Page 52 of Buried in Blood

Good girl.

Her footsteps echo softly as she enters, one at a time. Her gaze flickers past me to the corner of the room, where Dante sits wrapped in chains like a crucifix without a purpose.

She freezes.

I grab her arm, gently enough not to bruise, firmly enough to remind her who she belongs to.

“Don’t look at him,” I say. “He doesn’t deserve your attention.”

Her breath hitches. “Why am I here?”

I close the cellar door behind us and walk to the center of the room. The flickering light sways above, casting long shadows that split my face in two.

“I brought you down here,” I begin, “because it’s time you knew who you are.”

She blinks, confused.

“You were lied to, Brooke. Hidden. Thrown away like a blemish on a bloodline.”

I take a slow step toward her, and then another.

“You’re not just another girl, another pawn. You’re mine.”

She stares, breath caught somewhere between hope and horror.

“His sister,” I say, letting the word fall like a blade. “Split from Destiny at birth like a secret his mother never meant to keep. His father—he only wanted sons. He told her to get rid of you. Told her to stay quiet. She begged to keep Destiny. He allowed it… said one girl was enough to play house.”

I tilt my head, watching the horror twist across her features.

“And she chose Destiny,” I say softly. “She kept the pretty one.”

Brooke’s eyes fill with tears. “You’re lying.”

I reach into my pocket and pull out the photograph. Faded. Torn. A woman— Dante’s mother—holding two infants in a hospital bed. One tagged ‘Baby A.’ One tagged ‘Baby B.’

I hold it out to her.

“I found this the night I killed her. Tucked into one of her old prayer books. After she died.”

Brooke takes the photo with trembling hands, her eyes scanning the image like it might rewrite her history.

“But… why would they give me away?”

“Because you were never meant to exist,” I say calmly. “But here you are. Breathing. Standing. Shining like the gold I never knew I needed.”

She looks up at me then, a tear slipping down her cheek.

And she smiles.

A small, broken thing—but it’s there.

“I always felt like something was missing,” she whispers. “Like I wasn’t… whole.”

My lips twitch into something sharp. “You were never meant to be whole. You were meant to be mine. Mine to haunt. Mine to use. Mine to sell.”

Behind us, Dante shifts in his chains, groaning through bloodied lips.

“What the fuck do you mean?” he rasps. “She’s my fucking sister!”