And the day we’d been told about our mother’s death was the same.
“Do you know what killed Mom?” she’d asked.
I sniffled hard. “Car wreck? Th-they said it was an accident.” I swiped angrily at the wet streaks on my face. Did she really have to question me today, of all days?
Jackie nodded and sighed, but she didn’t look exactly comforting. I used to think it was just the way her face naturally fell, but at that moment, I realized it was because shetruly didn’t seem to care about me. There was no reaction to my tears, no attempt at consoling. Her lips were twisted in more of a downward, irritated scowl. “Ah, so that’s what he told you.”
My hand slowed, pausing against one cheek as I processed her words. “Told me?” I repeated. “What do you mean ‘told me?’”
“It’s just because you’re still pretty young,” she replied without actually answering my question. “Young enough to be kept in the dark…” She trailed off, turning to leave.
Confusion swirled within me. What did she mean? I jolted forward.
“Wait!” I called, grabbing hold of her arm to keep her from leaving. “What do you mean ‘kept in the dark?’”Dad wouldn’t lie to me,I thought. Sometimes he was mean and he yelled, but he loved me—us—and Mom. He wouldn’t lie about how she died, but Jackie sounded so sure. I had to hope this was just one of her mean tricks.
Jackie angled back to look at me, her expression devoid of any pity or guilt. I hated that too. I knew Mom always said that Jackie was special and she needed help understanding emotions more, but it was just too hard and she was just too freaking mean sometimes. I swore she did it on purpose.
“Mom didn’t die in a car crash,” she said as she turned back to face me. She tilted her head to the side. “Dad pissed someone off and they went after her.”
My jaw dropped. “What?” She couldn’t be right. I shook my head. That didn’t make any sense. Why would—before I can finish my thought, however, Jackie’s talking again.
With an eye roll and a huff, she took her arm from my hand and folded it along with her other one across her chest. “Ugh, grow up, Angel,” she snapped. “We aren’t a normal family. Dad’s a criminal.We are criminals, and criminals don’t get happily ever after’s. We won’t get into heaven, no matter howmany times you get told you’re daddy’s little angel. Dad’s a powerful man, and he has enemies, enemies that got too close and Mom paid the price. There was nothing accidental about her death.”
My head started to throb. “I don’t understand—why are you telling me this?”
“Because I’m tired of everyone in this house protecting you from the truth like the little princess,” she growled at me. “It’s annoying. The sooner you realize the truth, the better. Mom’s gone now, so that means I’m the next lady of the house. What I say goes.”
I ignored her last statement. Whatever she wanted to be—in charge, in control, or whatever—I was not going to even acknowledge it. “You have to be wrong,” I insisted.
“I’m not,” she sneered. “It’s because of who he is. Who we are—the Price Family. Syndicate. Read the papers, or better yet—why don’t you just ask Dad?”
“I will,” I snapped, pushing past her and into the hall.
Imagine my surprise when it all turned out to be true. The illusion of a normal life, of a normal family with loving parents, came crashing down the day my Mom died—its destruction illustrated by my own sister. It all made sense, then. The rules. The reasons. Dad was a criminal; not just any criminal, though. He was powerful, and that meant that Mom had died because of something he did.
Even if he felt regret, even if he felt sadness, the truth was now in front of my face in a cold casket with a bunch of men in black gathered around. I pinched down my fingers against the outside of my thigh, trying to feel something because everything was quickly growing numb all over again, when a deep voice startled me.
“You shouldn’t do that.” I jumped at the sound of a man and a moment later, the chair next to me creaked under fresh weight. I looked up and up and up some more into a pair of startling blue eyes.
“W-what?”
The man was tall with a straight back, a proud nose, and a sharp jawline. His hair was a sandy blonde, swept away from his face and his eyes were the deepest shade of blue I’d ever seen in my life. I was so mesmerized by them that it was only when he blinked at me that I realized I was staring. He nodded down to my thigh, where my fingers were still lightly rubbing against the sore spot. “Once you start, you won’t be able to stop,” he advised.
I pulled my hand away immediately and faced forward as heat rocketed up my cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied.
The corner of the stranger’s mouth tipped upward, and somehow I found that to be even more intimidating than he was before. However, even with that intimidating air, something told me he wasn’t an enemy. My attention continued to follow him out of the corners of my eyes.
“Then let me just offer my condolences.” He gestured to the casket and I saw the black gun strapped to his chest beneath his suit coat. The sight of it made my insides coil.
I could feel the scowl form on my face. “I don’t want your stupid condolences,” I snapped. “Go talk to my Dad or something. Leave me alone.” I folded my arms across my chest, but beneath one, I turned my hand and sunk my fingernails into the underside of my bicep.
The man didn’t get up immediately though. Instead, he turned fully in his seat and looked down at me. “You’re angry, kid,” he said. “I get that, but anger isn’t going to bring her back.”
“Nothing will bring her back,” I pointed out. “So what else can I do but be angry?” Why the hell hadn’t he left yet?
The man’s eyes roved over my face, but I turned away, forcing my own eyes down to the ground so I wouldn’t meet his. “It’s a rough world.” His voice remained clear and even. I still didn’t look up. “If you’re Raffaello’s daughter, then there will be more where this came from. My advice?—”
“I didn’t ask for it!” I finally looked up and immediately regretted it.
