SUMMONED

CHAPTER 4

Genesis

"Genesis?"

The voice; soft, came suddenly interrupting the pleasant silence in my room. My name in Sister Grace's voice sounded tense and I could already suspect why. I turned toward her slowly; taking in the way she stood in the doorway; her hands clasped together before her, her face empathetic as I waited for her to continue...

"Your father is here."

My blank expression must have given away the fact that I guessed as much. I nodded as I began walking out of the room. 30 minutes max and I would be back in here anyways.

His visits have always been the same. Rare, Short and Tense. He always appeared at St. Mariana's gates once every two years like clockwork. He would sit in front of me, ask shallow questions about my well-being; utter lies about his work like he thinks me naïve and then leave.

Fatherhood had never been a part of him. Ownership, yes. Authority, always. But tenderness was something he lost long ago, if he ever even had it in the first place.

I blamed him sometimes. Then I didn't. The truth was: he had never known how to love because he didn't even know what it was. As a child I thought he loved my mother. But now, I realize that he now only sees her as the woman who had attempted to escape from him and failed. And I, in all my mirror-like resemblance, had become a reminder to him.

And so he visited me. Every other year. Like a chore.

I followed Sister Beatrice down the dark corridors that led to the main chambers from my bedroom. I finally arrived at the parlor; stood for a few moments outside the door, preparing myself, then I entered.

Richard Moretti sat in a high-backed chair. His charcoal-gray coat was immaculate, the red silk handkerchief in his pocket folded with geometric neatness. Over the years, Time had been good to him. His hair was more silver now, but his face was still clear of wrinkles.

I entered the room with measured poise, head held high. I did not bow or curtsy to him. That part of me died a long, long time ago.

"Father," I said.

"Genesis." His tone was unchanged: low, curt, without feeling.

His eyes met mine. Like a jeweler appraising a gem. Searching for flaws and inconsistencies while accessing its worth. 

"You've grown."

A nonsensical thing to say. I didn't respond. I'd picked up years ago when I noticed that my voice almost always made a look of boredom cross his face.

I moved to the chair across from him and sat, putting my hands in my lap. The space between us was heavy.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" I asked, my voice a bit crackly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Only come to ensure you are prepared."

"Prepared for what?" I asked anyway. I liked our conversations as speedy as possible. There was no need for us to spend any time that wasn't necessary together.

"For your future," he replied. "And what you will do for our family."

"Your official engagement will be announced shortly." He concluded

I stayed frozen, but my mind was a mess and my stomach was turning.

"To whom?" I demanded. I needed to be sure. To be certain that I hadn't been re-assigned to some old warlord or worse. Anyone other than Caspian would be worse.

"Caspian Graves, of course" he told me.

I smiled slightly before masking it into a bitter smirk. I wouldn't want my father to know how relieved I am.

"Finally," I breathed. "The Graves-Moretti massacre children, finally together."

He tensed at my comment.

"This is not some love story in those fairytale books your traitor of a mother would read to you," he said to me. "This is a strategic move essential for the survival of our empire."

I met his gaze levelly. "Calm down daddy dearest; don't get your panties in a twist". I say as the glare he immediately gives me reminds me of who I'm talking to. I clear the lump in my throat before asking…"Do you trust him?"

"Holland Graves wouldn't gamble with his son's life."

"Holland Graves is a murderer," I replied, very calm.

"He is pragmatic."

"And I am leverage." I let the venom into my voice then. Barely.

He looked at me for a while before he speaks again. "I believe you are a Moretti. And a Moretti always does what is necessary for our success."

I cocked my head to one side, ever so slightly. "And what if I don't?"

His face didn't change. But the tension in the room tightened. "You don't have a choice anyway."

I stood up slowly, letting silence gather. I went to the window, looking out into the gardens. The same gardens I used to run through as a kid. Now full of weeds. Overgrown. Like me.

"I suppose I should be honored," I said. "To have even been remembered."

"This has nothing to do with honor. It is about our family's legacy."

I faced him. "Your legacy."

He didn't respond. He didn't need to.

He stood, adjusting his jacket. "I will summon you when the time is right."

I didn't say anything. I watched him walk to the door, with precise and habitual movements. Just as always.

He didn't look back.

He never did.

As soon as the door was closed, I still did not move. I did not cry. I had not cried in years.

And I wouldn't start today.