She nods, wiping her eyes.
As we walk to my car, I keep my arm around her shoulders in what could be seen as brotherly comfort. But my thumb traces circles on her skin, and she leans into me more than necessary.
I open the car door for her, and before she gets in, she looks up at me one more time.
“Damiano?”
“Yeah?”
“When you’re the don, will things be different?”
I think about my father. About the power he wields. About how he makes the rules, how he controls everything and everyone. When I’m the don, I’ll have that power.
“Yes,” I promise her. “When I’m the don, everything will be different.”
She searches my face for a long moment, then nods and gets into the car.
As I drive us home, neither of us speaks. But my hand finds hers in the darkness, and our fingers intertwine.
We can’t kiss. We can’t be together. We can’t act on what we feel.
But we can hold hands in the dark.
And we can wait.
However long it takes.
7
Lucy
Four years later
The revolver kicks in my hand as bullets explode from the barrel, one after the next. The figure in front of me is struck six times in the heart.
I pull off my ear protectors and admire my handiwork. The paper target’s heart is peppered with holes. Near-perfect shots at fifty feet. I bet there are made men all over Malus who can’t shoot as well as me.
I’ve been coming to this shooting range in secret since I was sixteen, when Sokoli drug dealers invaded our territory and Damiano confessed he loved me and promised that when he became don, we’ll be partners. Real partners. In everything.
I’m twenty years old now, but he’s still treating me like a child who needs protecting from the big, bad world. When we were adopted, it was Damiano and me against everyone else. Then Dad made him a part of the Barone family secrets that I’m excluded from just because I’m a woman.
I’m not afraid of danger. I can handle myself as well as any man. Better than most, if I had to guess. I just have to find a way to prove it.
I’m about to reload my gun and go again when I notice the time. It’s creeping toward six in the evening, and I have to be perfectly turned out and sitting at the Barone family dinner table at seven, or else there’ll be hell to pay from Mom. I pack up my gear and quickly head out to my car.
It’s Saturday night, and that means semi-formal attire is required at dinner. I still think that’s kind of ridiculous. When I was a child, I was lucky if Mom remembered that I needed to eat dinner, let alone changing for dinner. The first night in the Barone mansion, I sat at the dining table in jeans and a T-shirt while my new mom quietly and coldly informed me that in this house I am expected to dress for dinner, smart casual on weekdays and semi-formal on the weekends. At Christmas and New Year and on family members’ birthdays, festive attire is required.
I must have looked so utterly stupid and confused, because across from me, Ariana laughed behind her hand, and I wished the ground would swallow me up. My new sister took great pleasure in spelling out the new rules for me as obnoxiously as possible. I’d seen the mountains of new clothes in my beautiful new bedroom, but I’d been too overwhelmed to touch any of them, let alone try them on. I wasn’t convinced that they were meant for me. The moment I touched them, I was sure that the Barones would scold me for dirtying their beautiful things. I’ve never been able to shake the fear that I don’t belong in this house.
Tonight, I put on a slinky black velvet dress and high heels, and I fasten my curly hair into a twist at the nape of my neck. I pull a few curls loose to frame my face, because I know Damiano thinks I look pretty that way. When I add some lipstick and agold pendant and earring set Damiano gave me last Christmas, I look presentable.
Downstairs in the dining room, Damiano looks tense in his black suit and tie, but when he sees me, he smiles and comes forward to greet me.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs, clasping me briefly around my waist and kissing my cheek, as far from my lips as possible. He’s practically kissing my ear. He’s been doing this ever since he kissed me on the mouth in front of a diner full of people. Four years have passed, but I haven’t forgotten one single detail of how it felt to have his lips on mine. For a delicious, heart-pounding moment, I thought he’d kissed me on purpose. That the blood and violence of the night had made him throw caution to the wind and claim what he craved.
Me.
But the second he pulled away, I saw the panic in his eyes.
