Build something that’s mine.
Cut out a kingdom from the shadows and crown myself.
And one day, when the dust settles, I want to walk into a room and watch every man she’s ever known step aside.
Because she’s looking for me.
It means it’s time to stop being a weapon in someone else’s hands.
It’s time to become the man who makes his own rules.
One month later…
There’s something cruel about candlelight. It flatters the liars, softens the wrinkles of monsters. It glints off crystal glasses and golden forks while hiding the blood that brought them to the table.
I sit at the far end of the dining hall, dressed in a silver chiffon dress that glitters when I move. I haven’t touched my drink. I haven’t looked at my father. I just keep breathing. Quietly. Evenly. Like a girl raised to be beautiful and still.
There are twenty people at this table. Every one of them carries a gun or has given birth to someone who does. Capos. Sons. Wives with diamond rosaries and fake smiles. Everyone is pretending to be civilized while carving up power between courses.
Everyone is pretending I’m not the next course.
I'm so used to these charades that my smile stays plastered on while I survey our guests. Further down, Jacomo DeLuna has my father engaged in a deep discussion; Jacomo's eyes move over to Eduardo Zanello, our new Don. Jacomo doesn't look happy. He has made a point to state that he thinks Edoardo is too young for the responsibility he's carrying; no friendship exists between him and the new Don. My father looks angry as always, waving Jacomo off with his hands. Next to Jacomo sits Gigi, his daughter, who has taken on the role of the family’s matriarch-in-practice, managing alliances and keeping the social front intact, after her mother’s death.At least one friendly face, I think. We haven't had a chance to talk yet, but I'm hoping for some quiet time later.
My mother's absence wraps around me like frost. Even after all these years, I miss her.
My father didn’t cry. Neither did Angelo. They said her death wasunfortunate, like she tripped on a rug and snapped her neck instead of wasting away from something unnamed and quick. They buried her in a crypt lined with imported marble and forgot she ever existed.
The only other person friendly to me, Marcello, is still halfway across the world, exiled to Sicily so he won't contest Angelo. They shipped him off in the middle of the night, only hours after Mamma's death. The last call I got from him was three months ago, when he told me to stay strong, that he was working on something, and he’d be home soon.
He won’t.
He’s the only one I ever loved besides Mamma in this house. And he’s gone, and so is she. So now it’s just me. And the monsters who call themselves my father and my brother.
"Such a beautiful young woman," one of the men states.
I blink. Smile. Nod. I don’t hear who it was. They all sound the same when they want something.
I look up, just once.
He’s here.
Raffael.
Standing in the shadows by the entrance to the dining room, half-lit by the flicker of a candelabra. He's wearing a black suit and tie with his hands folded in front of him, a gun holstered beneath the jacket. A deep yearning runs through me; he's always close and never close enough.
He hasn’t spoken to me in a month. Not once. But sometimes I feel him watching, from the shadows like now, or from across courtyards, or through tinted glass when he's coming or leaving. In my weakest moments, I wonder if he ever thinks about the alley. About the blood. About the kiss. About the girl who clung to him like he was the only safe place left in the world.
A fork clinks against a wineglass, and my father stands.
"Thank you all for coming," he says. His voice is oily with triumph. "Tonight is not just about business. It’s about legacy."
My stomach knots in dread.
He told me that tonight was the night he was going to announce our engagement. Roberto sits across from me. So far, I've avoided his gaze, but now I have to look up and meet his dark eyes. He smiles at me in what would have been a winning way. I have to admit he's handsome, but as Cammie's brother, he's just that to me—my friend's older brother. Daddy Dearest's smile is making him look like an overfed devil. "I have the pleasure of announcing my daughter’s engagement to Roberto Giordano."
My blood runs cold at the thought. Even though Cammie and I have never been as close as Gigi and Izzy and I, we are close enough for her to have given me insight into Roberto's insidious side—his cruelty. I swallow. Normally, a year's engagement would follow this announcement, but my father has already made it clear that he expects me to get married in six months. He claims my stunt from the other night requires closer supervision of me, and a husband is the only way he gets thatandpolitical pull.
The room claps. I'm under no illusion that they're applauding my engagement; no, they're in awe of my father's latest chess move.
