Chapter 1
Aurelia
“You’re pathetic. Hit me harder.”
Enzo’s voice cuts through the ringing in my ears, and I want to spit in his face. Instead, I stagger, bare feet scraping concrete.
The skin of my soles are raw, and sweat drips down my face, mixing with the sting of blood pooling at the corner of my mouth. My vision is a blur of flickering light and movement until the silhouette sharpens into him.
My brother. My trainer. My tormentor.
I raise my head in time to see his fist coming, and my jaw catches it hard.
My head whips to the side, teeth grinding as pain blooms, pricking my eyes with tears.
I stumble, my stance breaking for asecond,but it’s enough. He sees it. He always sees it.
Weakness.
“Enzo, come on,” I brace myself on my heels, fighting to regain my balance and gather some strength.
“Let me tap out.” It comes out breathless, and I hope that for once, he can have sympathy.
But with a smirk and the shake of his head, I know. He won’t.
He swings again and I’m forced to the ground. The air is thick with rot and iron—sweat, bleach, and old blood soaked into the cement.
We’re in the Anova estate’s training basement. No windows. No mercy. Just concrete walls, rusted chains, and cold overhead lights that shudder with every step.
Losing interest in pleading for mercy, I know my only chance at stopping this fight is ending it myself.
“Okay, fine,” I hiss, wiping blood from my mouth with the back of my hand.
I know I look like shit.
I push myself up and try to regain my initial intensity. I swing and manage to land a punch after blocking one of his. But then I kick—too fast, too wide. He catches it with practiced ease that says, “You still haven’t learned.”
He throws me backward. My body slams against the floor harder than before, my thighs dragging hard enough that I feel skin peel open. The pain is everywhere now.
My navy cotton tank is soaked with sweat, clinging to every bruised rib and sore muscle. My braid’s half undone, strands of slickened hair stuck to my cheek, mouth, and neck.
“You’re never going to be worthy of your name, Ace,” Enzo says, circling me with impatience. “Not until you stop being so fucking weak.”
He’s trying to motivate me, I know that, but fuck him.
Ace. Not because I’m special. Because I was made to be a weapon. A version of entertainment. Not a girl. Not a sister. Just a tool.
“Enzo,” I rasp, spitting copper. “I’m done, okay?”
He tilts his head. His damp, dark hair, falling into his blue eyes. He looks like the devil dressed in De Luca don skin.
“You’re not done because your eyes are still open.”
“Not today, I—”
My words die in my throat. He lunges, and before I can block, black eats at the corners of my vision.
* * *
