handed me a wrinkled card. "She is doing pretty fine."
"Hospice?" My forehead wrinkled with concern. My hands started to shake.
"We couldn't keep her with us, and after 'what happened,' she got worse."
I started to hit him on his chest. Over and over. My fists bouncing off his bony frame.
"Why? Why?"
"Relax, relax." He caught my wrists. "The doctor said she is stable now."
He slumped onto a couch with a dirty towel pressed to his bleeding nose.
"Marco, what has she done to be treated this way?" I bit my lips as tears rolled down my cheeks. "She is our mother, isn't she? And if she is not, she deserves to be treated well by those she raised."
"Why did you come back, Ava?" His voice was tired, defeated. "You now have everything. You are so lucky. Most girls get auctioned off to brothels or worse."
"I came back for Mom. I suspected that you won't take care of her at all."
"When he gets tired of you, you might get killed, Ava." He spoke in a low tone, his eyes meeting mine for the first time. "Run while you can. Or worse, you will be auctioned off to some place."
My skin crawled with goosebumps. My heart thudded against my chest violently. The room suddenly felt too small, too hot.
"Then why did you sell me off to him if you knew all this would happen?"
I looked at the purple rings around his glassy eyes. I needed answers. Real answers. I saw purple patches all over his skin, his arms covered in bruises. Maybe beaten up by people who want their money back.
"We needed to pay up or be killed." His voice broke. "And we also thought it would be better if Mom knows you are dead. She wouldn't have to worry about you anymore."
"Well, happy?"
"You don't look bad being a hoe." He tried to smile, but it came out twisted.
"A pig sty looks cleaner than this."
I wanted to show him the scars I sustained from the ride to the dark basement. The bruises from Lorenzo's beatings. The cut on my arm that still hadn't fully healed. The nightmares that kept me awake at night.
I have always shared a lot with marco.
But I did not.
This might be a test from Lorenzo to know if I can be trusted. From everything Marco tells me, Lorenzo can't be trusted. From how he looked last night till this morning, something was wrong. It's only a matter of time before he gets tired of me.
And what happens if he does?
"You should be ashamed of yourself, Marco." I snapped back at him. "And tell that to Ethan as well. You smell like shit."
"And you?" He lit a cigarette and drew on it slowly, then started to laugh. A bitter, hollow laugh. "You smell like a product about to expire."
"It would be good if you leave now. Ethan would really hate to see you here when he comes back."
Since the day Mom brought me to the house, they have never really taken a liking to me. Always treated me like an outsider. Like I didn't belong. All I care about is Mom. She was the only one who ever loved me.
I scanned the room one last time, took the hospice card from Marco's hand, and stormed out of the van.
Fucking bastards.
The driver didn't say a word as I got back into the car. I gave him the address on the card. My hands were still shaking.
The hospice was on the other side of town. A small building with peeling paint and bars on the windows. It looked more like a prison than a place for healing.
I walked inside. The smell of disinfectant and something else I couldn't name hit me immediately. An old woman sat at the front desk, her eyes barely lifting from her magazine.
"I'm here to see Maria Sinclair."
"Room 12. Down the hall."
My feet felt heavy as I walked down the narrow hallway. The lights flickered above me. I could hear people moaning, crying, calling out for help that never came.
I stopped at Room 12. My hand hovered over the doorknob.
What if she doesn't recognize me?
What if seeing me makes her worse?
I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.