Page 42 of Bitter Prince

“How so?” I asked.

“I was too blind and too young to see. He used me to form an alliance with Ojisan, but he never meant to go through with it. I can see that now. He never introduced me to any of his friends or family.” I waited, sensing there was more to the story. “He was embarrassed of me. My skin color. My eyes. My clothes.” She reached out, her small hands taking my large ones into hers. “She’s Romero’s daughter,” she pointed out the obvious. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, my son.”

“And I’m Leone’s son. I didn’t think you would hold Romero’s sins against his children.” It was a hypocritical thing to say, considering I was using Reina to give the final blow to her old man. “The Romero daughters were raised by their grandmother.”

She ignored my comment. “Are you using Reina Romero to get to her father?”

“Maybe.” I was using her to squash the man. Dante would do the same with Phoenix. Checkmate.

“Romero will never approve,” she said in Japanese. Her voice was soft, but underneath it all was something else. Something more. Something she hid too well. “And neither will I.”

“After I’m done with him, it won’t matter. Reina Romero is just a means to an end.”

If only I knew how badly those words would haunt me.

21

REINA

It was the first official weekend of our summer break—middle of June.

We arrived in Venice late last night, and instead of each one of us sleeping in our own bedrooms—because there were more than enough of those in Papà’s home—we all crammed into Phoenix’s and my room. Raven and Athena climbed into Phoenix’s bed in the adjoining bedrooms.

The first rays of sunshine flickered through the curtains.

I glanced at the clock that told me it was only 6:00 a.m., the blinking red numbers accusing me of insomnia. Everyone was sound asleep, tired from last night’s drive from Paris in our little rented Fiat. I was seriously tempted to push that car into the sea and take the train back. Anything but cramming into it again.

I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling, the wispy gray clouds my mother had started to paint all those years ago still unfinished. It was the summer that had started it all. My panic attacks. Meeting those two boys. Losing my mother.

Turning my head, I found my sister’s sleeping face. She was innocent and so good. It was one secret I could never share with her. I had to protect her. I made a promise.

I slipped out of the bed and made my way to the large bench by the window. I sat down, bringing my knees to my chest, and wrapped my arms around my legs while memories I worked hard to repress flashed through my mind.

I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping they’d go away. They didn’t. Instead, images grew more vivid.

Blood-red bathtub. Mamma’s pale face. Her blue lips.

The crimson bathwater surrounded my beautiful mamma, her long, golden hair floating on the surface. Her palm gripped a necklace, the most unusual pendant hanging off it.

“Mamma?” My voice was barely a whisper, but she must have heard me because her eyes opened. Sadness stared back at me. “A-are you okay, Mamma?”

It took her so much effort to inhale a deep breath that I took a step forward, worried she was hurting. I heard her crying earlier, but I didn’t want to alarm my sister, so I waited until Phoenix picked up a book before leaving her.

“I’m fine, my little queen. Mommy’s just tired.”

“W-want me to tuck you in?” I offered, confused at why she was sleeping in the tub.

She shook her head, the pendant swinging back and forth. She saw my eyes studying it. “Do you like it?” I nodded. “It means love and affection in Japanese,” she murmured. “And I love you and your sister so much.”

“Love you too, Mamma.” Why did my chest ache? Maybe I was getting sick. “Should I get Papà?” I offered.

“No.” Her voice came out strong. Determined. “I gave up everything for him, and he gave me nothing. You hear me, Reina? He gave us nothing!”

I frowned, not understanding her words, but I still nodded. I didn’t want to upset her. Mamma was an actress, and sometimes she liked to pretend life was a movie. At least that’s what Papà kept saying, although I didn’t understand that either.

Some days I wished we’d never come to Italy. We were happier in California. Life was perfect until we came here.

“Promise me, Reina.” Her voice was weak; she was fading. Leaving us. I didn’t know how I knew it, but I felt it deep in my heart. Mamma didn’t like Italy, and now, she’d leave us for good.