ONE
ELENA
“I’ll tell him, Miss Costanzo.”
“No, it’s all right, Jamie,” Elena murmured as she took her guard’s hand for balance as she hopped down from the backseat into the frigid night. “You shouldn’t take the brunt of it because I lingered.”
The huge Beta grunted, sliding a step to the right to block the worst of the wind. They’d had this argument before, and this wouldn’t be the last time. She wouldn’t risk the single kind person in her life over her own mistakes. Simple as that. Elena would take every blow her father would rain upon her if it meant she could still crank the top pop radio channel all the way up and sing off-key with someone.
A soft smile played over her lips before she pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. Readying for battle, though, she hoped and prayed she could avoid it all together. Three minutes late didn’t mean that much. Surely there was a margin of grace.
“Be careful, kid,” Jamie muttered as he left her at the top of the stairs leading inside the expansive house that would be considered a mansion anywhere else in the world.
Elena nodded and depressed the latch with care, opening the door just enough to admit her before easing it shut.
“It’s a good deal, father.”
Elena held the knob as she closed the door behind her, flinching at the light click of the latch popping home as she slowly released it. Toeing off the short heels she wore, she stooped to pick them up and remained hunched over as she crept past the wide entryway to her father’s study.
A glass slammed against the gleaming oak surface of his desk, the sound painful in its familiarity. It often preceded the back of his hand connecting with her face, his fist finding the vulnerable soft places of her body. When no shout came for her to enter the dim confines of the office, Elena dared a glance.
Her half-brothers ranged around the desk in order of importance, a stiff semi-circle bristling with aggression. They were their father’s sons, never mind the three very different women who birthed them. Marco was the eldest, his cruelties having surpassed those of their father. Next in line to wield the name Costanzo. Francis was the youngest, only three years older than Elena, but as vicious as they came. He’d faced his first challenge at the tender age of sixteen and ripped the grown man apart with his bare hands.
There were Tony and Paul, different mothers, but born two days apart. They might as well have been twins the way they could read one another. The blade and the gun, they wrought chaos and mayhem wherever they went. More than one territory Alpha had banned them from ever step foot within their borders again.
Then there was her father. Valente Costanzo. Even with the white streaks flowing from the widow’s peak of his hairline, the deep lines etched around his eyes and lips, he was a formidable man. Some still called him dangerously handsome, though all she’d ever seen was his rage, his violence. Valente would never be accused of being a loving father. He ruled with an iron fistand doled out pain and punishment the way other parents might hand out affection. The single time he had shown her a kindness was the day of her first heat, and even then it had only been to protect one of his greatest assets.
Elena was worth far more pure and untouched than she was ravaged by a group of Alphas. She’d still garner a price even if she was ruined, albeit a far less impressive one.
“Dealing with that family is a danger in and of itself. It’s not worth the risk.” Decree given, Valente turned his attention to pouring another bourbon.
As her brothers rushed in to state their case, Elena took the chance to scurry forward. Hoping everyone was too distracted to note her small, black clothed form rushing towards the stairs.
A creak of the worn floorboards gave her away, her glimpse of freedom vanishing before her eyes as Valente’s voice crashed through the long hall.
“Get in here, girl.”
Elena’s shoulders slumped, breath leaving her on a gusty sigh as she headed back. Staring hard at the tops of her stockinged feet, she paused in the doorway, her hope that a simple lecture was all she was in for.
Three minutes. Congratulations from her teachers under Jamie’s watchful eye, Elena soaking up their praise in the scant moments allowed her. Didn’t every eighteen-year-old deserve that on their graduation night?
“Do I need to repeat myself?”
Though her father’s voice had dropped to a rumbling growl, it was the glass slamming against the desk that brought Elena into the room. Sweeping past her brothers, she went to stand in front of them close to the desk with head bowed.
“You’re late.” Valente poured another measure of bourbon. Another new addition to his aging routine. He didn’t use to drink this much, something he’d once told Marco about clarity of mind. Seemed he didn’t feel he needed it any longer.
“My apologies.” Elena learned long ago that launching into a defense before he’d demanded reasons never served her well. Short and to the point, she showed remorse with all the submission she could scrape up.
“Come here,” Valente ground out, snapping his fingers.
Elena paused for what felt like an eon, her heart staggering to a halt. A single dark brow inched its way up as she swung her gaze to Marco. There were no answers to be found in the dark glower he aimed at her.
Her stockinged feet shuffled over the thick, plush rug as she went around the wide desk. Swallowing hard as she came within easy reach of her father. Elena clenched her teeth over a scream as he shackled her wrist in a too tight grip, tugging her into his side before he lifted Elena onto his knee.
“You are one very lucky girl.”
Elena hummed a noncommittal response, uncertain what was going on, and more terrified by her father’s actions than anything he might say next. He could be launching her to Mars, and it wouldn’t be half as alarming as the way he cupped her shoulder so she was forced to lean into his chest.
