I saw it in the sidelong glances people gave me when they didn’t think I was looking, felt it in the lack of physical connection—even a supportive hand on the shoulder, like the Don is giving Leo now. I heard it in the way people called me “theadoptedChiaroscuro,” like it was a specific attribute to identify me by.
I know I don’t look quite like my brothers either—my eyes are far too light, as is my skin, which burns twice as fast in the grueling sun, though I’ve learned not to complain about the blisters, and my skin has developed a tougher outer layer over time.
“Leo, Gio, square off. I need a moment alone with Miko,” the Don says.
With a groan, my brothers do as he says, rolling up off the ground and bouncing spryly back to their feet despite their protests.
And as they engage once more, our teacher stepping in to instruct them, I come to stand next to the man I call Father.
“I think it’s time, Miko, that I tell you the truth about your past,” the Don says, his voice serious as he watches his sons wrestle beneath the grueling sun.
“I adopted you as a toddler—picked you up off the streets, where you were starving and abandoned. I took you in and cleaned you up, cared for you like you were my own son, because I saw an invaluable strength in you that I believe can serve this family well. I adopted you, hoping that, one day, I could trust you to look after this family—to protect your brothers in a way no hired man ever could.”
The don’s words soothe that searing rejection somehow, giving me a sense of belonging that I’ve been lacking for as long as I can remember, and I turn to look up at him, squinting into the brilliant summer sun.
“Weareyour family, Miko, in every way that matters,” he says, his smooth voice as calm as ever, but somehow, the words feel gravely important, and they give me an agency that lifts my fractured heart. “Do you understand?”
“I think so, sir,” I say, though in my ten-year-old psyche, I’m not entirely sure what he’s trying to tell me.
“I’m entrusting you with a significant responsibility, Michelangelo,” he says, turning to face me fully now, and as he rests both hands on my shoulders, I feel the weight of that responsibility settling on me like a mantel of honor.
The significance of that touch strikes a chord within me, and suddenly, for the first time, I feel like a man—someone my father can rely upon.
More than anything, I want to be worthy of that trust.
“One day, I won’t be around to protect and guide my sons. It will be up to you to keep them safe—no matter the price. That is how you can repay me for my generosity, son.”
“I will, Father,” I promise, filled with a conviction I hadn’t felt before.
I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to repay my debt to this man who took me in when no one else would.
But I have to try.
Even if it takes my life.
I jolt awake, coming back to reality from my dream as the yacht lurches violently beneath me, and guilt gnaws at my stomach as the cold, hard truth hits home.
I failed him.
I utterly failed the man who gave me everything—a home, a life, a family. Yes, my brothers survived the attack, but I let the Don be murdered in cold blood, right before my eyes.
I watched as the Chiaroscuro home burned to the ground, stood by—helpless—as Raf lost his wife, and Leo nearly lost Sora.
But I promised to protect Don Augusta’s family that day, twenty-five years ago. I swore on my life that I would prove worthy of his trust.
And now the memory has come back to haunt me—right alongside the vivid image of Pyotr’s gun painting the foyer floor with my adoptive father’s lifeblood.
Sitting up, I scrub my face with my palms and release a heavy sigh. Then I snatch my phone to take a look at the time.
It’s not yet five in the morning, but now that I’m up, there’s no way I’m going to fall asleep again.
The few hours of shuteye I managed to catch will have to suffice.
Because if my dream has done one thing for me, it’s awakened a new conviction in me to right the horrible injustice I’ve allowed.
My real family abandoned me, and Don Augusta took me in when no one else would.
I don’t remember my life before that day—I never have—but it doesn’t matter.
