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24
MADDIE
I don't remember doingit, but I pulled the gun from my thigh holster that Aries helped me put on before we left. It’s aimed at the man in front of me, the one who dared to spit blasphemy in my face.
He holds his hands up, palms facing me, but it's a mockery of a surrender. A sinister gleam twinkles from his dark eyes, his thick black brows perfectly manicured over them.
“What's this? You’d pull a gun on your own father?”
“You're not my father.” My voice is cold, detached almost. I scan him from his black hair to the tips of his black boots. I don’t find a scrap of similarity.
“Jesus, Madison, put the gun down!”
I look from the gun to my mother and back to the gun again. It’s strange that I don't remember pulling it out, but ever since Aries had me practice a few hours ago, flashes of memories started trickling in. Enough to know that I’ve held a gun before today. I’ve even shot one. I keep that little tidbit of information to myself for now.
“I will not be putting it down. Start talking.” I keep the gun trained on the guy, but look at my mom.
Movement from my peripheral snags my attention, and a glance lets me know that Aries, Leo, and Matteo have followed my lead. They each have a gun drawn but not aimed. Warmth settles in my chest at their willingness to back me, to let me lead.
“Madison, I-I was gonna tell you, I swear.” Her pleas feel worn and thin.
Have you ever felt your heart break before? The special kind of heartbreak that comes from a betrayal that cuts too deep that leaves you without a way to stop the wound. It’s not the same kind of grief that comes with losing someone prematurely, either from this earthly plane or a conclusion of a relationship.
No, this sort of grief is born out of betrayal, devastation, and hurt so vast and consuming. It's a deep slice to your soul, unable to be stemmed or staunched. Ultimately, you bleed out.
It’s a grief that you feel in your body. Your very cells shift, become misshapen as if they've now taken a new form.
I stare at my mother without a single word on my tongue. My head feels like it's stuffed with cotton and the room starts to tilt. My hand that’s holding the gun starts to tremble, and Dante very gently places his palm over mine.
He doesn't push my arm down or to the side, no, he helps me hold the gun steady. I'm so grateful I think I could cry. But later, because right now I feel rage settling in my throat, looking for the perfect moment to explode.
“It was a lie then? All the girls’ trips, the vacations abroad, the fucking men you paraded around me for years? Does your precious husband know how you used your daughters as wing women to pick up men half your age? Or is that part of whatever fucked-up thing this is?”
“Why don’t you put the gun down and we can have the rest of this conversation over a drink, hm? I have a room just upstairs here.” He shrugs his shoulders with his hands still up, palms facing me. I have to give it to him, he does a passable job of appearing nonchalant—friendly, even.
As if I would accept an invitation from someone who has malice dripping off their aura.
My mom, for the first time in her life, shows me some sort of real emotion that’s not found in the bottom of a bottle or a man. And as if that wasn't alarming enough, it’s real genuine fear. Whatever her reasons, she doesn’t want us to meet for that drink. Maybe there’s more she’s hiding, but on this, we agree. There’s no way in hell I’m going anywhere with him, so I need to find a way to leave this conversation.
“Over my dead body will she go anywhere near you,” Aries snarls the words, an echo of my own thoughts.
I get a spark, a tiny seedling of an idea that might help us get out of this situation. Or it’ll make it worse, in which case, we might be fighting our way out of this mess.
“By the way, Mom, I meant to introduce you to my boyfriends.”
“I don’t think this is the time—did you just say boyfriends? As in plural?”
“Yep.” I pop the p and lower my gun, letting it rest at my side.
“You remember my ex-boyfriend, right? Matteo Rossi.” I jerk my head to where he’s standing, ignoring someone’s surprised grunt. “And that’s his brother, Rafael.” I throw my thumb over my shoulder toward Aries. “Behind me is Dante, their best friend. And last but certainly not least, their youngest brother, Leonardo.”
Mom gasps, this loud offending noise that floats between us until it plummets against the cement, splashing all of her derision against my ankles. “What have you done, you stupid girl?”
Disbelief and outrage ping pong across my senses until I settle on something far deeper. Something that burns brighter and hotter.
Anger.
I take a half a step forward and with my hand that's not holding the gun I tap my chest. “What have I done?”
