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The lake is so big that it looks like an ocean. It has waves just like the sea, and storms that blow in. Not right now, though. Right now, the water is as calm as I’ve ever seen. We’ve walked all the way to the end of the pier, to the point that juts out furthest over the lake.
Sebastian finishes his ice cream, chucking the cup into the nearest trash can. I’m still working on my cone.
We’re chatting about his classes at school, and about mine. I’m taking courses at Loyola—a little bit of everything. Psychology, poli-sci, finance, marketing, history. I like taking whatever I’m interested in at the moment. Unfortunately, I’m not sure how it’s gonna all add up to a degree.
I think Papa’s getting annoyed with me. I know he wants me to finish up and come work with him full-time. B
ut he’s not going to let me do the interesting or difficult stuff—he’s already got Dante and Nero for that. He’s going to try to shunt me off in some boring office doing busywork. And that sounds like a fucking nightmare to me.
I’m the baby of the family and the only girl. There’s never been much in the way of expectations laid out for me. Maybe if my mother were alive, it would be different. But I’ve basically run wild my whole life. As long as I wasn’t getting in too much trouble, my father had more important things to worry about.
My brothers are good friends to me, but they have their own lives.
Nobody needs me, not really.
That’s okay, though. I’m not whining about it. I like being free and easy. Right now, I’m hanging out with Seb, eating ice cream, and enjoying a summer night. What more do I need?
That feeling of contentment lasts about five seconds. Then I look up and see two men walking toward us. One’s wearing a suit, the other a hoodie and jeans. The suited guy has brown hair, freshly cut, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. The expression of fury on his face is all too familiar to me, since I last saw it about forty minutes ago.
“Seb,” I whisper, making my brother stand up straight.
“Is that Callum Griffin?” he mutters.
“Yup.”
“Look who it is,” Callum says. His voice is low, cold, and full of rage. He has extremely blue eyes, but there’s nothing pretty about them. They’re painfully intense, the only color on his person.
I don’t know who the guy is standing next to Callum. He looks mean as hell. He’s got the build of a boxer, a shaved head, and a slightly squashed nose, like he’s taken a hit or two. I’m betting he’s doled out a whole lot more.
Unconsciously, Sebastian has moved closer to me and a little bit in front of me, shielding me with his body.
“What do you want?” he says to Callum.
Sebastian isn’t nearly as intimidating as Dante, or as vicious as Nero. Still, he’s taller than Callum and his thug, and his voice is as stern as I’ve ever heard it.
Callum just scoffs. His face is handsome—or at least, it should be. But I’ve never seen such a cold expression. He looks like he hates everything. Most especially me.
Not that I can entirely blame him for that.
“What is it with you Italians?” he sneers. “Where did you learn your manners? You come to a party where you’re not invited. Eat my food, drink my liquor. Then you break into my house. Try to burn it the fuck down. And you steal from me . . .”
I feel Sebastian stiffen ever so slightly. He doesn’t look back at me, but I know he wants to.
I’m also confused about what the fuck Callum is talking about. Then I remember the pocket watch, still tucked in the front pocket of my shorts. I’d completely forgotten about it.
“Look,” Sebastian says, “the fire was an accident. We don’t want any trouble.”
“Well that’s just bullshit, isn’t it?” Callum says softly. “You came looking for trouble. And now you’ve got it.”
It’s not easy to rile up Sebastian. Threatening his little sister is a good way to do it. Now he’s bristling, balling up his fists in return, and stepping all the way in front of me.
“You think you’re some kinda tough guy, bringing your boyfriend along?” Sebastian says, jerking his head toward the still-silent boxer. “I’ve got brothers, too. You better fuck off before I call them here to peel your lily-white skin off.”
Not bad, Seb. For someone who doesn’t do a lot of threatening, that came out pretty menacing.
I don’t need protecting, though. I dart forward so I’m right next to Sebastian and I say, “Yeah, fuck off back to your fancy little mansion. You wanna play at being a gangster? You’re just a bitch-ass politician. What’re you gonna do, rubber stamp us to death?”
Callum Griffin fixes me with his icy stare. He’s got thick, dark eyebrows above his pale eyes. The effect is inhuman and unpleasant.
