“Never when it counts.” With a wink, I added, “Orwhereit counts.”
“Fucker,” he muttered with a laugh.
CHAPTER THREE: DREA
Whoever said that time heals all wounds could go fuck themselves. Regardless of the time that had passed since Marco’s murder, the gaping wound in my chest continued to fester. It took sustenance from the guilt that ate at me.
While I might not have pulled the trigger, I’d killed Marco.
My rebellion and my selfishness had caused his death.
I’d taken a son from a mother.
And caused Vittoria–the woman I loved more than anyone in the world–tremendous agony.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at her for weeks. Every time I did, I expected hatred to be reflected back at me in her eyes or for her to lash out by calling me a murderer.
But finally one night when I couldn’t sleep, I crept into her bedroom. She wasn’t asleep either. Instead, she sat up in bed with her glassy eyes staring ahead.
When she’d caught my pleading gaze, a moment passed before she beckoned me with her hand. After climbing into bed, she wrapped her arms around me, and we cried ourselves to sleep.
I’d like to say it got easier after that, but it didn’t. Reconciling with Vittoria thawed some of the emotions that had frozen the day of Marco’s death.
Then came screaming nightmares that forced me to take nightly sleeping pills.
There were sobbing spells where nothing could calm me but the injection from our family’s doctor.
There were days when everything I ate came straight back up.
For four months, I’d lived in a hellish fog. A shell of the young woman I’d once been.
Then I started college. When I was forced to focus outside my trauma, tiny pinpricks of light began to burst through to my darkness.
For the first time in my life, I tasted true freedom, and it was fucking mind-altering. Because of what had happened with Marco, Father didn’t bother sending a bodyguard with me to school. The smug son of a bitch knew I was too grief-stricken to do anything wild. Of course, he still kept a tracker on my phone and cameras in my dorm.
Although I hated to admit it, he was right. I didn’t need the hulking shadow of a bodyguard over me to make me toe the line. All I had to do was think of Marco. Occasionally, I allowed my new friends–ones who were outside the underworld–to talk me into a party or two.
Although I cut loose a little, I never lost control. I kissed a guy or two. Maybe a graze of my ass or a grope of my boob, but that was it.
Part of me wanted to go positively wild. To have my pictures end up in the newspapers. I gleefully imagined what Father’s face would look like as he read of my drunken exploits.
But I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
As the end of my freshman year drew to a close, dread began to seep in. I would be returning home. I hated the idea so much that I tried to register for a summer class, but Mother wouldn’t let me.
In the end, I said goodbye to my roommates and got into the blacked-out SUV waiting outside my dorm to take me back to hell.
The only thing good about coming back home was my brothers and my sister. The moment I entered the house, I was mobbed by them, which caused warmth to spread through me.
At twenty-three, my brother, Antonio, was Father’s heir and right-hand man. He was home for the summer from graduate school at Brown. Tall with blonde hair and blue eyes, he was constantly in and out of relationships despite the fact that his marriage had already been arranged.
Antonio’s twin in looks and personality, Aurelio, was eighteen. When we were younger, I’d pretended he was my baby even though there were only two years between us. Since he’d become too much like Father, I’d distanced myself from him in the last few years.
My true babies were the twins–thirteen-year-old Adamo and Audrianna. I loved spending time with them. We were all athletes at heart–hiking, swimming, tennis, and even a little tag football.
After hugging each of them, Vittoria stepped forward. Tears immediately pricked my eyes. “It’s so good to have you home, Drea,” she proclaimed with a loving smile.
