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I strolled toward my mother, the stupid boat shoes she insisted I wear slapping the floor. Her head snapped in my direction, a smile gracing her red lips. She wore a shade of lipstick that was so vibrant it looked like blood.
I liked that color.
That morning, she laid out a pair of black cargo shorts and a navy blue-and-white striped polo shirt on my bed. She insisted I wear more casual clothes since I preferred suits like my father. He had Brioni make custom suits, so we looked like twins.
“Luca.” My mom smiled. “Where have you been hiding?”
“I was helping Dad with something.”
I left out the part where I stuffed a wet cloth into a man’s mouth before my father beat the shit out of him for information. He never hid the violence from me. It had started when I was around five years old, not long after I tried to kill Marcello.
I think he knew back then I was ready for this lifestyle. That I could handle the truth about our family. When I was older, he involved me in the corrupt side of his business, and I never looked back.
My mother climbed down from the ladder and patted the top of my head. “Have you been a good boy today?”
“No,” I admitted.
“Luca,” she sighed. “What did your father make you do?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“You’re a child.” She bit her cheek as she looked down at me. “Go play with Drake Battle. He’s your age, sweetie.”
I sneered at her suggestion. “He’s boring and plays video games all day.”
Mom ran her fingers through my hair, which I would have hated if it were anyone else. No one but my mother could touch me. “He’s a nice boy. You should ask him to come over and go swimming.”
I was well beyond sleepovers and play dates with the neighborhood kids. Mentally, I was already in my twenties, while kids like Drake still slept in Superman pajamas and played with fake guns. Why pretend when my dad let me shoot the real thing?
I shook my head. “No, I’d rather play with Dad. I don’t want to swim.”
She sighed and bent down to my height. “Your dad isn’t playing. That’s real.” Her red nails brushed my cheek. “Luca, you need to make some friends. Have a life outside of this house that doesn’t involve your father.”
“I don’t need friends. I have you and Dad.”
“And Marcello.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “Il sangue non e acqua.”
“Blood or not, I don’t want him,” I fired back.
She blew out an irritated breath. “The two of you don’t always get along, but you are brothers. Blood is thicker than water. Promise me,mio principe, that you will take care of Marcello.”
“I promise.”
I found her two days later on the floor of her studio with her head turned to the side. Her lips were so blue I’d never forgotten the color of death. The stench of a rotting corpse. At that moment, I knew I had to honor her dying wish to protect Marcello. It was the least I could do for the only person who ever made me feel normal.
My father gripped my bicep, pulling me out of my memories of the past. I turned to look at him, my eyebrows lifted in question.
He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “If Marcello doesn’t make it, you need to marry Alexandrea immediately. Do you understand me?”
I nodded.
“We can’t afford a moment of weakness. Everyone will want blood.”
Drifting between sleep and consciousness, I fought against the nightmares commanding control of my body. I tried so hard, telling myself it was time to wake up.
As I opened my eyes, I rolled over onto a soft surface, and curled my arms around a pillow, stretched my legs across a bed. For a moment, I’d forgotten about everything.
The attack at the estate.
