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I watch my father whip out his gun and raise it to aim at his only daughter. It all clicks into place. My father sold out the family. He wants us to leave before everyone gets taken away. That has to be it.
I run at my sister, knowing my father won’t sacrifice her life for his. I hear the two bangs before I feel anything. My fingers come up red, and I’m not sure if it’s from Luna cutting me or from being shot.
I turn to watch my father run out of the house, leaving my sister and me behind. When my eyes drop to Nessa to ask if she’s okay, she’s no longer standing. She’s lying slouched against the stairs. Her terrified eyes stare hauntedly back at me as she gasps for air.
“It’s going to be okay,” I say, not knowing if it’s the truth.
Her mouth moves to say something, and I crouch next to her, trying to hear. But my cheek only feels her last gasp of air, and then she’s gone.
I holler out in pain and pick her up. She’s warm as I hug her with all the love we’ve always shared. “You need to come back to me, Nessa,” I plead. It’s her and me against the world. I can’t lose the only person who would sell their soul for me.
It’s not long before I hear the sirens. I refuse to move or release my hold. I grip her like it will wake her up.
“You need to let her go, sir.”
I shake my head. If I let her go, this will all become real. By now, there is a pool of blood around us. I don’t feel the gunshot wound from my father, because the pain from losing my sister is far too great.
It takes two men to separate me from her. I fight each of them, needing to be there for Nessa when she wakes. My body is on autopilot. Men stand in my way. My vision is blurred and bursting with images of Nessa. It takes another two men to hold me down before they’re able to sedate me.
Chapter 2
Fin
Present Day
IwalkintoUncleLeo’s house, my heart strumming, knowing what today is. Each year, my uncle celebrates my indoctrination into the family business. I was made the day I killed my own father. It took me less than forty-eight hours to find him after he killed my sister. My uncle paraded me around like a king afterwards. I toss the parcel to him, and he takes no time to bring out his switchblade, opening the plastic. An adorable stuffed bunny is placed on the table.
“You want to do the honors?”
I shake my head. He shrugs, and the blade slides through the soft-looking fur, and a handful of diamonds spill out.
“I’m proud of you, Fin,” he comments without looking up. “You’ve come a long way.”
I bristle at his words. Any type of praise from anyone has never sat well with me. I’m always calculating what the person may want. Trust is not something I hand out. Even to my uncle. I can’t say I trust him or anyone else—and this is why I work alone.
I may be a made man—something I never wanted—but I don’t follow the mafia rules. I’m my own man. They tried for years to lasso me into their businesses, until my uncle realized it was useless.
I’m a one-person show. I kill for money. And I’m the best at it. It’s why I think my uncle allows me to do as I please. In the end, it helps him more than if I were running one of his many illegal businesses.
My heart stopped beating the day I could have killed my best friend. But my soul died on the same day, when I couldn’t protect my sister. A blackness took over, and I soon learned I thrived when evil people hurt. I enjoyed hunting. Not the type of hunting normal people take part in, butmytype of hunting. I stalk my prey first, wait for them to become aware of the change in atmosphere, before I strike. It makes it more fun that way.
It’s also reinforced how selfish I believe the human race is. The things people offer when they are on their deathbeds are sickening. There’s no such thing as loyalty, if it means saving yourself. That’s how I know I’m in the right line of work. I always tell myself that if I ever find a selfless person, I’ll let them live the life they should have. I’ve yet to meet that person.
“Hard to believe it’s been six years since I took you under my wing.”
My brow rises, but I don’t say anything. My uncle attempts to include me in everything. It’s me who continuously pushes back.
“I need you to do something for me.”
Here’s the real reason for his flattery. My lips purse as I wait, refusing to ask what he needs. We both know this will lead to an argument—unless he’s just asking me to kill someone.
His finger rests on the tip of his knife, holding it up. “Luna Rossi.”
No one has whispered her name to me in six years. When I realized what I had become because of my father, I severed all connections with her. I would have dragged her down with me, and she deserved more than that. Although it was all for nothing.
I have forced myself to hate her, because I hate myself. The arrow would’ve just been the first hurtful thing I had done to her.
“What of her?” I spit out, unable to control the frustration that runs through my veins. Her name alone has my heart twisting.
