“Your mother…” Not for the first time today, I’m left wondering about Kiara’s identity. I thought she was an art slave, but she’s more than that. She’s also the daughter of an art slave. She has to be.
Her mother was already in captivity, and when Kiara came along, the De Lucas decided to keep themboth.Groom the daughter to follow in the mother’s footsteps.
Those sick bastards…
Kiara’s voice gets farther away. “My mom was the original Libertas, and she…she trained me.”
“Because the De Lucas forced her to?”
She shakes her head. “Not at first. My mom taught me about painting because she loved it. Or she did, before she became the De Lucas’ personal on-call Monet.”
“Does anyone outside the De Luca mafia know about the two of you? You and your mom. Does anyone else know about your work?”
“No one.” Kiara chews the inside of her cheek. “We never got the chance to make our work our own. First, my mother’s paintings, and then later, mine…they were just taken. By Enzo. And then by Leo. They seized the pieces and sold them.”
To the De Luca men, everything has a price tag.
They don’t have any qualms about what they do or how they do it, as long as they get paid the way they want to.
“And so you learned to imitate your mother’s style,” I gather, my own voice trailing off.
Kiara nods again. “Any subtle change in the style was explained away as a ‘developing and changing artist.’” She scoffs. “But nothing was mine. Not my art. Not my life. Nothing but my journals and my memories. So…yeah. The night of theauction, I was running. Away from everyone who wants to control and use me.What of it?”
When Kiara serves me with a sharp, arctic glare, I hold my hands up in submission. “You’ve made your point.”
She blows out a breath and releases my gaze from the intensity of her own. She drops her legs back down to the ground, frustration coloring her features.
“But I failed. I tried to get away, and I didn’t succeed. Which means…game over.” Her shoulders collapse again. “I’ll never get to live a real life.”
She stabs me straight through the heart with that one.
That’s all Kiara’s ever wanted, isn’t it? The freedom to live a real life.
For just a second, I wish I could be the one to offer her what she desires.
I wish I could give her something that’s literally impossible for me to give.
“I even had a bucket list.” Kiara’s countenance falls, like she’s remembering at the same moment she’s telling me about it.
“Oh, yeah?” Somehow, the semidarkness all around us softens my voice even more. “What was on it?”
“A trip to Paris in the spring.” Her tone brightens. “Shopping at one of those markets in Marrakesh where all the vendors shout out prices. Walking the city at night in the rain. Finding the perfect cupcake. Tasting the strangest donuts. Road-tripping across America, seeing every single state—” Kiara’s voice cuts off as the string lights woven throughout the labyrinth come on for the evening, replacing our dimly lit courtyard with a warm glow.
I expect Kiara to keep speaking after the surprise and beauty of the lights wears off, but when I look over at her face, she’s still frozen, eyes cast ahead of her.
Then, she abruptly pulls those knees back up to her chest, burying her head on top. Fuck. We’ve regressed.
“What?” I lean closer to her. “What is it?”
“I forgot, okay?” When she lifts her head, I find her tears have returned in full force.
“Forgot what?”
“That I wantedthistoo!” She throws her hands up, as if to imply she’s always wanted a labyrinth of her own.
I feel bad, but I’m totally lost. “Wantedwhat, Kiara?”
Unexpectedly, she shoots to her feet, spinning in a small circle.
