Page 81 of Thorns of Blood

Her words doubled the pace of my heart, making my hands tremble in my lap. The statement seemed irrelevant, out of place at this moment.

“What’s your biggest fear, doctor?” I asked.

She didn’t hesitate. “Spiders.”

“Mine is becoming like my mother.”

Her eyes lowered to whatever notes she had in my file. It couldn’t have been much because Sofia Volkov was somehow still a bit of an enigma to the outside world.

“Why is that?”

There were so many reasons, but none of them could be said out loud. Not here. Not ever.

“Because men made her into a monster.” Just like they’d made me into one. They’d stolen her beloved first-born child. They’d murdered mine. “I don’t want to become her, yet I can see that I am.” Every bad thing that happened to her, she returned it to the world tenfold. She didn’t care if she hurt innocent people in the process. Apparently neither did I.

She waited for me to continue, and when I didn’t, she commented, “You’re not your mother. You can change the trajectory of your life by healing yourself.”

Pain cut through my chest and I inhaled deeply to steady my breathing. I lowered my eyes to my clenched hands. Maybe shewas right. Maybe if I got all the darkness out into the open, I could find a way to move on.

“I thought I was okay, that I was getting better. But then something as simple as a thunderstorm triggers me, and I feel that familiar tremor return.” I twisted my fingers in my lap, wondering if she saw how desperate I was to be normal. For Giovanni. For my twin. For myself. “I’m starting to think that the past will never truly remain in the past.”

“The memories will hurt,” Dr. Freud stated calmly. “The pain will be there, but you have to let go of the past, let it be part of you but not who you are, and then you can start to heal. Then you can win.”

I just wanted a win, healing or not.

TWENTY-NINE

GIOVANNI

The concept of motherhood was foreign to Julia Agosti.

My father—or the man who raised me as his own, rather—showered my siblings and me with affection, while Mother outright pitted us against each other. She only had one purpose: to get her hands on power no matter what the cost.

Hence her indiscretions.

She’d take lovers and then lie and manipulate to get what she wanted. But that ended the moment I took over.

I wished I could say that I’d never see her or speak to her again.

But as I stood on her doorstep on the outskirts of Boston, I knew it was just that: wishful thinking. The three-story home with a gray brick facade sat on a large piece of land with perfectly landscaped gardens surrounding it and a pool in the back, fooling anyone into thinking Mother was a sophisticated woman whose sole purpose was ensuring her home looked pristine.

Those of us who knew better knew she had staff for that.

So it was no surprise that I was greeted by one of them.

“Mrs. Agosti is expecting you,” the butler announced the moment I walked through the entrance, and I felt the familiar tension envelop me. I was directed toward the living room where baroque-style furniture dominated the decor.

She was wearing a silky green dress with a gold belt and matching heels, sitting on her sofa like it was her own personal throne.She’d looked the same for as long as I could remember. Her dark hair fell to her shoulders, making her appear younger than her true age.

My mother’s eyes, so much like mine and my siblings’, narrowed and her lips curved into a fake smile.

“I see you’ve finally deigned to grace me with your presence,” she stated, contempt clear in her voice.

“My yacht is having repairs done down at the docks,” I told her with a fake smile. “So I can’t stay long.”

I wanted to make sure to be back at Dr. Freud’s by the time Lia was done with her appointment. I stationed guards and my brother to watch over her, but I knew if my wife wanted to ditch them, she would.

Mother rose, her posture stiff, and walked over to me, her heels clicking against the hardwood. “I heard you came back with a guest.”