Chapter 1
LARISSA
Asheville, North Carolina
LYING ON MY stomach, feet kicked up behind me, I’m flipping a page of one of Mama’s outdated fashion magazines when the yelling starts—again.
It’s been nearly every day for the last week.
But it’s the way they’re arguing tonight that has me popping my head out of my bedroom.
As their roars escalate, I creep up to peek over the mezzanine rail to see them in another standoff.
This time, Ciro met Roc at the door—where they’re squared off now, screaming at the top of their lungs.
Their war has been ongoing for some time, but somehow, I know this fight is different. I can feel it.
“You are no son of mine!” my father booms, his olive complexion reddening. “You have no respect!”
“And you’re a man to respect?” my older brother spits, tipping his chin up in a blatant sign of contempt. “You’re so fucking courageous that you dole out all of the orders and do none of the heavy lifting.”
Flinching, I pad toward the top of the stairs, remaining hidden in the shadows while bracing myself, knowing the turn this will take because of my brother’s posturing and words. Roc has never gone this far.
“I know who you are, what you are, and Nonno would be disgusted if he knew what you—”
The crack from my father’s backhand echoes up to me, and I flinch again as my brother’s laughter rings out in response to the blow.
The fact that Roc used our grandfather against him—the one person Ciro DiCicco feared shaming up until his death—tells me all I need to know.
That, and the fact that Roc’s venom is filled with an underlying threat, has me fearful that my brother might not survive this rebellion.
It’s the menacing look in his eyes—his voice littered with hate—that has me bracing for the worst.
“What’s wrong, mostro?” Monster, Roc spits. “You don’t like the truth?”
“As if you have some ground to speak. You think I don’t know what you did to that girl last summer? I’m done cleaning up your messes. You’ve disgraced this family for the last time!”
“It’s your sick fucking blood that’s running through my veins. You sold your soul long ago—and ours! This family is cursed because of you. Keep your filthy fucking fortune and plagued name. You might have forced me to help you earn it, but I want no part of it.”
“That’s laughable,” Father scoffs. “How will you buy your drugs?”
“I would rather be a penniless drug addict than a replica of you!”
“Then go!” My father’s tone takes on the deadly edge he uses when he’s about to act in a way that can’t be undone. “As of now, you get no protection from the name you so despise. I would kill you myself if I weren’t certain you’re about to save me the fucking headache.”
Ciro delivers this in a way that strikes fear into the hearts of every man who crosses him before he turns his back with finality.
It’s then that Roc’s eyes find mine. In his return gaze, I see it—he’s not coming back.
As if in afterthought, Ciro reaches into his pocket and tosses a fortune in bills at Roc’s feet.
“This should buy enough to rid me of you.” His following words send a cold chill down my spine.
“If it doesn’t, you better make sure you crawl to an edge of the earth where I can’t reach you. ”
The loose bills start to scatter when Roc cracks the front door, and Dad stalks toward his study. Roc continues to hold my gaze as I frantically shake my head, begging. He can’t leave. He won’t. He won’t leave us.
Seeming to read my thoughts, Roc breaks the stare and lowers his eyes to the dwindling pile of money before scooping just enough of the loose cash to not look like he took any.
The rest scatters in the wind, along the foyer, trailing him outside the door before he slams it so hard that the glass surrounding it cracks.
With it, so does my restraint. I swallow the bile that threatens as thunder rattles the walls of the house along with the wood floor beneath my bare feet.
Knowing what going after him will cost me, I take the first step down as Ignacio fearfully calls my name from behind his inch-open bedroom door.
Turning, I aggressively shoo him back into his room.
Panic wins as I take the stairs as quietly as I can and manage to clear my father’s line of sight.
Just before I do, I catch a glimpse of Ciro where he sits in his study, staring into a roaring fire, before I hit the landing and quietly slip through the front door.
Rain pelts my neck and scalp as I race toward my brother, ignoring the pain from the sharp gravel digging into my bare feet as I call after him.
Glancing back, Roc stops at his driver’s door and, after spotting me, immediately begins to jerk his head back and forth in warning. “Go inside, sorellina,” little sister, “you know what will happen if he finds you out here.”
“Where will you go?”
Looking up, he scours the house, eyes darkening, expression tortured, as if the house itself represents everything that haunts and hurts him, when we both know it’s the man inside. The man he just bravely faced off with. “Anywhere but here.”
“When will you be back?” I ask, my lips trembling as I purposely press my feet into the sharp gravel to keep from crying. Emotional displays other than well-constructed hurled venom are considered a weakness in our family.
“I won’t.”
“You can’t leave us here!” I shriek, panic seizing me as he opens his car door. “Please don’t go,” I beg, tugging at his T-shirt as he stops and hangs his head. Turning to me, he bends and grips my shoulders.
“I have to, and you know why. Listen to me, Larissa. As soon as you get the chance, you get away from here, from him. Run as far and as fast as you can. For yourself and for Ignacio, don’t let him turn you into one of his monsters, okay?”
“But you’ll come back for us.” I search his eyes for any sign of hope as he tightens his grip on my shoulders.
“Promise me!” he bellows above the increasing wind and rain.
“Take us with you—”
“Promise me,” he grits through clenched teeth.
“I promise,” I utter as fear cripples me that I have no idea how to keep that vow. If he leaves, it will be an impossible feat.
“Go back inside before he finds you out here!” he shouts, but I continue to grip his arms as he tries gently to free himself.
My fingernails drag over rough, raised skin as I fight to keep a hold on him.
Looking down, I spot the bold edges of a heavily blackened tattoo, which wasn’t there the last time he was home.
Thunder rattles the ground as I study it—the wings of a bird, a crow, I think—but it’s too dark to fully make out.
Releasing my fingers, Roc gently pushes me away to gain space while I persistently beg him not to go.
Once free, he slips into his car, and I call his name again, pounding on his driver’s window as he scans the house for long seconds.
It’s the start of his engine that has me full-on screaming, uncaring of who might hear.
This cry not going ignored when sorrow-filled, dark brown eyes meet mine through his window.
I see it then. Whatever protectiveness he feels for me, for Ignacio, is not enough because, short seconds later, he’s spinning tires and speeding away.
I watch on, absorbing the sight of his car as he bullets down the driveway and out of the gate.
Not once slowing, his exit becomes purposeful and absolute.
Gone.
Rain soaks me as I stare after him for long minutes, praying he’ll change his mind and come racing back, both for Ignacio and for me.
That he won’t be so selfish as to leave us to fend for ourselves in this hell.
But it’s a foolish hope because I saw it in his expression—in his departure.
All lingering hope disappears when the gates close.
Locking me in. At the sight of it, a guttural cry bursts from me.
At both the loss of him and what his permanent absence means.
Soaked through by the chilling rain, I turn back toward the house and freeze when I’m met by familiar sapphire eyes.
Inside his return gaze swirls turbulent affirmation of the same knowledge.
There’s no escaping my fate, and there’s nowhere to run.
My brother’s betrayal makes each step back toward my damning fate even more grueling.
In my darkest moment, I curse my brother’s future to be just as tormented as the one he’s cursed me with.