L'Incendiario Avido

Imani's POV

I needed air.

I kissed Yara's forehead.

I walked out of the room. The hallway was quiet. Then I saw him.

Malcolm.

He stood by the nurse's station, clipboard in hand. Stethoscope around his neck. When he saw me, he smiled.

My heart sank.

Every time I saw him, something tugged at my chest.

I pushed the thoughts away. Not now. I couldn't think about that now.

I smiled back. Barely.

I kept walking.

***

Outside.

The sun was too bright. An ambulance screamed past.

The bench outside was half in shade. I sat and tipped my head back and just breathed.

"Trouble follows you, baby girl." A low husky voice said.

I looked around. Then at him.

He was already seated. I hadn't heard him arrive. One ankle crossed over his knee, both arms stretched wide across the backrest like the bench existed for him specifically. He was looking straight ahead..

He was tall. Even sitting, I could tell. Broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his black shirt. A beard, trimmed close. Sharp jaw. His eyes were dark.

"Are you talking to me?"

He didn't answer.

A cigar case opened. He held it between two fingers without lighting it.

"That's a hospital." My voice came out steadier than I felt. "You can't smoke here.

"Yara is on the fourth floor. Room 509. The smoke won't reach her. We are outside." He turned the cigar once. "So what's the problem?"

He finally looked at me.

I went still.

"How do you know about my daughter?"

He smiled. Like he was enjoying something I couldn't see.

"I know a lot about you, baby girl."

"Stop calling me that."

He ignored me.

"I know you always go to the winery on Saturdays." His gaze stayed on my face. "You leave the house at eight o'clock. I know you talk to your father in law's portrait every now and then."

My breath caught.

I stood too quickly.

My foot hit the edge of the bench, and the world tilted. For a second, I thought I was going to fall.

But his arm came around my waist, firm, unhesitating.

He pulled me into him.

My palms pressed against his chest, solid and warm. I felt the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the faint scent of something dark and expensive.

I looked up.

His face was inches from mine. Too close. His eyes held mine—not soft, not gentle.

My stomach flipped.

For a second, neither of us moved.

The air charged, like something was about to happen, and neither of us had decided what yet.

His gaze dropped—just briefly—to my lips.

Then, back to my eyes.

Like he already knew how this would go.

And that scared me more than anything he’d said.

He let me go slowly like he was choosing to.

Like he didn’t have to.

“Sit down.”

His voice was low. Controlled.

But it settled into me like something that expected to be obeyed.

My body reacted before my mind could catch up.

I sat.

"You're sleeping with the enemy, Imani." He looked ahead.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are."

"That's the problem." He turned his head towards me. "You don't know who anyone is... you're not safe, Imani. Neither is Yara."

My heart was loud in my own ears. "Are you threatening me?"

Something moved in his expression. Brief. Almost pitying.

He stood. One slow, inevitable motion. He straightened his jacket with a single pull and looked down at me. "I am telling you what is true."

"Who are you." I stood too. "How do you know any of this—"

"Ask your husband." He reached into his breast pocket. Produced a lighter. Turned it once between his fingers like a habit older than thinking and replaced it without using it. His eyes held mine for one more second. "Ask him about L'Incendiario Avido."

He walked away. No hurry. No backwards glance.

Long strides. Disappearing into the midst of people like a smoke.

I pulled out my phone. My hands were still shaking.

Roy answered on the first ring.

"Baby. How's Yara?"

"The same." I swallowed. "Baby, I met someone. Outside the hospital. A man."

"What, man?"

"He knew things. About me. About Yara. He told me to ask you about—" I paused. The word felt heavy on my tongue. "Incendiario Avido."

Silence.

The silence of a man who has just heard something he hoped he wouldn't.

"Did he touch you?" Roy's voice changed. The warmth drained out of it. "Did he hurt you?"

"No. No, I'm fine. He just scared me."

"Are you hot? Are you feeling dizzy? Did he give you anything?"

"What? No. Baby, I'm fine. I just—"

"Check on Yara. Right now. Go to her room."

My stomach dropped. "You think he would—"

"Go. Now. I'll stay on the phone."

I ran. Through the lobby. Into the elevator. Down the hall. Burst through Yara's door.

She was there. Same bed. Same machines. Same slow rise and fall of her chest.

"Okay," I said, breathless. "She's fine. Nothing is wrong. Everything is okay."

Roy exhaled. Long. Slow.

"Listen to me carefully. Get in your car. Drive straight home. Don't stop. I'm sending people to secure Yara. Don't talk to anyone. I'm on my way."

He hung up.

***

I drove home fast.

I walked inside. Locked the door behind me. Checked it twice.

I went upstairs. To our bedroom.

The bathroom door was open.

I walked inside.

And stopped.

On the mirror. Written in red.

L'Incendiario Avido

My breath caught. My heart stopped.

Then the smell hit me. Blood. It was blood.

The scream tore out of my throat. Strangled. I hit the door frame, going backwards, spun, and ran. I was on the stairs. Running down. But my legs gave out halfway. I stopped. Held the railing. Couldn't breathe.

I heard the front door slam open so hard the walls shook.

"IMANI!"

Roy's voice. But not his voice. This was raw. Wild.

He appeared at the bottom of the staircase. His eyes were wide. His shirt untucked. His face pale.

He climbed toward me. Fast. Met me in the middle.

The same stairs where Yara fell. Or where she was pushed.

His hands went to my face. My shoulders. My arms. Turning me. Looking for blood. For bruises. For anything.

"Are you hurt? Did he do anything? Tell me."

"I'm fine. I'm fine."

He exhaled. Long. Then he pulled me into his chest. Wrapped his arms around me so tight I couldn't move.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered into my hair.

I clung to him. "Roy, the mirror. Something was written. In blood."

He pulled back. Cupped my face. "What was it?"

"Incendiario Avido."

His jaw tightened.

"Roy, who is he?"

Something moved through my husband's face that I had never seen there. The expression of a man who has spent years outrunning something and just heard it behind him.

His hands dropped from my face.

"My sworn enemy," he said. "My brother, Dashiel."

Roy turned. Looked across the sitting room. At the portrait of his father. Harold's eyes stared down at the staircase.

"Roy." My voice had gone very quiet. "Is this — the brother who killed your parents?"

"The very one." His voice was quiet. Empty.