Of volume lineage

“Can I wear whatever I want?”

Giova

Before I could ask what type of business he was doing there, Marzia stumbled into the kitchen. She pushed up her hair, causing the strands to stick up. I couldn’t stop my hands from smoothing them down.

“Morning,” she yawned.

“Good morning,” her father and I said at the same time. I sent him a glare; he ignored me. “What do you want for breakfast, my darling?”

Marzia mumbled something that sounded like pancakes.

To be surprise, Giova

Although, technically, we were all Viglianos now.

Recalling the night before made me shudder. I knew the things I had done would forever haunt me in my dreams, but I did have some control over what I let haunt me in my day-to-day life. I did what had to be done, even if the sensation of sticky blood over my hands hadn’t gone away, even with relentless scrubbing.

“What do you want on your pancakes, Isabella?” Giova

I looked to Marzia. “What are you having?”

She began listing immediately. “Strawberries, blueberries, maple syrup…”

“I’ll have the same.”

Giova

The biggest crisis in Marzia’s life at the moment was the Bookfair. She had circled all the books she had wanted in the magazine and was giving Giova

“I forgot to ask,” I said as we put our plates in the dishwasher. “What’s your favorite cake?”

Marzia’s nose scrunched up. “My favorite?”

“Yes, for the bake sale. I may as well make your favorite.”

“What bake sale?”

“To raise money for the school–I’m not entirely sure. It’s put on by the PTA.”

“Ohhh,” she laughed. “That bake sale.” A little cute frown formed on her face. “You’re going to that?”

“Since I don’t want to be hunted down by the PTA and murdered in my sleep, yes.” I sent her a sideways smile. “Unless you don’t want me to?”

“No,” she said quickly. “You can go.” Marzia sent me a strange look before looking to her father. Giova

“Red velvet it is.”

“Mrs. Holloway made a cake last year with a mote,” Marzia told me excitedly. “There was a little bridge and horses.”

I cringed. “That doesn’t seem fair.”

“It was soo cool. It tasted super yummy.” Her eyes were bright. “Can you make a red velvet castle?”

Definitely not. “I’ll try.”

Giova

On the way to school, Marzia talked about bake sale without taking a breath. When we reached the school, she spotted Orchid and Hattie, stiffening immediately. Before I could demand an answer from her, she darted into the building, her little dark head disappearing into the building.

I ignored waves from the other parents, keeping my eyes trained on the eight-year-olds. Was it socially appropriate to go up to them and demand an answer as to why Marzia was so afraid of them? I couldn’t see me threatening a child going over well with the headmaster–or the other parents.

Marzia would share when she was ready. She was a smart kid and had been doing fine before I came along. I’m sure my suspicion was misplaced.

And yet…

A nagging feeling continued in my brain. It would have to wait, however. Tonight, I was being taken to one of Giova

No use growing attached to Marzia, I comforted myself as I continued to glare at the little girls. You will only break your heart.

And hers.