Wicked Liar

I rest my elbows on the rigid wood of the window ledge, my hand at my cheek as I gaze at the boy who has always made my heart skip a beat.

He's sitting cross-legged in the moonlit meadow, gazing out at the vast expanse of the woods and the lake.

He's far, far away from me; a good forty feet. And it's dark, bordering on nine, but I can still see him.

I always see him.

Dominic D'Agostino.

The youngest of the D'Agostino pack. The girls at school call them "the Godlike Boys." There are four of them: Andreas, Massimo, Tristan; then there's him, Dominic.

Against the silver moonlight, I can just make out the outline of his jet-black hair. He's always had it longish on top with a lock hanging over his eye, making him more alluring, and I can't remember a day when I didn't feel this way. Like watching him was an escape into a fantasy. A dream my heart wants.

He's seventeen—older than me by two years, eight months, and five days.

Exactly.

I used to count down to the hour and minute, but I stopped doing that a while back. Maybe about the same time, I started trying to learn everything I could about this guy.

Like the way he tries to be as badass as his brothers, and he is, make no mistake about that, but he also tries his best to hide his intelligence.

People like me spot things like that straightaway.

We're the help.

We see everything and notice things others may not.

I'm not sure how long he'll be able to keep it up, though, because he has the kind of intelligence which will overpower his desire to hide it.

Like today when Humphrey Damson—one of the Ivy league wannabes—insulted his intelligence and told him, “There was no way a Stormy Creek rat like him could figure out some difficult equation they were arguing about.”

Dominic didn't hesitate to put him in his place by solving the equation in seconds. I don't think anyone will forget the classic look of shock on Humphrey's face anytime soon.

Now Dominic's doing his usual Friday night routine. To others, it might look like he's just sitting there, but he's not. The ritual is partly to avoid the sadness of going home and partly for reflection, a time to remember his mother.

She died when he was eight.

Ahead of him is the D'Agostino home.

Inside, his father, Giacomo, is playing that old jazz song he used to dance to with Dominic's mother. He always called her his doll.

If I were to open my window and listen carefully, I'd be able to hear Billie Holiday's melodious voice singing, "The Very Thought of You," like a whisper on the wind. A voice singing a song filled with memories of his true love. When Sariah D'Agostino died, it was like the stars fell from the sky.

Everyone knows how much Giacomo loved his wife. He used to dance with her on the porch every Friday for date night. I know I wasn't the only one who watched them. They brought life and light to this dark place.

Sometimes when I look down there, I still see them dancing like ghosts of memories imprinted on my soul.

My family has worked for the D'Agostinos for generations. In that time, the years of friendship made us as close as family could be. I know that is why my parents followed them to Stormy Creek when Giacomo lost everything, and they still continue to work for him in some capacity.

We've lived here for eleven years. I would have been too young to remember what it was like to live in the lavish mansion they still talk about.

I've only known our life in Stormy Creek, a place reserved for the poor and destitute. It's a place filled with broken souls trying to make their way in the world from one day to the next—a place where dark things happen behind closed doors.

Or maybe... that's just in my house. I don't know.

Most of the people who live in this godforsaken place do all kinds of shady shit. But at least those people don't pretend to be something they aren't.

They aren't like us, under the façade of the vanilla cereal box family; the mother, father, daughter, and the uncle who seems to support them. All that's missing is the white picket fence and the shaggy dog.

That's how people see me and mine, and I wear the mask well. I do such a good job they can't see I'm screaming inside.

Outside, I'm Candace Ricci. The girl with her little princess bag and homemade cookies.

I've gotten so good at pretending no one will ever guess what goes on at night in the Ricci household.

Desperation is a terrible thing.

That's what happened to us.

Desperation made Papa ask Uncle Lucas for a job. Then everything changed in a way no one expected. Ways he never expected. I know in my heart Papa never knew he was selling his soul to the devil or opening the gates of hell when he took that job.

Two nights ago, he got a rude awakening when he discovered what was happening to my mother when he was away working. We've been on edge ever since.

I'm pulled from my thoughts when Dominic gets up and walks in the opposite direction of his house. The ritual is over, and like always, he's completely oblivious to me.

He'll never see me the way I see him, and he'll never know the real darkness of my world.

The terrified girl who lives inside me wants to call out for his help and beg him to fight the monsters, to save me. I want to scream and tell him what happens when the lights go out. But I can't do that.

Only God knows how I wish I could take back the night when I disobeyed the rules and my eyes were opened to the truth behind my mother's cries and the voices of those strange men in our home at night.

They come when Papa's not here.

See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.

That was the one rule I grew up with. As the help, you know those three things. We know especially not to speak of evil.

I watch Dominic until I can't see him anymore and accept there will be no one to save me. When I stand, my bedroom door flies open, and Mom runs inside, her eyes wide with panic.

"Candace, grab a bag quickly. We have to leave." The words tumble out of her mouth so fast it takes me a few seconds to register what she's saying.

"What? Mom, what's happening?"

"Please, just get a bag." She rushes back out the door.

My heart lodges in my chest, too afraid to beat. What is happening now? What on earth could be happening?

Instead of getting a bag like she tells me, I follow her into the living room where Papa is pacing around with a rucksack. He's stuffing paperwork inside.

A sickly green hue mingles with beads of sweat darkening his skin, and terror etches across his face, his shoulders, his body.

Mom walks over to the dinner table, brings her hands to her mouth, and starts crying.

"Mom, Papa, what's happening?"

Neither answers me.

"William, are you sure they saw you?" Mom asks Papa.

"Yes. They know it was me who took the information. We have to leave now." Papa looks from Mom over to me, where his gaze lingers.

I almost think he's going to tell me what is happening, but he doesn't say a word.

"William, what if they find us? They could. Where would we go to be safe?"

His gaze snaps back to my mother, who is now cowering into the wall like she can go through it. Like she can disappear, or it can save her. I've never seen her look so terrified, so I know whatever this is, is really bad.

"We have to try. We'll leave here and never come back," he answers, and it feels like invisible hands clamp around my lungs and squeeze. By the time he glances at me, I'm gasping. "Candace, sweetie, get a bag."

My lips part to say something, but the words freeze in my throat when I hear the loud voices of men outside on the porch. Seconds later, our front door crashes open, smashing into the wall.

Mom screams and races over to me when masked men storm into the house holding guns. They all come in so fast there's not enough time or the chance to do anything besides scream and run. But run to where?

A burly man grabs my father. A scream tears from my lips when he hits him with the back of his gun, and Papa falls to the ground holding his head. The man sends a round of kicks to my father's stomach, and blood sputters from his lips.

Mom and I both scream out, pleading with the man to stop, but Papa becomes the least of our worries when I'm ripped from my mother's arms, and a tall man grabs her by her hair and places a gun to her throat.

I'm held against a solid chest, terror racing through me at such a rapid pace I can't breathe.

There are six armed men in the room. One more comes through the door, his gun held out, ready to open fire. He, too, has a mask, but with his sleeves rolled up his thick forearms, I recognize his tattoo. It's a black dagger with the word Eternal written on the blade and a cobra wrapped around the handle. The first time I saw that tattoo, I knew I'd never forget it. Nor his face.

I wasn't supposed to see his face the night I caught him with my mother.

That same night when I heard his voice, I realized he'd been here several times before. As he speaks now, I recognize his voice the same way. It's him.

I don't need to see his stony face or his dark coal eyes to remember how evil he looks. That night he didn't see me watching him. No one did.

The man walks in, and a quick glance at my mother suggests she recognizes him too. I can see it in her eyes.

"William Ricci, I hear you've been up to no good," the man intones in a singsong voice. The deep timbre and the air of menace in his tone linger like a bad dream.

"Please, let my wife and daughter go," Papa begs, but his pleas are met with laughter. "Take me. You want me."

"Tell me where the information is," the man demands.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Papa answers.

"Fucking dog, you won't lie to me. You pick the wrong method to save your family."

Oh, God... What does he mean?

What did Papa do?

The other night when Papa found out what was happening to Mom, I don't know what he did after. Whatever it is, has resulted in this.

"Please, let them go. You want me. Let my wife and my child go."

"Tell me where the information is."

This is about information. On what, though?

What the hell kind of information did Papa find for this to happen?

"I don't have it."

"You dumb fuck. We know what you did, and the boss isn't happy. Bring her here." The man points to Mom, who starts screaming when she's dragged over by her hair.

"No, please. Don't hurt her," Papa cries.

"Where is it?" the man demands.

"I don't have the information anymore. I don't know where it is. My wife and daughter know nothing. Take me, take me, take me." Each plea that falls from his lips rises an octave higher and stirs more horror in my soul.

"Can you remember now?" the man taunts, cocking the hammer on the gun.

Click-clack is all I hear. It's all I focus on, along with the sight of Mom trying to break free.

"Please no, don't. Don't hurt her."

"Tell me what I need to know."

"I don't have it. Please. Please don’t hurt my girl."

My heart aches at the endearment Papa utters for my mother—his girl. People are always enamored by the way my parents still act like they’re the high school sweethearts. They love that they’re examples of true love.

"Yours? No." The man laughs with a mocking edge that makes me sick.

I know what his cruel sarcastic words mean. After all, I saw him in bed with my mother.

For a fraction of a second, there's a shift of sadness and regret in my father's eyes as realization dawns on him too. I just hope he knows in his heart she didn’t mean to hurt him. Like him, she thought she was doing what she needed to. Mom would never hurt Papa that way. Never.

Everything evaporates from my mind when the man takes out a little bottle from the inside of his jacket and throws some sort of liquid all over Mom. A whiff of the pungent smell burns my nose, and the instant I realize what it is, the nightmare truly begins.

It's gasoline.

A snap of a lighter flickers on, and suddenly my mother is on fire. The man holding her drops her as the flames cover her body.

The anguished cry that rips from my throat is so intense I think I might die from the sight of the flames on my mother. My screams mingle with those of my parents, and tears blind my vision.

"Tell us where the information is, and I might put the fire out," the man sneers with a contemptuous smile.

"I don't have it!" Papa shouts. "Someone took it. Please. Please, I beg of you, please."

The man stares Papa down. The seconds that pass between them feel like lifetimes. Then there's a moment when something changes, and I just know it's over.

It's over, and there's no one to save us.

Our closest neighbors will mind their own business and the only people who might be able to help live at the bottom of the hill.

Giacomo D'Agostino, however, is so engrossed with his ritualistic remembrance of his wife. I'm sure he won't hear a thing. He'd probably never suspect anything out of the ordinary happening in the Ricci household.

Time stands still, my soul breaks, and the world stops when the man fires one shot into my mother's chest. Before I can get over the shock, he pulls a long-bladed knife from his sheath and cuts Papa's head off before he can utter another cry.

Like a scene from a nightmare, both my parents lay dead before me. Papa's body, his head sitting next to it in a pool of blood, and Mom still on fire. I can't stop screaming and crying.

"Do what you want with her. Just make sure you dispose of the body after,” the man orders.

He means me.

Oh, God...

He's talking about me.

I'm going to die.

The men file out of the house, and I scream harder when the clothes are ripped from my body, and I'm pushed naked to the floor.

I scream and scream and scream as the man who is holding me gets on top of me. I try to fight, but he's too strong and fierce.

I can't form words; I'm just screaming and crying, wailing for help.

One second the man's disgusting head looms over me, with his hot, raw breath husking. The next thing I see is his head falling from his body.

Before I quite realize what's happened, blood sprays into my eyes, and the man's headless body collapses onto mine.

I blink and can just make out Massimo's face before me. He's holding a long knife; blood is on his face too, looking down at me in horror.

"Candace,” he calls to me, but I'm screaming so much I can't answer.

Terror sets in as my mind tries to process what happened, and screams continue to pour from my body, coming from deep in my soul.

What did just happen?

My mother…

My father…

They're dead…

"Candace, it's okay. It's okay,” Massimo says, pushing the man's bulky body off me.

"Guys get in here,” he shouts.

Footsteps echo on the floorboards outside.

I can't see anybody. Tears and blood blind me.

My name is called again, and someone lifts me.

The tears and blood are wiped from my eyes, and I see him holding me.

Dominic...

His face looms before me, filled with panic as he looks me over.

"I got you, Angel. You're safe,” he says and pulls me to his chest.

My head rolls to the side, and my gaze meets my mother's wide, dead eyes.

One last scream rips from my soul, and the air leaves my lungs.

“Good news,” Helen beams.

Eagerly, I press the phone to my ear. “Please, tell me you got me in.”

“I did!” she squeals, and I sigh with relief, mentally crossing my fingers and toes this plan of mine might work. “And, because of your ties to the D’Agostinos, I managed to persuade the auction organizer to place you fourth on the list.”

“Oh my gosh, you’re the best. Thanks so much, Helen.”

As I walk out of the kitchen, I glance back through the window. It’s odd. I had a weird feeling. That weird sensation you get when someone is watching you. I can’t see anybody outside, though, just the darkness of the night and the shadow of the building opposite mine. Clearly, I’m just paranoid because of the shit I’m about to dive into.

“I'm truly fascinated. Candace Ricci, it’s not every day a woman like you signs up to an auction of this nature.” Laughter paints her voice as it floats through the phone to me.

The deadline to apply for the Decadent Auction closed last Monday. On Friday, when I came up with the bright idea to take part, I begged Helen to work her magic to get me in as a last-minute participant.

“I know,” I chuckle, balancing the phone between my shoulder and the crook of my neck so I can open my bedroom door. I pad over to my bed and sit, setting the plate of cookies down next to me.

“This year, you’re in for a real treat of filthy rich, gorgeous men. If I didn’t have Adam, I’d be signing up too.”

I’m sure she would. She’s a veteran of these types of auctions. I, on the other hand, loathe them.

“I only have my eye on one guy,” I coo, lying through my teeth.

“Of course, forgive me. How dare I forget this clever plan is all about Jacques Belmont.” She giggles in that saucy way she does when we’re talking about men.

“The one and only.”

“That uber gorgeous French man could charm a nun out of her panties.”

Since I’m certain he could, I can’t disagree with her. A month ago, when Jacques signed contracts as D’Agostinos Inc.’s newest client, the man turned heads with his GQ looks and that same charm she’s talking about.

“I can’t believe you’re so into him.”

“Thought I’d give him a chance. The auction is something different for me, and one sure way to know if he’s as interested in me as he says.” I feel bad for lying to her. I wasn’t raised to be a liar. Then again… I was raised to keep quiet, so maybe it’s the same thing.

Jacques has had his eye on me since we met. He’s been trying to get me to go out with him for over a month, and I’ve declined every time he asked. Last week I changed my tune when I stumbled across something significant and realized he might have answers to questions I’ve had for the last thirteen years.

Questions about my parents’ deaths.

When I found out Jacques would be attending the auction, I saw it as my chance to get closer to him.

“I’m glad to hear that. I just hope you’re prepared. You do know the man will basically own you for thirty days and nights, right?”

“I know, and I’m definitely prepared.” Another lie. I’m not prepared in the least, and poor Helen is completely unable to see through the crock of shit I’m dishing her.

Helen and I became friends a few years ago when I started working for Massimo as his PA. She’s his PR manager. Although she’s come to be a great friend, and the only one I have who isn’t married with children, she doesn’t know me enough to know a date auction is the last thing I’d ever be signing up to, let alone one being run by the Syndicate.

In an ordinary date auction, a couple would be expected to go on an actual date and do something like dinner and a movie. Anything to do with the Syndicate is going to be the stark opposite.

Massimo might be in charge now, but he kept all the old practices and events alive to please the gentleman’s club-type investors. So, this auction is literally a woman auctioning her body to the highest bidder.

At least it’s partly for charity. Fifty percent of the winning bids will be given to help the people in Long Beach who lost their homes in the floods. Beneath that façade is the enticement of sex.

These types of events attract billionaires and businessmen with special tastes for the dark and decadent. Men with dark fantasies of buying women. Men like Jacques Belmont. With the starting bid at a hundred thousand dollars and the remaining fifty percent for the woman on sale, the expectations are laid out on the table.

“You’ve got me hooked on this plan of yours,” Helen bubbles. “The question on my mind, though, is how you’re so certain Jacques will bid on you.”

“He wants me. Jacques won’t just bid on me; he’ll win.” I sound exactly like the vindictive debutant bitches I grew up around who were constantly throwing themselves at the D’Agostino boys.

Helen sucks in a breath, and I can just imagine the shock on her face at my words. I don’t normally talk like this.

“Candace, you’ve gone from shy wallflower to confident temptress overnight.”

I wish it were that. It’s not, though. I just know how to handle rich assholes who want sex.

"I know his type."

“Oh, my gosh, this is so juicy.” She laughs louder. “But what if someone outbids him?”

“He won’t allow that to happen.”

Jacques is one of those Neanderthals who isn’t used to hearing the word no. He would have seen me as a piece of ass to add to his list of conquests. I'm also certain he just assumed that I was playing hard to get. My interaction with him over the last few days probably made him think I was warming to his continuous advances. That is what will make him want me more, and that competitive streak in him will never allow another man to have me.

What I’ll be doing this week is sowing seeds to cement his interest. The auction is Saturday. When I tell him I’ll be taking part, that will seal the deal.

“Oh, my God. You are on fire. I like it. Candace, you sound like a new woman.”

“I feel like one.” One on a mission for answers and justice.

“What about the brothers? Aren’t you worried Massimo or Tristan might say something?”

“Not at all." One more lie. They would go ape shit.

I’ll be able to keep this part a secret, and they’ll be none the wiser that I’ll be in the auction. As for after, I’m still thinking about an excuse. I’ve already decided that the benefits outweigh the cost, and the brothers are the least of my worries in that respect.

“Are you sure? They’re very protective of you. I don’t want Massimo or Tristan on my ass.”

I laugh, a laugh I don’t feel. "It will be fine. What I do in my private life is nobody’s business but mine. Besides, they won’t even be there.” And if they were, they'd think I'd lost my mind.

Massimo and Tristan are both married and have their hands full with their babies. They don’t usually concern themselves with these sorts of events, but they definitely wouldn't agree with me entering such a thing. Even if the subject of anything to do with relationships has been approached with care since Dominic left.

I frown and release an exasperated breath. Glancing at the clock on the wall, I wince. It’s nearly ten. Another two hours, and I would have gone a whole day without thinking about Dominic D’Agostino. Another two hours, and I could class myself as almost at the point where maybe I was getting over him.

Maybe.

He’s been gone for two years. Moving on should be easy when I think of all the reasons to hate him. The man left me in a hospital bed after he put a bullet in my chest. It was like he stayed around long enough to make sure I was alive, then he just left, leaving me a note telling me not to wait for him.

Even though I put on a brave face, I’m still heartbroken, knowing the boy I love deserted me when I needed him the most.

I stifle a groan, shake my mind free of his face, and focus on Jacques. Thinking about Dominic isn’t going to do me any favors.

“I absolutely can’t wait to see how this is going to play out,” Helen says.

“Me too. It’s gonna be fun.”

“It will, and if you don’t mind me saying, a good move for you. Giving another guy a chance will help you move forward.”

She means moving on from Dominic. Before he left, people would have seen us together, but we weren’t a couple then. We were barely a couple at the point we got together, and no one would have seen us. Helen is the kind of woman who can figure things like that out for herself, though. I’ve also been obvious in my avoidance of forming any new relationships.

“I agree.”

“Make sure we book a shopping date. I want to see your dress before the big night.”

“Absolutely.”

“Well, see you in the morning.”

“See you.”

When we hang up, I set my phone down and press my hand to my chest. I inhale shallow, even breaths. I must look like I’m on the verge of a panic attack, or I’m trying to come out of one. With the bizarre plan I'm concocting, I wouldn't be surprised if I did have a full-blown panic attack.

Sliding off the bed, I put the cookies to the side on the nightstand. My appetite’s gone, and I doubt it will come back tonight. When I think of what I'll have to do to get answers, I feel sick.

As the help’s daughter, I used to hear things. Secrets and plights. I've heard of women selling themselves for sex. That’s what it’s going to look like when I stand on that stage and auction myself.

When I was talking to Helen, I sounded like a woman who was excited to sign her body up for a risqué event. Women who do those events live for the money and the thrill of the dark fantasy of being owned. I’m nothing of the sort. Not even close, and that's not why I'm doing it.

Eight months ago, I decided I wanted to change my life. Being shot and nearly dying can make a person reflect. When I took a look at my life, I didn't like what I saw. I saw myself as a person who was co-dependent on others and a shadow of what I was meant to be.

Moving into this apartment was the first step to getting my life on track. The other step was tackling the biggest thorn in my heart—the loss of my parents.

I realized I couldn't move forward until I revisited the past and got answers for their deaths.

Giacomo D'Agostino took me in to live with his family after my parents died, and he did his best to find their killer. His attempts were, however, to no avail. Of course, it would have been difficult looking for a dark-haired man I didn't know the name of and just going by the description of his tattoo. That was all I had.

My description came with the omission of my first encounter with that man. I'd simply explained that he'd been at the house before, and I recognized the tattoo. Those details were hardly anything to investigate with, and of course, when you live in Stormy Creek, nobody sees anything they're not supposed to.

This auction is my way of trying a different tactic.

I believe Jacques may know or have information on the man my father worked for. The same man who sent those men to kill my parents and me.

Because questions like that aren't the sort I can simply ask without the worry of repercussions, my plan is to get close to Jacques with the hope he will tell me. That auction is how you get close to a man like him.

He’s a billionaire playboy who wants sex, and when it’s over, it’s over. But something like the auction is a hook for those like him with dark fantasies. The thought of owning me for thirty days will keep him interested.

That thirty days would give me time and ground him in L.A. because he’s always traveling. With the meetings for his contract wrapping up within a week or so, I wouldn’t see him as much as I do now.

Over the last few days, I’ve asked myself if there wasn’t a better way or something different I could do with Jacques’ interest in me. The only sure answer I kept coming up with was taking part in the auction and making sure he wins me.

It’s the kind of plan that only a desperate person like me would think of.