Chapter 1
Annamaria
Thirteen years old
It’s been forty-one days since I made my first friend. Forty-one days since I lost him, too.
All because Marcello killed Raffaele’s older brother, Carlo Jr., right after taking the omertá.
That’s why the Donatos left in such a hurry, and why Matteo looked at me as if I were the enemy.
My brother executed Carlo Jr. in cold blood, before a crowd of witnesses, as a warning to anyone who would betray the Outfit.
All of this I know from Stella. She’s the one who witnessed it all. I shudder to think about her involvement in the whole macabre situation.
And here I thought I had finally made a friend.
How could Raffaele ever be my friend now, when my family butchered his in such a way?
Maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part, or perhaps it’s because I’m so starved for connection that isn’t blood-related, but I carry his phone with me everywhere I go. Not that I go anywhere. Aside from school, church, and a few obligatory family outings and galas, I’m usually confined to our home.
I don’t mind it. I’m a homebody at heart. What I do mind is having no one to talk to who doesn’t share my last name.
I thought that someone could be Raffaele. The syndicate ruined any possibility of that.
Why, Marcello? Why did you have to kill his brother?
No. I can’t put the fault of what happened on Marcello’s shoulders. That wouldn’t be fair. He was only doing what was expected of him.
It was Raffaele’s brother who stepped over the line.
Carlo Jr. was the one who tried to gain traction within the Cosa Nostra behind my father’s back, hoping to overthrow my family.
He even enlisted the Bratva to help him, all while carefully covering his tracks so no blame would ever lead back to him if the plot unraveled.
However, Carlo wasn’t careful enough. My father got to him in the end. Learned of his treasonous ways and punished him for it.
I wonder how Raffaele is taking Carlo’s death. Badly, most likely.
How would I feel if someone came for one of my brothers? If they came for Stella and killed her in such a glorified way?
I’d be beside myself. I would curl into a ball and wish to die right along with her.
That kind of loss doesn’t fade. It scars you. It stays.
Raffaele will hate me for all eternity, and I can’t fault him for it. I’d probably hate him too if one of his came for mine. And by the look in Matteo’s eyes, I wonder when that inevitability will come knocking on our doorstep.
If standing up to Matteo made him an enemy, then my family’s actions must have created something far worse.
I saw the pain in Matteo’s eyes. He loved his brother. Maybe even idolized him. Looked up to him as an example of what a made man was supposed to be. That kind of loss breaks something inside of you.
And men like him only think in straight lines. A pound of flesh deserves another pound of flesh. He’ll want vengeance. Of that, I have no doubt.
But my safety isn’t what weighs on me most. It’s the people I love—my family.
I just have to keep the faith that Matteo’s revenge will never touch a single hair on my loved ones’ heads. That his attempts to avenge his brother’s untimely death will never reach us.
As for Raffaele, maybe our paths will cross one day again. Or perhaps they won’t. Maybe all he’ll ever be is a sweet memory. A what-if I’ll carry with me.
“Anna? Yo, Anna? What’s up with you?” Lucky shouts when I don’t respond right away.
“I’m sorry… were you talking to me?” I stammer, my cheeks heating as everyone’s eyes at the breakfast table turn to me. “I was distracted,” I lie, shoving my hands into the pockets of my school skirt and feeling the buttons of Raffaele’s phone beneath my fingertips.
“Daydreaming, more like,” Enzo teases playfully, throwing me a wink.
I lower my head, not wanting my brother to see just how wrong he is. I wasn’t daydreaming. I was preparing myself for the worst. I was lamenting what I could have had and fearing what’s yet to come.
Daydreams are made of pleasant, soothing things. Hopeful things.
I don’t daydream. I fear. I nightmare awake.
“Whatever. Do you want to hitch a ride to school with us today or what? Now that Enzo and I have our learner’s permit, I need to get those miles in,” Lucky says before tossing a piece of bread into his mouth.
“And who will be the responsible adult who is going with you? You know a learner’s permit isn’t a driver’s license, right?” our dad, Gio, interjects.
“Technicalities, Dad. No one will know.”
“I will know.” Gio raises his brows, causing Lucky to pout.
“I’ll go with the twins,” our mother offers. “I promised Mother Superior I would lend a hand taking all the Christmas decorations down. Lord knows we need all her goodwill this year,” she adds, looking straight at Lucky and Enzo.
“What are you looking at us for? We’ve been absolute angels, Mom. As sweet as apple pie,” Lucky lies through his teeth. “Though I kind of wish Christmas break wasn’t over yet. I could have used another week away from the nuns.”
“I don’t know. A few of them aren’t too bad,” Enzo cuts in with a sly grin.
“I bet,” Stella mumbles, covering her mouth with a napkin.
Either Enzo didn’t hear her, or he pretends not to.
“Anyway, do you want me to drive you or not? It wouldn’t hurt your rep if your classmates saw you coming to school with us. If you want the new year to start with a bang, then what better way than being seen with Enzo and me?” He smirks.
“I think I just threw up a little in my mouth,” Stella groans. “Conceited much?”
“I’m just saying it like it is. Don’t hate the player, sis. Hate the game,” Lucky taunts.
“Yep. I won’t be able to stomach any more food. Your douchery is making me want to gag.”
“Stella, sweetheart, can we not talk about vomiting over breakfast… please?” my mother pleads as she pushes her plate aside.
My dad, Gio, snickers while my dad, Dom, chuckles under his breath. The only one who doesn’t laugh is my father, Vincent. His eyes drift, as they always do, to the empty chair at the kitchen table, where Marcello should be sitting.
Every morning, my brother wakes before the sun to drive to our Nonno’s gym for training, skipping breakfast altogether.
He’s been doing that since he was my age.
But recently, he’s been skipping dinner too, and I can’t remember the last time he sat with us for a full meal.
Like my father, I miss his presence at the kitchen table.
Our family never feels quite whole without him.
We already carry the absence of Jude living in London.
I don’t think either one of us is ready to lose Marcello, too.
And lately, that’s exactly what I feel is happening. I don’t like how much he’s been pulling away from us. It feels like ever since my brother took omertà and became made, his focus has narrowed to the Outfit alone, burying himself so deeply in syndicate business that he rarely comes up for air.
It can’t be healthy for him to be surrounded by all that… death. Marcello’s mind is tortured enough.
“Yo, Anna! For fuck’s sake! Did you doze off again to la la land?” Lucky blurts out in frustration, only to receive a sharp slap across the back of his head from my father, just as he was standing up to walk past him.
“Watch how you speak to your sister,” my father states evenly. “I don’t ever want to hear you be rude to any woman like that again. Understood?”
“Yes, Father,” Lucky mutters, lowering his head, genuinely ashamed. “Sorry, Anna.”
“It’s okay,” I reply with a smile, so he knows I wasn’t offended in any way.
Lucky wasn’t intentionally being rude. That was just Lucky being Lucky.
“I’ll be taking Annamaria to school today,” my father announces, surprising us all. “Unless you’d prefer to go with the twins and your mother?” he adds, almost as if second-guessing himself.
“No, Papà. I’d love to ride with you,” I say, honestly happy he’s taking me.
It will probably be one of the last times he’s able to do so anyway.
I think parents feel those things. The quiet endings.
The last time their child reaches for their hand without thinking.
The last time they’re asked for a bedtime story.
Or even a hug when their child is sad or afraid.
Those endings come sooner than any parent ever realizes, when they’re no longer allowed to protect and instead have to stand back and watch their child’s life unfold.
I guess my father must feel that quiet ending creeping closer, if he’s offering to take me to school this morning.
“I’ll wait for you outside in the car then,” he says, smiling warmly before pressing a quick kiss on my mother’s lips. “Have a good day, tesoro. Ti amo tanto.”
Every day, my siblings and I hear the same words leave my father’s lips before he walks out the door. It’s almost as if he’s afraid he won’t get another chance to say them to her.
In a way, he’s right. Every time he, or any of my fathers, steps outside our home, there’s no guarantee they’ll walk back through the door again. Their lives are steeped in danger, so they take every opportunity to remind us how much they love us while they still can. None more so than my mother.
My dads dote on her. They adore her, cherish her, protect her in every way imaginable.
I would place their love among the greatest romances ever written, if so many of those stories didn’t end in tragedy.
I don’t want that fate to ever touch my parents.
They’ve endured enough hardship to have earned their happily ever after.
After I say my goodbyes to my mother, fathers, and siblings, I grab my backpack and rush out the door. My father is waiting for me in the back seat of the car, his trusted bodyguard, Bruno, behind the wheel.
“Thank you, Papà,” I say as I slide in beside him. “I appreciate you taking me.”