Naturally Dara still found time to arrange some inspections for the structural work that needed to be done. And a removal team was organised for that morning, to ensure none of the antique furniture would be damaged during the building work.
Mountains of furniture now sat in the grand hall, cluttering up the space. Leo came to a stop in the hall just as a group of workmen finished carrying an elegant cherrywood vanity table down the stairs.
‘What do you think you’re doing with that?’ he bellowed, feeling hot rage course through him at the sight of their filthy grease-smeared hands.
The men had been laughing at some private joke, but at the sound of his voice they faltered, letting one side of the table fall to the tiles with a sharp thud. Leo watched with horror as a long crack snaked through the precious glass mirror.
He felt fear grip his throat and moved with lightning-fast speed, squaring up to one of the workmen dangerously. ‘Do you realise what you’ve done?’ he shouted.
A memory clawed at his mind... Her eyes were black as night and filled with rage as she towered over him...
He barely registered Dara’s hands on his shirtsleeve, pulling him back from the cowering man.
‘Leo. He’s just doing his job,’ she pleaded, her eyes wide with worry.
He towered over her. ‘Nothing is to be moved from the master rooms—you hear me? Leave it the way it is or this whole thing is over.’
She stood back from him, confusion and hurt clouding her eyes. ‘But the work covers the whole castle, Leo. All this furniture has been ruined with water damage...it’s worthless now.’
It had always been worthless to him, he thought harshly, remembering his mother’s reflection in the shiny glass. Everything about that room was toxic.
But it needed to be left alone or it would seep out and drag him under all over again.
‘Just put it back,’ he gritted, turning on his heel and stalking out through the door.
His breath came in deep bursts as he strode away from the courtyard. The cypress trees shielded him from the sun as he followed the stone path down the side of the hill. This whole place was one big black spot in his memory—a black hole of loneliness and despair. Dara thought he hated it because of the memory of death. She didn’t understand that the memories of life could be far worse.
He didn’t know where he was going until he heard the crunch of stone disappear and realised he was heading across the formal gardens to the large stone family crypt. The structure was an original part of the castle, restored by his grandfather in an effort to make some sort of tradition for his family. He needed to go in—needed to remind himself of who he was. He wasn’t that lonely boy any more.
His feet echoed on the marble steps as he reached the tall black iron-clad door. It was never locked, always open for mourners to come and pay their respects. Resting his fingers on the cold metal, he took a deep breath and pushed.
The door swung forward easily, cold air rushing forward like the fingers of death on his face. And just like that he was engulfed by the dark damp smell of his childhood.
‘Leonardo, you must learn to be silent,’ she had commanded him, pushing her soft hand against his head until he was inside the darkness of the bad place.
He’d looked up at his mother’s beautiful face, at green eyes just like his own, thick dark curls bathed in light from the outside world. She’d leaned down to kiss him on the forehead lightly, her fingers still clutching his shirt collar, reminding him of her power. He’d begged her to forgive him, told her he hadn’t meant to come into her room, hadn’t meant to speak out loud. He had forgotten Mamma’s rule again.
She’d shaken her head, pushing him back. ‘Silence, piccolo mio. When you learn to be silent Mamma will let you come out.’
The door had closed with a bang, the echo bouncing off the marble tombs that lined the walls. He’d smacked his hands over his ears until the vibrations had stopped. Then there had been nothing. Only darkness so thick and black it had been as if light had never existed.
He’d sat down against the cold stone graves where his ancestors’ dead bodies nestled until the cold had seeped into his bones...
The breath returned to his lungs with a shuddering gasp and he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Dara, the sun glowing in her blonde hair through the open doorway of the crypt. He became aware that he was hunched, sitting against the tomb nearest the door. How long had he sat here? And how much had she seen.
He stood up, wiping the dust from his jeans with quick sharp smacks, avoiding her eyes as he tried to get his heartbeat back under control.