CHAPTER 6

Chapter 6: The Silence of the Lamb

The red light of the camera didn't blink anymore. It just stared. A tiny, unblinking eye recording my transformation.

I sat on the edge of the bed in the replica room, my hands folded in my lap. The blood under my fingernails had dried into a crusty, black rim. I didn't wash it. I didn't move. I waited for the heavy vibration of his boots in the hallway.

When the lock turned, I didn't flinch.

Dante stepped in, his presence casting a long, jagged shadow over the April Cloud blue carpet. He was braced—shoulders wide, jaw set, eyes scanning for a thrown vase or a screaming accusation. He wanted a war. He was dressed for one.

I didn't give him the satisfaction.

"You're awake," he said. His voice was a low grate, searching for friction.

I stood up slowly. I kept my gaze fixed on the third button of his shirt. I let my shoulders slump, my spine curving into the shape of a girl who had finally been crushed under the weight of his world.

"The tea will be cold," I whispered. My voice sounded hollow, like wind blowing through a ribcage.

I walked past him. I made sure to let my arm brush against his, a limp, accidental contact. He stiffened. I felt the heat of him, the tension radiating off his skin as he waited for me to strike. I didn't. I walked to the small table by the window and picked up the porcelain pot.

My hands trembled. It wasn't fake—the adrenaline had left me a shaking mess—but I leaned into it. I let the lid of the teapot rattle against the rim. A sharp, staccato sound in the silence.

"What are you doing, Bianca?"

He was behind me now. I could hear the creak of his leather holster.

"You said I was property." I poured the tea, the liquid splashing over the side of the cup. "Property doesn't ask questions. Property serves."

I turned and held the saucer out. My eyes were wide, vacant, staring at nothing. The "Internal Death" was a cold coat, but it fit perfectly.

Dante didn't take the cup. He slapped it out of my hand.

The porcelain shattered against the floor. Hot tea soaked into the rug, a dark stain spreading over the blue. He stepped into my space, his hand snapping out to grip my chin. He forced my head up, his thumb digging into the bone.

"Fight me," he snarled. His nostrils flared, his chest heaving against mine. "Scream. Throw something. Tell me you hate me for what’s in the basement."

I let my head hang heavy in his hand. I didn't blink. I didn't even try to pull away.

"Why fight?" I whispered. My lips barely moved. "You've already won everything, Dante. You bought the house. You bought the father. You even bought the memories in the gallery."

I let a single, cold tear track down my cheek. It wasn't a tear of sadness. It was a chemical reaction.

"There's nothing left of me for you to break. Are you happy now?"

Dante’s grip didn't tighten. For the first time since I’d met the Butcher, his fingers wavered. He looked into my empty eyes, searching for the spark of the girl who had glared at him at the wedding, the girl who had begged for her father’s life.

He found nothing but a void.

His hand dropped. He took a half-step back, his boots crunching on the broken porcelain. His face stayed hard, a mask of granite, but a tiny muscle in his eyelid twitched. Guilt. It was a microscopic flicker, gone as quickly as it appeared, but I saw it. I felt it.

"Clean this up," he muttered, his voice lacking its usual iron.

He turned toward the door, but he stopped at the threshold. He didn't look back. "Your father is alive, Bianca. He’s in the infirmary. He lost three fingers, but he’s alive."

He slammed the door. The lock clicked.

I didn't move. I looked at the dark tea stain on the floor. The "broken" girl was gone. My father was alive, and Dante Vane had a crack in his armor.

I reached down and picked up a jagged shard of the broken teacup. I squeezed it until the edge sliced into my palm, the fresh sting grounding me.

Three fingers for a life, I thought. And one night of silence to start his execution.

I looked up at the hidden camera in the corner. I didn't smile this time. I just waited.