Something—want, or confusion, or warmth—twists inside of me.
She arches a brow. “I don’t have to say, ‘Those will kill you’, do I?”
That something, cinched tight within me, loosens—slightly, inexplicably. Now that her wound is hidden and the dark hides her beaten face, you could almost believe nothing had happened. But so, so much has. “How are you so calm about this?”
Zane leans back on her heels, drumming her fingers on the rail pensively. “I know what I’m doing.”
“How? You haven’t been in this world for years.”
She peers at me, maybe catching the edge of accidental bitterness in my tone. Me, Zane, and Maya were all supposed to follow in our fathers’ footsteps. Or, at least, walk right beside them.
Me and Maya had kept up our end, taking up the family business like loyal hounds—until she disappeared into thin air a few months ago.
But Zane, always the softest of us three and somehow also with the hardest will, chose art school. Galleries and red wine and boyfriends who wrote for liberal papers. She chose friends and happiness; a life her mom would have been proud of. And her dad let her.
No—it was more than that. Her dad paved the way for her. Fought for her, tooth and nail. Something my or Maya’s father would never have done.
I was always jealous. Of her freedom, of her gut. Of her ability to simply turn her back on a business her great-grandfather had got them into, deep. For me, there was never a choice. The mafia was all I would ever know. And the blood on my hands, bought and paid for by my father and his men, is testament.
But more than jealous, I realize now, I was angry. We were so close growing up, the three of us. I didn’t think anything could drive a wedge between us. But freedom did. And somehow, I think I still resent Zane for that.
She’s here now,the voice in the back of my mind reminds me.Even if she didn’t have a choice—she’s here now.
“You’re mad,” Zane says, tilting her head. She’s grown into her big, luminous brown eyes. They shine, impossibly star-bright, behind a fringe of long, wavy blonde bangs. Maddeningly, I find myself wanting to run my fingers through every silken strand. “Aren’t you?”
Why lie? I reach for another cigarette, and this time, she doesn’t stop me. “I haven’t spoken to you in five years. Should I be happy?”
“I wanted another life, Nik. And I had a real chance of escaping this one.”
I take a deep drag. It’s full-dark now, the pair of us bathed in columns of golden light that fall from the many windows at our backs. “Yet here you are.”
“You’re mad about the marriage then.”
I look at her sharply. Her face, once so familiar, is unreadable. My voice emerges gruffer than I mean it to. “Of course I’m fucking mad about the marriage.”
She presses her lips together. “I thought you’d be…”
“What? Honored? Touched? It’s not like you fucking chose me, Zane. I’m your last resort. I’m your only way out. I’m your father’s only way out.”
Her eyes widen. I realize how sharply I’m speaking to her. “I didn’t know what else to do,” she admits quietly.
Of course she didn’t.
Because Zane’s father betrayed mine.
And the only way to bind our families truly, to ensure his lifelong loyalty—was for Zane to marry me.
My eyes find the dull, cruel silver band on my left ring finger. It took a knife to her throat and a gun to her father’s head to prove my father meant every word, that his threats on their lives were anything but hollow. It took a knife to her throat for Zane to consent to this.
She twists the matching band on her own finger, and remains quiet for a long time. I suck down my cigarette, flicking ash into the dark below.
Finally, she says, “I’m sorry. I never meant for it to happen this way.”
This way?I study her soft profile, her velvet lips, the sweet perk of her nose, the hoops that shine down the length of her left ear.
This way?
I attempt to swallow my anger. Zane never intended forusto happen at all. If she had, she wouldn’t have abandoned me and Maya for her shiny new life. She wouldn’t have dated other men for years, posting photos of their love and lives online for everyone to see.
