“Please, there’s no one in the intersection,” I begged.
Finn looked nervously left, then right.
The opposite light stayed green. I would have been better driving myself at this point.
“Please—”
“Alright, alright, missus!” Finn slammed the gas. The SUV shot through the intersection, followed by the second vehicle of guards.
Ten men.
Not a single one of them would be able to help me once I walked through the front door. My father was in a blind rage. Ella was texting me from the first-floor landing after I ordered her to stay out of it.
Ella: I can’t hear mama
Shit.Shit!
The moment the SUV pulled up to the curb, I was out of the car. The wheels hadn’t stopped moving. I ran blindly across the concrete, unsure of what I was going to do. The gun Liam gave me was tucked in the waistband of my jeans.
I didn’t want to use it.
But defending the innocent was justifiable. If a judge, the don, or even the saints condemned me—fuck them.
Ella said she’d unlocked the door, but it swung open faster than I anticipated. In the rush of adrenaline, I pitched into the house.
“There’s my little whore,” Papa snarled.
I barely had time to straighten before he was on me. There was no time to dodge.
The front door slammed closed, sealing us inside. There might have been a frenzied, brogue-laced shout. Or maybe it was just the neighbor’s dog.
Meaty hands grabbed my shoulders, shaking me hard. “What’d you do with that tracker, huh?”
“I did as you asked,” I bit out.
Papa wasn’t being subtle. Anyone could hear what he was saying. If the secret got out…. It didn’t matter. I just had to survive this first. Worry about the repercussions later.
“Ouch! You’re hurting me!” I tugged.
It was useless.
Grabbing me by the hair, Papa hauled me through the entry and down the hall. I caught sight of Ella, crouching by the banister. Giana was with her.
Dio buono.
There was no hiding what a monster our parent was.
Tossing me in his den, Papa kicked the door closed. “You and I are going to have a little chat.”
I moved to the wall, keeping my distance.
Papa went to the shelf, took his decanter of brandy, and tried to pour some in the stout, fat glass. His body shook with rage. The squat glass wobbled between his fingers. I saw the thing slip before it happened.
The crash sent a bolt of panic through me.
“That useless bitch,” he seethed.
He meant his wife—my mother.
