Chapter 1 #2
Stefano dropped his arms and stepped back, as if my words had slapped him.
I opened the bathroom door for him to go.
“Please,” I begged.
A second male voice filled the foyer. Younger and colder but also unmistakable. Hearing it gripped my chest and squeezed my heart.
“Look, man,” he said, “I don’t know who you are, but I know you’re not Vignali. So go get the motherfucker—now.”
Santo.
The last time I saw my younger brother, he was only nine, the same as my son. Santo used to be all laughter and sunshine. Now he sounded like a stranger from one of my bad dreams. Our father had broken him.
I used to love Marco and Santo so much.
A single tear slid down my cheek.
Tony’s voice cut in from the front door.
“And I don’t know who the fuck you are either, asshole, so you’re not getting in this house or anywhere near my boss.”
Marco spoke up, cutting through the pissing match with his usual calm and confident demeanor.
“We’re only here to take back what’s ours. Like I said, your boss has something that belongs to my family.”
“And what would that be?” Tony asked.
Stefano’s hard gaze never left mine. He waited for me to answer the question, but Marco beat me to it.
“The girl. She’s my sister. She’s unwed, and therefore still belongs to my father. There are family obligations she’s expected to fulfill. I’m sure Don Vignali understands this.”
Stefano stared at me, searching my eyes for an explanation, something to ease the pain in his eyes.
Shame washed over me.
I dropped my gaze to the floor.
He’d probably pieced it together by now, and things would only get worse the more we heard from Marco and Tony.
I’d fed Stefano lie after lie. Told him I grew up as an orphan, no siblings, weaving stories about the girl I wanted to be into a fictional tale that gave me a new life.
I wanted to end the whole charade, to tell him the awful truth right there in that stupid fucking rose-scented bathroom.
“What the hell is he talking about, Valerie?” Stefano demanded.
“Please, just get rid of them,” I pleaded. “Then I can explain it all. I’ll tell you everything.”
He grabbed my chin and tilted it up, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes. I wouldn’t have been able to see through the sudden blur of tears anyway.
“When I get back,” he said, “you and Enzo will be here. You are mine. That boy is mine. And after I handle the situation, you will explain every-fucking-thing. Understand?”
He brushed the backs of his fingers over my wet cheeks, his gentle touch in stark contrast to his harsh tone.
I didn’t want to lie anymore. I didn’t want to run anymore.
But what choice did I have if I wanted him to live?
“I promise,” I said.
Another lie—burning me up from the inside out.
Stefano didn’t know what he would be dealing with when it came to my family. He had no idea how disgustingly savage my father could be. I wouldn’t let that come down on him. I wouldn’t let the cruelty and my family’s sins come down on my son either. They deserved better.
Stefano pressed a hard kiss on my lips, one that almost broke me, almost made me confess everything and beg for his forgiveness.
Instead, I swallowed the lump in my throat as he warned me one last time before he walked out, still in his plush robe, the master of his house.
The second he was out of sight, I rushed to Enzo’s room.
I hated what I was about to do, taking Enzo away from his father. But I had to do it. It was our only chance.
“Gentlemen, what’s the issue?” I heard Stefano ask, his tone smooth with confidence and authority.
When I opened Enzo’s bedroom door, expecting to see him alone at the foot of his bed, playing the video games his father had bought him, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Two men sat there— one on either side of him.
Saul Moscatelli.
A depraved mafia monster from Chicago.
My father.
On the right side of Enzo’s bed, with one hand on my son’s shoulder and his other pressing a gun into my son’s ribs, sat the vilest man in existence. Worse than my father even.
The demon who had tortured me throughout my childhood, who took infinite pleasure in the suffering of others, and who coveted my older brother’s inheritance.
Aris Moscatelli.
My twin brother.
He wore the same wicked grin he’d had as a child.
“Hello, sister.”
My breath caught in my throat.
I gripped the doorframe to keep myself upright.
A muddled mess—my mind. I couldn’t think.
My gaze shifted from my father’s perpetual scowl of disapproval to the stoic expression on my son’s face.
“How nice of you to join us,” Aris said. “I was just getting to know my nephew.”
Aris placed the gun on his lap, no longer pointing it at Enzo. Now that he had my attention, he didn’t need to. His unspoken threat sliced through the air as cleanly as any bullet.
He didn’t need to say it. I knew. If I didn’t do what he wanted, he would kill my son without hesitation or remorse.
Not one of us in the room had a shred of doubt.
Aris would do it.
I nodded.
He grinned again.
No more hiding.
I had to find another way to keep us alive.