Archive of Our Own

Pavi Largo had always been a patient man, when it came to getting something that he wanted. He'd long been of the opinion that he'd gotten not only his share of patience, but his brother's - and most of his sister's, as well. In this case, though, waiting had been incredibly difficult. He'd wanted Shilo from the first time he'd laid eyes on her, at the Opera - so wide-eyed and innocent, so willing to believe the lies of both his father and hers. But there was no time, that night, and when she'd walked out of the Genetic Opera still covered in Nathan's blood, he wasn't sure he'd ever see her again.

Amber, showing a surprising level of concern for someone who wasn't herself, had tracked her down and made sure she was all right physically and financially. He'd had to wait until Amber had suggested offering the girl a place to stay that wasn't the mausoleum of her late father's house. He'd had to wait while she talked Luigi and then the girl herself into it. He'd had to wait while Amber treated the girl like a peculiar cross between sister and doll, introducing her to society and colors at the same time. But he knew when she started that Amber would get bored and move on to something else; she always did.

He was charming and courteous to Shilo while Amber was paying attention, unabashedly sexual when she wasn't. She blushed prettily enough; genuine innocence was hard to come by, but Shilo seemed to have it in spades. All Pavi could think of was pulling her to him, whispering sweet nothings into her ear while he plied her with drinks. Something sweet that he could hide alcohol in; just enough to relax her and make her more suggestible.

She seemed like the sort of girl who would giggle when she was drunk. Giggle, and blush, and be coaxed to do gradually more outrageous things. He knew the type. Innocence was so easily twisted into debauchery, and he could have drunken Shilo on her knees before him. It would be easy.

It just awaited the appropriate opportunity - and the universe, generous as always when it came to pleasing Pavi, provided it. Tonight, Amber had gone out with Luigi, leaving Shilo behind and asking Pavi to keep an eye on her. "I mean - she's seventeen, she doesn't need a babysitter, but - well, she might get lonely." Amber pursed her lips. "I'd bring her with me if I didn't think she'd be bored silly - and I wasn't going to have my hands full making Luigi behave himself."

"Don't-a you fret, mia sorellina," he assured her, "the Pavi will-a keep her-a distracted."

She gave him a startled, thoughtful look and seemed about to protest, but Luigi came blustering out of his room and dragged her off before she could say anything else.

Shilo came down to dinner in a silky black dress that clung to her minimal curves, hinting but not promising. She'd belted it with a scarf that dangled tassels below the hem of the dress, caressing her legs in a way that had to be deliberate. He saw his sister's taste in the outfit, muted and transformed, and perhaps all the more maddening because of it. Amber had bought her several wigs, but she still mostly wore Marni's. She'd even started to grow into it, somehow, though he didn't think she was actually any taller. Maybe it was that she wasn't all eyes any more. The eyes were balanced out by the mouth, sweet and sad and curving; Nathan's mouth below Marni's eyes, both appealing.

She let him pour her wine, and he kept her glass filled. An ice wine, sweet and rich and heady, deliciously alcoholic, and she was drunk before she realized there was any danger at all. She giggled, color high in her pale cheeks, and let him draw her onto his knee, speaking to her in mingled Italian and English. From his knee to hers, as easily as he thought it would be.

He'd planned it out in meticulous detail. The wig slid as she knelt, and he slipped it off, stroking the baby-fine hair that was growing in. She looked up, startled, blushing darker. "You're beautiful," he whispered, leaning in. "This," he tossed the wig aside, "is-a just a mask. Don't-a hide from-a the Pavi, Shilo." She was lovely without it, but what mattered what mattered was getting to her in a way that no one ever had, to charm and unsettle, always with the goal in mind.

Her mouth was soft, sweet, awkward, and Pavi relished even the occasional brush with her teeth. She knew enough about what she was supposed to do, and Pavi wondered whether his sister had given her those sorts of tips as well.

"D-do you like it?" she asked, stopping at the tip and glancing up through her lashes.

"Si, si, very much, cara mia," he told her, stroking her head. "Don't stop."

She bent back to her task.