Chapter Forty-Two

I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't think.

Some days, I'm convinced that I truly saw my sister, that the whole encounter wasn't just a figment of my desperate imagination. Other days, I think I'm going crazy. There's no way my sister—my Lia—would've looked at me so coldly.

Is she mad at me, wherever she is? That I, who never cared about the beauty of life, got to survive and she didn't? She had so many aspirations, a desperate will to live. And Giotto crushed it beneath his expensive designer shoe.

It’s unfair, and I’ll never stop thinking this way. The pain will never go away. I might lock it away some days, but it will always come back to haunt me.

Enzo leans against the doorframe and watches me. I pull the covers up to my face. If he's looking for something to fight about, I'm not up for it today. He clears his throat and says, "There's dinner in the kitchen."

"I'm not hungry."

After a few seconds, he rips the duvet from the bed. I sit up and sigh in frustration. "What's the mat