Brutal Crown (Crowned in Sin #1)

Chapter 1

LIA

The cruelest truths are the ones you realize too late.

There’s nothing more humbling, nothing more tragic, than finally understanding you’re completely alone in this world.

I’m stupid for not seeing it sooner. I should have accepted it long before today. That way, the heartbreak of having no one show up at my graduation would be less visceral than what I feel right now.

I slip my hands into my jacket pockets as a chill racks through my body. A scratchy diploma is rolled under my arm, and a sick twist forms in my stomach.

The weather is slightly humid, not cold. I’m only wearing a jacket to cover what can be covered of my graduation dress. Having no one come to my graduation is embarrassing enough. Being seen walking home alone after is worse.

A loud screech of tires suddenly pierces the air near me, jolting me out of my daze. That’s when I realize I’m walking a little too close to the middle of the road.

“Watch where you’re walking, bitch,” the angry driver spits out of the window as he swerves to avoid me.

On a normal day, I would swear at him for calling me a bitch. I know I’m at fault, but all that flew out the window the moment he spat and cursed at me.

But today is no normal day.

The knockoff Jimmy Choo pumps I bought for today scrape against the cracked sidewalk. I pass a group of classmates clustered outside a restaurant, their arms full of flowers and balloons as they laugh and take pictures with friends and family.

I tug my jacket tighter around me and walk faster.

By the time I reach our apartment building, a crumbling brick box with peeling paint and a rusted buzzer that barely works, I’m on the verge of tears. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood. I refuse to let the tears fall.

The door creaks loudly as I let myself in. Our place smells like damp carpet and old coffee, and when I turn on the overhead light, it flickers for a few seconds before settling into a weak, yellow hum.

I shrug off my jacket and toss the diploma on the kitchen counter. It slides and almost falls to the floor. The twenty-dollar cake I bought myself from the corner store sits in the middle of the counter, staring at me.

I find a match in one of the drawers before moving to peel back the plastic cover from the cake. I stare at the tiny, lopsided thing, unsure of what to say or do.

After a few beats of silence, I mutter, “Happy graduation, Lia.”

I light the single candle in the center of the cake.

“Happy graduation, Lia,” I say again, my voice dropping into a deeper, terrible impression of my father’s voice. “Couldn’t be prouder, kid.”

I close my eyes and blow the candle out without making a wish.

A hollow laugh bubbles up my throat as I scrape a finger through the frosting. I lick it off, focusing on the sugar clinging to the roof of my mouth and trying to ignore the pain splitting up my chest.

I can’t ignore the pain.

It’s been one whole year. One freaking year of my father being away on “business” with the Romanos. He’s always doing one business or another for them, but he’s never been gone this long.

He said he had to travel this time around.

When I asked where he was going and why an accountant—because he tells me he’s an accountant—would need to travel for work when the people he accounts for are in the city, he never gave me an answer.

Neglecting me is normal for him. It’s why this job of his always comes first before me. Heck, even before himself.

They always come first. The Romanos.

Even whispering their name in my head feels dangerous.

Their name carries so much weight in Boston.

Everyone knows their massive estate in Chestnut Hill.

I see the estate sometimes when I take the long bus route home.

The large iron gates, the sprawling grounds, and the massive ivy-covered mansion look like something ripped straight out of a gothic novel.

It sits perched on a hill like it’s watching the whole damn city.

Everyone whispers about their wealth, power, and the things that happen behind those iron gates.

They never let anyone in, and the cars that come out are always luxurious, sleek, and tinted.

They hardly ever host parties like other wealthy families in the city.

But when they do, I only hear whispers and snippets of the events because they never invite people like me.

Dante Romano, the patriarch of the family, is powerful and quite scary.

I’ve seen his face many times on TV and in newspapers.

Besides Marco, his second son, who is always in the media for his buzz-worthy relationships with various celebrities and socialites, I’ve only seen a few pictures of two others, and none of the youngest son, who I heard has been missing for five years.

A hard knock jolts me from my thoughts.

I glance at the door. It’s probably Mrs. Alvarez from next door, needing help with her new smartphone again. I shuffle over and undo the chain lock.

But when I open it, it’s not Mrs. Alvarez.

It’s my father.

My heart slams into my ribs.

He looks… awful. Gaunt, with dark circles bruised under his eyes, and a sheen of sweat covers his skin. His clothes hang loose on his frame, and he keeps looking over his shoulder like he’s scared of something.

“Hey, kid,” he says in that deep, hoarse voice of his.

Something inside me snaps, and the anger I’ve been burying for the past year flares hot.

“‘Hey, kid?’” I scoff bitterly. “That’s what you greet me with after one fucking year?”

I rarely curse. My father also hates it when I curse. Neither of us seems to care about that now.

“Tesoro—” he starts, but I cut him off.

“Don’t…” I choke. “Don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry. I wanted to be here for you. I really did.”

I shove the door wider and storm inside, my whole body trembling.

“Fun fact: You missed the graduation of your only child,” I say flatly.

“I know.”

I scoff, turning to face him. I see the thick emotion in his eyes as he steps closer.

“I never forgot.”

“Oh. Congratulations on not forgetting. Why couldn’t you even call or text to congratulate me? To let me know you never forgot?”

He closes the door behind him and leans against it like he needs it to hold him up.

“I wanted to be here for you,” he murmurs. “I tried.”

“You keep saying that.” I cross and uncross my arms in frustration. “Trying is not enough! Do you know how lonely I’ve been? Do you even care? Hell, why am I asking? You don’t care about anything else except yourself and your job…”

“That’s not true.” He glances briefly at the window before walking toward me. “I care about you more than anything in this world.”

“This is what you always do,” I scoff bitterly as my eyes begin to sting with tears.

“You say a lot of things and make a lot of empty promises you never even try to keep. They don’t mean shit to me anymore,” I say harshly.

“You never back your words with actions, and that’s why I’ll never believe you. Not now, not ever.”

He exhales, running a shaky hand through his thinning hair.

“I know I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” he says thickly.

“I thought… I thought if I stayed close to them and worked harder, we’d be okay.

I spent everything I had on your mother’s treatment, and she still left us.

We had nothing left. I had to work so I could give you more than this.

” He waves vaguely around the apartment.

“Take you away from this terrible place. I wanted to make you happy.”

My heart bleeds open at the mention of my mother. After she got sick with cancer, my father spent everything we had on her treatment. She was flown out of the state and taken to a better hospital, all so that she could have a chance at survival.

But at the end of the day, she still died.

We were both devastated, but the blow hit my father the hardest. He has never admitted it, but I know he hates this house. He hates being here, because the love of his life died under this roof. He pours himself into work because that’s the only thing that distracts him from the pain.

His grief over her death was more than the love he had for me. I didn’t blame him for it. Heck, I understood. But abandoning me for a whole year is something I just can’t excuse him for.

“You think I care about money or having a better life? I just wanted a father!” I yell as the first tear rolls down my cheek. “You abandoned me. You left me, just like Mom did.”

He flinches like I hit him, and for a second, I almost feel bad.

Almost.

But when he glances over his shoulder again, I notice another emotion in his eyes.

Fear. It’s been there since he showed up.

I pay more attention to his appearance, noticing the deep sweat stains under his arms and the way he’s trembling.

Before I can comment on it, a thunderous blast rips through the street outside.

I let out a scream as our building shudders. The old windows crack, and the ground trembles beneath me. My father rushes to grab my arm. He drags me toward the kitchen while my heartbeat races.

“What’s going on, Dad?”

Before we can take the next step, another boom erupts, this time close to the side of the apartment.

A loud crash splits the air around us as smoke pours in through the broken windows.

My father’s strong grip slips away from my arm, and I hear a low groan beneath the loud rumble.

My eyes sting, and my throat burns as a thick chemical smell fills the house.

“Dad?” I say in a panicked tone.

I clear the smoke around me, and that’s when I see my father pinned beneath the bookshelf that has now toppled to the ground.

“Dad!” I scream.

I scramble toward him and push against the splintered wood, trying to get him out. He cries out in pain, and I see the spot where a large piece of wood pins his twisted leg to the ground.

A deep grunt leaves my mouth as I push the shelf from underneath with all my strength to give him enough space to slip his leg out. The wood feels almost unmoving, but I continue to push until it creaks a little, and my father is able to pull his leg out with another groan.

A relieved sigh leaves me as I drop the shelf and kneel beside him.

“Are you okay? What just happened?”

Then the front door slams open.

I spin around immediately, my heart pounding so hard, I feel dizzy.

A man steps inside.

Silver hair, cold black eyes, and a tailored black suit. Dante Romano. It’s my first time seeing him in person, and I’m on the verge of peeing myself. He’s even scarier than everything I’ve heard.

My heartbeat races as masked men from behind him pour into our small, now-damaged living room. Their guns are drawn, all terrifying with tattoos snaking up their necks and arms.

My father makes another groaning sound from where he’s sprawled on the floor. I see him struggling to get up.

“Did you think you could set foot in my city and I wouldn’t find out?” Dante asks in a smooth voice.

I’m too frozen, too confused, and too scared to even utter a word. I watch the scene with terror crawling down my spine.

My father tries to speak, but one of Dante’s men starts kicking him in the side of his stomach.

“Please stop!” I cry out.

All eyes turn to look at me, but the only person I can look at is the terrifying man standing before me.

He scoffs bitterly, then glances at my father again.

“You tried to poke your nose where it didn’t belong, then you tried blackmailing me with what you found,” he chuckles to himself. “I don’t know if I should be offended or amused by your stupidity.”

My father, still groaning in pain, doesn’t say a word to him.

Dante’s voice lowers into a dangerous drawl. “You should have thought about the people you care about before deciding to mess with me.”

He snaps his fingers, and the next thing I know, two of his men slowly prowl toward me.

“It’s time to pay for what you did, and I’ll be collecting a little incentive for my troubles.”

I back up until my heels hit the wall behind me.

“Take her!”

“No!” my father shouts, shoving himself upright despite his broken leg and throwing himself between me and them.

In an instant, a loud bang erupts in the air. Then another. My father’s body crumples to the ground. My eyes zoom in on the blood, his blood, my blood, pooling fast across the floor and spreading toward my feet.

A loud scream splits from my throat as I collapse to the ground and crawl toward him. His eyes are open and darting around. I rush to place my hand over his neck where the blood is pumping out. My stomach rolls as the warm liquid coats my hand.

My father gasps once, his hand twitching toward me. I take his hand, circling it with both of mine as tears pour down my face.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps. “I never meant for this to happen. Il mio tesoro…”

His hand falls against mine, and his eyes glaze over.

I stare blankly at the body. I can’t move. Can’t breathe, can’t understand how my world tilted off its axis in a matter of minutes.

Through blurry eyes, I spot the ring on his middle finger. I slip it off and onto my thumb.

From my peripheral view, I see someone else enter through the narrow doorway. I look up through blurry eyes, and my gaze collides with a man who doesn’t look shocked or amused by the carnage before him. Just… bored, like seeing blood and death is just another everyday occurrence.

He’s younger than Dante. Darker hair, colder presence. Tall. Broad. He has the kind of face that belongs carved in stone. Beautiful, but painful.

Francesco Romano, Dante’s first son.

Our eyes lock, and something inside me—something furious, something terrified, something else—sparks to life.

Dante turns to him with impatience etched into every line of his face.

“Have you handled the witnesses?”

Francesco nods, but his eyes are on me.

“Let’s finish this,” Dante mutters before turning to point his gun at me.

I close my eyes, feeling a hot tear slide down my cheek as I wait for the hands of death to grab me.

But his voice stops my death.

“No,” he says simply. “She’s coming with us.”

I open my eyes to see Dante’s narrow. “She’s of no use to us.”

Francesco shrugs one shoulder casually.

“Maybe. But she doesn’t deserve to die. That’s an easy way out. I say we make her suffer and cause her father to roll over in his grave.”

Dante considers it for a split second before he gives a wordless order. The two men beside me grab me by the arm. I try to fight, but it’s like fighting a mountain.

Something hard slams against the side of my head, and my ears ring. Everything spins. My knees buckle as I collapse into rough, thick arms.

The last thing I see before darkness crashes down is the cake on the kitchen counter, the candle snuffed out.