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Mom laughs and lightly slaps his chest before she turns back to me, her face changing subtly as she slips into professional mode.

“There was some news the other day about an incident at a penthouse in⁠—”

“Okay, I distinctly remember the two of you mentioning to me, several times I might add,” I say pointedly, “that you’d rather not hear…you know…” I deliberately clear my throat. “Details?”

The two of them glance at each other, their brows furrowing.

“Fine,” I sigh. “Since I can tell it’s keeping you up at night…” I shrug. “Yeah. We were there.”

Mom frowns. "We?"

“Who the fuck is we?” Dad says at the same time.

Shit.

I actually wasn’t planning to tell my parents that Damiano shares the same proclivities that I do. Then again, if there’s anyone I can tell about my husband being a serial killer…well, it’s the loving and understanding parents of another serial killer. Right?

I clear my throat. “So…Dame⁠—”

“Fuck, he’s Dame now?” Dad mutters, slamming the hood of the Mustang shut.

“Hades,” Mom says warningly.

He grins sheepishly at her, then turns back to me.

“Okay, dialing back overprotective father mode. Slightly. Please proceed.”

I rake my teeth over my lip and take a breath.

“He’s, uh…” I shrug. “Like me.”

“Like you, as in…?” Mom ventures, like she’s interviewing a witness.

I sigh. “Like he’s like me. You know…” I mime the knife-stabbing motion from Psycho, which I know my mom hates but it does crack Dad up.

Mom’s manicured brows knit. “Oh.”

I nod. “And he actually goes after the same sort of…um…targets that I do.”

Dad frowns. “He does?”

I nod again.

“Well, shit,” he mutters. “I’m really trying to hate this little fuckwad, and you’re suddenly making that very difficult.”

Mom laughs lightly and pokes him in the arm. He takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around her and nuzzle her neck from behind.

I could just stop here. I could let Mom and Dad be, well, how they always are, i.e., supremely cute and very, very happy.

I don’t have to tell them about the man from the red room that Damiano destroyed for me.

About Caleb.

I could keep that darker part of the story locked away.

But that motherfucker wasn’t just my monster. He was theirs, too. They were the ones who held me when I couldn't stop screaming. They were the ones who advocated for me when I saw doctors, and shrinks, and specialists.

They were the ones who spent years looking for the man who hurt their daughter.