Chapter Five
“Never say never, and never doubt someone born out of blood, they may actually thrive from it.” —King Campisi
Ivan
Staring up at the giant brick building of torture did not give a person warm fuzzies, if anything, I was wondering how long it would take before Bella quite literally tried to come up with a solid plan to shove me off the roof.
She’d say she slipped.
I’d be a splat on the concrete.
What did I ever do to her that she hates me so much? I mean, I had a slight clue… Furthermore, why did she annoy me so much other than how spoiled she was and the embarrassment that I had always been secretly jealous of her?
I had to play nice, but the Abandonato Family was single-handedly the reason most of my Family died. I knew they deserved it, but blood was blood, it was engrained in me to be loyal to your blood, no matter how crazy it sounded, just another reason they made us swear fealty with blood—it made us one.
Gross.
“Huh.” Bella pointed up at the same building. “Wonder if they keep the rooftop locked, might be a place to go and think.”
“About death, yes, all ten seconds before it came for you.”
“Dramatic much? Falls are messy, not enough torture, you know? I’m more of a slow poison or locking you on the roof and starving you to death sort of person.”
Do I invest in safety equipment and extra food, shit she had a tendency to get dark. Pretty sure her dad had a harness somewhere and I know for a fact Phoenix had a shit ton of rope I could steal, it’s stored in what I’d like to call, the dungeon right next to some shady looking machetes, several knives, and a noose that he often uses so blood isn’t technically on his hands.
And that’s just storage dungeon number one, his entire basement was a compound of torturous delights, though there was one room reserved for him and Bee.
I’d never asked, nor did I even want to know.
Ah, already planning on warfare on my first day back. Should that ever be a question you ask yourself in college? Yes? No? Maybe?
I needed coffee.
I checked my phone as we started walking in to the dorm, people gave us a wide birth. I almost rolled my eyes, they were so impressed with our money, good looks, ability to make people shit their pants, it’s like we weren’t even human anymore.
A few of the other De Lange cousins who I rarely talked to were in the same dorm, they were in training though, none of them were made—they hadn’t had their first few kills, they hadn’t earned it.
And they sure as hell hadn’t earned it the same way I had, but that was a secret, one only Junior knew about, one he said to keep until the right time. I never questioned his motives after that moment, the rest of the Families thought I’d never spilled blood.
Another reason Phoenix was so hellbent on saving me via philosophy, he had no clue I’d been doing shit for his own son for years-and had blood-stained nightmares because of it.
“Do it.” Junior handed me the knife. “He betrayed you, he betrayed us, the Family, and betrayal is betrayal.”
I didn’t remind him I was only eighteen, or that I was born out of blood and terrified of what would happen to me if I set the rage free. I was a De Lange after all, I’d heard rumors that the De Langes became addicted to blood, addicted to the adrenaline that followed after taking a life and obsessed with more.
Phoenix, his father, watched from the corner of the room, he was staring hard at a black folder and then back at his phone. Were his hands shaking? It was supposed to be a training exercise after all, what do you do in this sort of situation?
I’d never seen him looked stressed or confused; he was both. I kept staring, yes, he was clearly both in a way that sent chills down my spine.
Junior suddenly smacked me in the back of the head with the hilt of the knife. “Look at me, not him. Do your job prove your worth to a dying Family who might one day need you to take the reins.”
My head jerked up. It was the first time he’d said something like that to me before. He was fearless, and he was the interim boss, why would he even say that out loud?
Something in his eyes flashed. A warning? A premonition?
I glanced over at the De Lange men not so casually watching.
Phoenix excused himself from the room. “We can end here, Junior, you know what to do.”
I was ready to hand the knife back, but when the metal soundproof door clicked shut with such damning finality, it was hard to breathe. Junior’s head tilted to the side, sizing me up, eyes narrowing, a cruel smile spread across his face. “If you want to prove you’re De Lange, you have your chance, you either rise or you fall, what are you going to choose, because everyone in this Family must make a choice, rise out of the fire or be the fucking one who caused it.”
“You don’t need to rise if you’re already there, I’d rather start the fire and watch the world burn.” I knew what I had to do.
Because Junior simply smiled and stepped back as if to say, do the honors, I beg of you.
I refused any more hesitation and took the knife from him and walked behind the guy on his knees. His gag was shoved so deep into his mouth he had spit soaking it, tears ran down his face, it was hardly recognizable. He wasn’t just stealing money; he was selling drugs laced with Fentanyl, something our Family never dealt with—at least not anymore.
The De Langes, for the most part, ran clean businesses now.
But there was always one outlier. In every walk of life, you would always, no matter what, find the one person who thought they were the exception, not the rule.
Note, Exhibit A.
He stared up at me, his dark eyes were lost, and when he looked around the room for support that I didn’t see and felt every single man look away.
I’m sure he had accomplices, people who earned money from him, but he was the fall guy.
I leaned down and whispered in his ear, “The only way out is death—say hi to my father.” I slit his throat as fast as I could, warm blood spilled over my knuckles as he toppled forward, staining my white converse and blue jeans.
“Clean up.” Junior tossed me a towel. “Marco, you take care of the rest with Tank.”
I walked past him, then Phoenix, who gave me a blank stare before taking the cement stairs one by one up to the top, where all the happy existed.
Family. Food. Love.
The basement was for punishment.
But the kitchen? That was all reward. It was warm there. Alive.
It reminded me of my mom, most of the memories were tarnished with blood and killing, and with that, darkness, but I still remember the smell of fresh bread.
My greedy inhale was almost too loud to my own ears.
No bread, but they were cooking something with a lot of garlic.
“Hey.” Serena, Junior’s wife, looked over her shoulder. “What are you doing?”
I stared down at my blood-soaked shoes, still seeing the guy’s lifeless body and the knife in my hand, the one that took the life. “Training.” Surviving. Staying alive. Part of me wondered, was it him or me? I would always choose me.
Junior came up next to me once she turned around and drove a knife directly into my side, maybe two inches in. Warm blood drizzled down my skin while a burning pain hit so hard I almost lost composure. “Welcome to the Family, blood in…” He jerked the bloody knife away from my skin. “…no out. You’ve just been made.”
He walked over to his wife like the world was normal, while mine had just gone dark. My vision blurred. I was stained. I’d taken from this world.
Me or them.
I’d told them I wanted to be a part of them.
I didn’t understand how heavy a wish it was.
Or how dead I would already feel.
Be careful what you wish for.
Real. So real.
“Gonna go change.” I muttered and walked around the corner, where Bella nearly rammed into me. She righted herself, using my shoulders, then looked down.
We were quiet.
We were probably going to fight like we always did.
Instead, she grabbed my hand and said, “Come on.”
She pulled me into her room and sat me gently on the bed, then slowly took off my shoes and put them in the trash while I held my side, it throbbed in pain; it was purposeful, that scar. I wasn’t stupid. It was close enough to my back to remind me of people coming after me, and close enough to my stomach to remind me that some people stab you right in front of your face. It was the new way of becoming a made man, a constant reminder.
I was numb at that point.
Her eyes scanned over my jeans before she sighed and went into her attached bathroom and turned on the bath. The water could have been cold, hot, the bath could have been broken, I didn’t even care. I just existed in that moment with blood streaming, with my nerves on end, knowing it was probably the end of something and the beginning of something even more terrifying, but I couldn’t move.
Still numb, I stayed there, hands shaking.
Minutes, maybe even years later, she was pulling me to my feet and stripping me down. I still only remembered going into that bathtub and sitting. At one point, I think she tried helping wash me.
And then I remembered grabbing her, yelling at her, feeling ashamed she was seeing me that way and asking her to leave, or demanding it. In my dreams I felt her mouth on mine, my hands on her body, but I told myself it was my imagination, I told myself I would never, and yet at times the shameful part of me wondered if I did. Did I steal more than one life that night? Did I take a kiss? Did I steal her mouth again and again in order to suck some life from her that I desperately needed and did the last shred of goodness I had just disintegrate between our tongues?
Our relationship, or what was a small shroud of friendship, disappeared after that night and I still had no clue what I’d done so horribly other than being traumatized that I’d killed.
We were true enemies after that.
And now we were going to be in the same dorm room. Great. She was probably going to get back at me for it, at some point, it would only make sense.
She’d been tainted by me.
She’d tried to help.
But the only thing I’d been able to do with my voice was yell at her, but I’d needed someone to blame.
And it’s always easier to blame those you secretly respect than yourself.