Page 5 of Cryptic Curse (Bellamy Brothers #7)

DANIELA

B elinda has switched to Debussy now, her fingers drifting over the keys like smoke curling through the air. The notes spill out of her, soft and aching, like a whispered confession.

She’s playing “Clair de Lune,” but slower than I’ve ever heard it—haunted, almost hollow. She plays like someone remembering something they wish they could forget.

How apropos for Belinda.

And for me.

I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, heart tightening with every pause, every suspended chord. I sneak a peek around the entryway. Belinda’s hair falls into her face as she bends forward, lost in the music, and for a second, she looks so fragile I forget to breathe.

She doesn’t know I’m here.

And I don’t move.

Because something about the way she plays—broken, bleeding, beautiful—tells me she’s not just performing.

She’s surviving.

The sweet strains drift through the room like a lullaby from a life I barely remember—gentle and sad and impossibly far away. And just like that, I’m not here anymore. I’m eleven again, curled up on the cold kitchen tiles in the middle of the night.

Everyone else is asleep. Or pretending to be.

I press an old cookbook to my chest like it’s a fairytale, tracing the faded pictures of pastries. The pages smell like flour and yeast.

Cooking was never just cooking for me. It was a promise that things could be different. That ingredients could be broken down and turned into something beautiful.

Later, it became a metaphor for my life. That I could be broken and still make something worthwhile out of myself.

My father didn’t understand that. He let me cook because he wouldn’t let me learn music. It was a good way to keep me quiet and docile while preparing me to be a good mafia wife.

But he never saw what I saw.

He never knew that while he stormed through the house, I was learning the delicate science of balance—of salt against acid, of heat against time. I was building a world that made sense, one meal after another.

Now, as Belinda’s fingers move gently across the piano, coaxing out every tender note of Debussy’s masterpiece, I close my eyes and let myself fall back into that sacred place—a place where things don’t always hurt, where chaos can be contained, even made beautiful.

Like food.

Like music.

Like maybe, someday, me.

My phone buzzes on my hip. I move away from the conservatory door to answer it. It’s Vinnie.

“Hey,” I say into the phone.

“Hey, sorry to bug you.”

“No bother. Believe it or not, I’m still standing at the door listening to Belinda play. She’s been playing for two hours, and I’m captivated.”

“Damn. I hate to tear you away from that.”

I smile. “It’s okay. Once I start culinary school I won’t have this luxury, so I’m indulging myself. What do you need? How is Raven’s father?”

“We haven’t seen him yet. For some reason, they decided to require IDs, even for family members, to see the old man. And Raven was so excited she forgot her purse.”

“Oh, damn.”

“Yeah. Could you grab it and bring it over?”

“Yeah, except…”

“What?”

“Natalie went with Phyllis to do the grocery shopping. I’ll have to bring Belinda with me.”

“I hate to take her away from her practice.” He pauses a moment. “Tell her I’ll take you all out for dinner afterwards. We’ll go to that place that has those ice cream sundaes Belinda loves.”

“I’m sure that will help.” I look around. “Did Raven tell you where her purse is?”

“Hold on.”

Pause.

“She says it should be on her dresser in the bedroom.”

“All right. I’ll grab it. If it’s not there, I’ll call you back.” I open the maps app, check the traffic. “The roads look pretty clear, so I should be able to be there in about half an hour.”

“Okay, thanks.”

I hate to leave the beautiful music Belinda is playing, but I walk up the stairway and head to the master bedroom.

Sure enough, Raven’s Gucci crossbody bag is still sitting on her dresser. I run my fingers over the pebbled leather. I had a Gucci bag similar to this back in Colombia. My father may have let his friends and associates abuse the hell out of me, but he did at least spoil me with nice things.

Designer clothing, handbags, shoes.

I would’ve gladly given them all up just to be a normal teenage girl. To go to a normal school, have normal friends. Not be forced at gunpoint to sexually satisfy strange men.

I didn’t even have friends my own age to confide in. I was tutored at home. Never went to a typical school.

In a way, I suppose I should be grateful.

My education was far superior. My au pair and my tutor were both American, and I learned English from them.

I speak American English without an accent, which has certainly helped me assimilate into the culture here.

I also speak fluent Spanish, of course, along with French and German.

Most Colombian girls my age only speak Spanish and perhaps a little English.

So yes, my education was top-notch, and I’m grateful for that.

Would I trade my life for anyone else’s?

I don’t know. I have an amazing life now.

I’ll be going to culinary school soon. Even though it’s always been my dream to study at the Cordon Bleu in Paris, and Vinnie offered me that, I want to stay here in Austin.

I don’t want to be far away from Belinda.

I believe she needs me, and I need her too.

Sometimes I feel more like a mother to her, sometimes a sister.

It’s an odd relationship, to be sure, but she and I have so much in common. I believe I can help her. I’ve told her she can talk to me about anything, but she has yet to reach out about any of the abuse that she endured.

One day, I believe she will.

And when she’s ready, I need to be here.

I’ll be studying at the Beaux-Arts Culinary Institute here in Austin. Maybe one day I’ll work as a chef in a fine restaurant.

Or maybe I’ll fall in love and get married and simply cook for my family.

Honestly, I’m good with either outcome.

Though… Could I ever be a wife? I’m kind of broken. I’ve never actually had sex for love.

It’s always been painful, difficult, and life-draining.

“For the love of God, Daniela,” I say out loud. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself.” I grab Raven’s purse and head back down the stairs.

As I walk toward the conservatory, the gorgeous strains of Debussy are trailing off. Belinda has reached the end. Good. At least I won’t have to interrupt her in the middle of the piece.

I give a soft knock on the open conservatory door so she knows I’m coming in.

She looks up from the piano and gives me a small smile.

She’s smiling so much more lately. She truly is a beautiful child with blond hair and blue eyes.

She was actually promised to Vinnie as part of some deal her father made with Vinnie’s grandfather.

Declan McAllister wasn’t happy when Vinnie came home from Colombia with me as his wife. But he died pretty soon after that, so…

Vinnie had him killed. He had my father killed. He had Diego Vega killed.

Yet I feel safer with Vinnie than I’ve ever felt with anyone.

I know he’ll never harm me, and I know he’ll never harm Belinda.

He has done everything in his power to help us heal from our pasts.

“Hey, sweetie,” I say to Belinda.

She pops up from the piano bench and gives me a hug. “Hi, Dani.”

“I hate to interrupt your practice,” I say, pointing to Raven’s purse, “but I need to take this over to the hospital to Raven. And since the house is empty at the moment?—”

She nods. “Oh, that’s great. I’ll just go with you then.”

Belinda is getting much more comfortable going out in public. Vinnie and I try to get her out of the house as much as we can, taking her out to lunch, to the park, to the shopping mall.

She places her sheet music back inside the piano bench. She’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, only socks—light-blue with rubber ducks on them—on her feet. She doesn’t like to play the piano with shoes on, says she has more control over the pedals without them.

“Have you seen my shoes?” she asks.

I grin, pointing to her sneakers that are sitting on the floor at the doorway. “You’d lose your head if it weren’t attached.”

She laughs lightly. “Probably.” She walks over and slides her feet into her sneakers. “These are the most comfortable shoes ever.”

She’s told me how her father kept her in little-girl party dresses and Mary Janes.

When we let her go to the mall and pick out her own wardrobe, she was thrilled.

We left with huge bags filled to the brim with leisure wear and denim, not to mention some funky socks. Raven and I got giddy watching her.

“You may need a light jacket,” I say.

She laughs. “This is Texas.”

“I know, but the wind is brisk today.”

She shrugs. “Okay.”

As we walk out of the conservatory, Belinda grabs a fleece zip-up hoodie from the coat rack. I’m already wearing a sweatshirt, so I should be fine. Like Belinda, I’m wearing sneakers and jeans, and my dark hair is up in a messy bun.

Also like Belinda, I don’t have to look perfect to be on display for anyone anymore.

It’s so freeing. For both of us.

“Okay, Bee,” I say, “Let’s go.”

We walk through the huge kitchen and through the laundry area to the garage.

It’s an enormous four-car garage, and the car Vinnie bought me—a Ford Mustang, which I love—is on the farthest side.

He said he’d hire a driver for me, but I didn’t want one.

He’s already done so much, and he doesn’t even use his own driver much anymore, now that his grandfather is gone and he’s doing only legitimate business.

His chauffeur and his bodyguard are still on staff, but they’re treated more like general security now.

“Do you think Vinnie will buy me a car like this when I’m sixteen?” Belinda asks me.

“If I know Vinnie,” I say, “he will buy you whatever your little heart desires. But remember to be grateful.”

She widens her eyes. “Are you kidding me? I’m grateful every day for Vinnie. Raven, too. It’s so wonderful to wake up every morning and not feel afraid.” Her lip trembles slightly, but she stiffens it. “I guess I don’t really know how to explain it, you know?”

I actually do know, but I haven’t told Belinda what I’ve gone through. She needs to see me as a symbol of strength right now. She draws it from me, and in my way, I draw it right back from her.

I click the garage door opener, and Belinda and I get in the car.

As I turn on the engine, I turn to Belinda. “By the way, Vinnie says he’s going to take us to dinner after they’re done at the hospital. To that place with the great ice cream sundaes that you like.”

Her eyes light up. “That’s awesome!”

The brightness and sparkle in her blue eyes make my heart warm.

And in this moment I’m not sure I want to fall in love, or get married, or ever leave this house.

Because I don’t want to leave this little girl.

Am I her big sister? Her mother? Does it matter?

She’s become the most important person in the world to me.

I never want to be without her in my life.