Sinister (Devils of Sable Lakes Book 1)

Chapter 1

My parents were murdered in front of me when I was five. They were casualties of the ties they held to the prominent and powerful mafia family, the Vitiello’s. You see, my papa was Papa. V.’s consigliere. His eyes and ears. His body count. As far back as I can remember, our family was tied to the Vitiello Kingdom. We were family in a sense. We vacationed together back in the motherland. Spent every Christmas, Easter, birthday, 4 th of July together, and every other celebration you can think of. They were our non-blood relatives. My mom, Mama V., and Papa V.’s two sisters were best friends, they spent nearly every day together. Until it all ended in bloodshed and I was left with no one.

I remember sitting on the plush leather sofa, a firm hand placed on both of my shoulders to keep me still, to ensure I didn’t run like the little baby they thought I was. I distinctly remember not being able to tear my eyes away from the man impeccably dressed in a sharp suit with a black balaclava covering his head. He was so casual yet calculated in the way he moved about our lounge room. It almost seemed as though he had been here before, invited in as a friend. From a small five year old’s perspective, he looked huge as he stood over my mom and held the gun to her head. The pop of the gun was something I never forgot. It reminded me of the fireworks at our 4th of July parties held at the lake house. Only this time the splatter of my mom’s blood was the only thing that made a spectacular mess across the wall behind her.

My papa was next. He didn’t even try to struggle out of the cable ties that bound his wrists behind his back. He simply stared at me and nodded once before the bullet hole in his head dribbled blood over his handsome face.

I didn’t move and I didn’t give the men the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I’d sat straighter on that sofa just like my papa would have wanted me to. I’d remember his small nod of assurance until the day I died and I knew he meant for me to be as strong and brave as him.

I watched the man in the black balaclava turn and eye me as I sat up straighter, ready for the bullet to pierce through my skull. His bright blue eyes reminded me of the sea on a hot Summer’s day. They looked funny surrounded by the dark material of his mask. He strode toward me and indicated for the man holding me in place to move before he squatted down in front of me.

“Friend of foe?” He’d said in a thick Italian accent. I was too afraid to speak in case my voice gave away that I was terrified of him.

He placed his gun to my temple and his eyes crinkled at the outer edges. I knew he was secretly smiling at me behind that mask. I swallowed hard as my heart thudded in my chest and threatened to burst through my ribs. Our eyes were locked on to each other for what felt like a lifetime when the click of the retriever made me flinch. I waited for something my childlike brain should never have needed to imagine. My death. When I realized I was still alive I nearly choked out a cry. I felt the warmth of my pee as it saturated my skirt and the expensive leather. I wanted to bury myself in my mom’s limp arms, but instead, I stared back at the man before me until he removed the tip of the gun from the side of my head.

“Friend,” he had said as he placed his pointer and middle finger on the material against his lips and then pressed the two fingers against my mouth, pushing them firmly against my quivering lips.

He stood up and stared down at me, the splatters of my mom and papa’s blood on his nice suit. I glanced up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say or do something. But he ignored me after that. He indicated for his men to follow him out of my house and they left me with the bodies of my dead parents.

So, this is how I became the adopted daughter of the Vitiello’s. They had promised my parents they would look after me if anything were ever to happen, and they certainly kept their word. I had everything a girl could imagine and then some. I never asked for anything, but they kept showering me with material things out of guilt I guess. I was never made to feel like I wasn’t part of the family and I was treated like their daughter. But, it wasn’t the same warm fuzzy feeling your real family made you feel. I’d had the best education money could buy at an elusive all girls catholic school far away from the all boys catholic school my psycho adoptive brother and his two best friends had attended.

I was the sibling he never wanted. My adoption disrupted his perfect, selfish, only child, first five years of life. We had spent all our holidays and summers together prior to me being adopted and he spent those years hating me the entire time. When I moved in, let’s just say, the hatred only intensified.