P R O L O G U E
Cade
The Past
Iwas sixteen years old when I met the love of my life.
It was a hot summer evening in August and I was in the car with my new adoptive family, the Remingtons. We were headed over to the Cordovas—long-time family friends of theirs.
Growing up in the rougher side of Montardor, I wasn’t accustomed to the rich society of this lavish and corrupted city. It was composed of many immoral individuals and old money families.
The Remingtons were one of them. They were affluent, connected, and known for being key players in the underworld. Classy gangsters in suits and ties, ruling over South Side, Montardor. Their money was long and dirty, stemming from stolen artifacts, illicit substances, and the many art galleries they owned across the city.
Even though I was recently adopted, I still had Remington blood coursing through my veins.
And once my scars healed, I knew they’d want me to join the family business, including all theextracurricular activitiesassociated with it.
Blood, drugs, and violence were already a dime a dozen in the life I was forced to lead for the last year. In the past, I’d worked for bad people, dealing coke, ecstasy, and weed to the frivolous teens of Montardor. Unethical by certain standards, but I never claimed to be perfect—especially when I had two mouths to feed.
Though everything changed nine weeks ago when tragedy struck, and the Remingtons swooped in like white knights to rescue my little cousin Olivia and me from our nightmare.
Once upon a time, we were used to stale cereal for breakfast and raggedy clothes with more holes in the fabric than we could count. Now Olivia and I ate hefty three-course meals and our closets were decked out with designer items. Going from a run-down townhouse to a sprawling mansion on the richest side of South Side still felt surreal, but we were doing our best to adapt.
Adapting also meant getting dragged to a hoity-toity dinner on a Thursday night to please our new family, who was extremely adamant on introducing us to the Cordovas.
The bulletproof Escalade we rode in stopped in front of iron-wrought gates. A guard opened them and we drove forward into a circular driveway that looked straight out of a Hollywood movie.
Suddenly, a wave of nervousness washed over me. This world was still so new. Having dinner with a bunch of random people was not my scene. What if I used the wrong cutlery? What if they asked me questions I wasn’t prepared to answer? What if they regarded Oliva and me with judgement?
Just because we dressed like them didn’t mean we were one of them.
I unclenched my fist and drummed my fingers against my thigh in a quick beat.
Fuck, I need a cigarette so bad.
Olivia, my three-year-old cousin turned adoptive sister now, sensed my unease. She reached forward to rest her small hand over my fingers, halting their movement.
She sat on a booster seat between me and my other cousin—well,brothernow— Josh, who was pensively gazing out the window, lost in his own world.
Olivia didn’t say much with words, but her expression spokevolumes. Dark curls framed her chubby face and her big, gentle eyes watched me with intent. She was silently telling me to‘stop’and‘take a deep breath’.
So I did and inched her a reassuring smile.
Satisfied, she pulled her hand away and settled into her seat more comfortably.
I pressed a kiss to her forehead and mumbled, “I’m okay, Livvy.”
Her feet did a little happy dance.
The car parked and our bodyguard stepped out to open the doors.
I stared up in awe at the French Neoclassical style, cream-coloured mansion. The courtyard was picture perfect with a blue water fountain, landscaping lights, manicured greenery, and loads of orange blooms.
At the front porch, their staff stood to greet us.
My stomach sank, dreading a dinner that hadn’t even begun.
I smoothed my hands down the front of my black suit jacket, the need to smoke getting worse by the second. Before we entered the house, I asked, “May I be excused? I need to smoke.”
