Page 1

CHAPTER ONE

Illayana De Luca

“Caw caw. Caw caw.”

My brows snapped together into a tight frown, and I glanced over the top of my phone, staring into the darkness of my room. Arturo lay next to me, his arm draped over my belly, still fast asleep. The smile tugging at my lips was something I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.

Every night without fail, my husband would find a way to touch me throughout the night. Even when he was sleeping like the dead, there would be one part of him—his leg, a foot, a hand—that would always touch me, as if his body unconsciously sought mine out every night in its sleep.

“Caw caw. Caw caw,” a voice whispered again.

I rose up slightly, squinting into the darkness.

“Psst. Illayana. Wake the fuck up.”

I rolled my eyes at the sound of my brother’s voice, but again, I was powerless to stop the smile taking over my face. Keeping my eyes locked on Arturo, I slowly moved his arm from around my waist, wincing slightly when he groaned in his sleep. He rolled over, his back to me, and I quietly slipped out from under the blankets, getting to my feet. My black robe was draped across the large ottoman at the foot of the bed. I quickly picked it up, shoving my arms into it at the same time as I slipped my feet into the matching slippers, and rushed forward.

The heavy wooden door creaked and groaned when I opened it, and there he was; my older brother, dressed in the matching Christmas pajamas he’d had made for the family. A set. A long sleeve button-down flannel shirt and lounge pants. Bright red, with a pattern of pictures of Santa, presents, snow, and Christmas trees. His long hair was left free, sitting just above his shoulders, and his bright blue eyes were alight with mischief.

“Finally,” he breathed out in a soft whisper. “What the fuck took you so long?”

“I was in bed,” I whispered back. “What are you doing?”

His eyes narrowed. “Did you forget?”

The words forget what were on the tip of my tongue, but they died in an instant when it flashed through my head.

Fuck. I had forgotten.

“No. I didn’t forget,” I said, trying to cover my ass. “I would never forget our Christmas Eve tradition.”

His frown deepened. He eyed me suspiciously, not believing me for a second. “You forgot.”

“Okay. I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, I see how it is. You get a husband, and all of a sudden, you forget about me and our lifelong tradition.” He joked, shaking his head.

“Shut up before I shut you up. Come on.” I stepped out of the room, softly closing the door behind me.

The chalet my father had rented for the holiday in Switzerland was over 10,000 square feet. It had three floors and six bedrooms, which was more than enough for our crazy, chaotic family. The interior had a luxe, warm atmosphere, high, old wood-beamed ceilings, and elegant furnishings. It was one of my favorite places in the world. We’d been going there to celebrate Christmas ever since we were kids. The snow-covered mountains, the wide expanses of the landscapes, the pure solitude, and not another soul in sight for miles were borderline heavenly.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved living in the city. The hustle and bustle of city life. All the noise and chaos. But every now and then, ya girl needed a bit of piece and fucking quiet.

The mountains of beautiful Switzerland were the perfect place for that.

“What’s on your mind, buttercup?” Lukyan whispered as we tiptoed down the hallway, going past Nikolai and Tatiana’s room on the left and Aleksandr and Drea’s room on the right. We were on the second floor, which put my father and Autumn’s room on the top floor and Lukyan and Lyla’s on the bottom floor.

“What? Nothing. Why?”

“There must be something that made you forget about our tradition. What’s the problem? Arty being a dickwad? I’ll kill him for you if you want. Just say the word. No one will even know for a while. I’ll slice him up, real thin, into teeny, tiny pieces and bury those pieces in all different places so even if they do start to find him, they won’t even know it’s him, and then⁠—”

“Oh my god. Stop.” I laughed, my stomach almost hurting. “Stop. Just stop. Arturo hasn’t done anything.”

He pouted. “You sure? Doesn’t matter what it is, really. Maybe he ate something you were saving in the fridge. Maybe he leaves his dirty dishes in the sink. Maybe he stinks. Say the word, and I’ll gut that motherfucker. No questions asked.”

“Sounds like you’re the one with the problem.”

“Who, me?” He pointed at his chest. “Nah. I love Arty. We’re besties. But just because we’re besties doesn’t mean I won’t slit his throat for hurting you.”