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CHAPTER ONE
DELANEY
“Delaney, can you clear off table twelve before you clock out?”
I check my watch, then nod at my coworker before heading over to the corner table. It’s the end of a long overnight shift at Ron’s Diner, and I need to make sure I’m out the door by five-thirty. That way I can get home by six, before my brothers wake up.
It’s risky, sneaking out several nights a week to wait tables at Ron’s, but I don’t have much of a choice if I want to escape my controlling brothers. I’m the youngest of four and the only girl. I never knew my mom, but I was reminded over and over that her passing was my fault. She died while giving birth to me.
My father was in over his head with four kids, so we were left to our own devices most of the time. He ended up getting into some trouble with a big crime family here in New York, the Romanos, and they silenced him the only way they could - a bullet to the head and a grave at the bottom of the Hudson River.
That was ten years ago. I was just twelve at the time. Most pre-teens are obsessed with bands, crushes, movies, and fashion. Me? I just wanted safety. A place to hide. I still do. I know all too well that monsters are real. Only, they don’t live under your bed. They walk the streets, in broad daylight, confident that they can get away with anything. And for the most part, they do.
That’s why I need to get out. My brothers have started working for the same crime family that killed our father, and it’s only a matter of time before that lifestyle gets all of us killed.
I shake my head, trying to clear the unpleasant thoughts. It never works, but at least I’m trying. I return my focus to the task at hand, stacking the dirty plates into the dish tub, followed by cups and silverware.
Carrying everything to the back room, I set the tub down and begin rinsing the dishes and placing them in the dishwasher. I check my watch again, scrambling to the employee lockers to grab my things. I pull on black sweatpants and a giant black hoodie, along with a black stocking cap. Shoving my tips into the front pocket of my black backpack, I rush to the time clock next to the back door and enter my employee number before hitting the clock out button.
Dang it.It’s five thirty-five, which means I missed my bus.
Sure enough, as soon as I burst through the back door and jog down the alleyway, I see my bus pull away from the stop. My shoulders drop and my stomach ties itself in knots. I trudge to the bus stop and read the schedule posted next to the sign. The next bus won’t be here for another thirty minutes.
Tears burn the back of my eyes, but I blink them away and take a deep breath. Crying won’t rewind time, so all I can do is move forward and figure out something else. Truthfully though… I’m so damn tired. Every single day is a battle to get up and go through the motions. I have to believe it’s all building toward something. My freedom, hopefully. If my brothers don’t kill me for sneaking out and getting a job without them knowing, that is.
I check my phone to see if there are any ride shares available but, of course, it’s too early for most people to be out and about. Looking up from my screen, I scan the street until my eye catches on a yellow taxi cab.
I hesitate for a moment but then flag the driver down. He sees me and pulls over to the side while I shuffle through my backpack to get my tip money. I know this one ride will cost at least half of my tips, but I’m trying not to think about it. I don’t have a choice. I’d rather be short on tip money than risk the wrath of my brothers.
After my dad died, my brothers raised me, if you could call it that. More like ordered me around and treated me like a servant. When I wasn’t cooking or cleaning, I was up in my room.
At first, it was because I was told to be neither seen nor heard unless I was helping out around the house. But I grew to love my afternoons and evenings by myself. I read anything I could get my hands on. When I discovered that I could rent books from the library for free, my whole world opened up.
I learned about bird calls, the deep ocean, mighty dragons, and daring princes. I read books about stars and galaxies, chemistry, and the inspiring lives of great explorers and philosophers. I found a thousand different ways of life between the pages of my beloved books, and it only made me hungry to break free and start my own.
“Where to?” the cab driver asks, startling me from my thoughts.
I give him the address of the convenience store a few blocks from my house. I don’t want him to drop me off out front in case the lights or the sound of the engine wakes my brothers.
We ride in silence, and I look out the window, watching the sun turn from pink to orange to yellow, covering the city in warm light. The landscape changes from skyscrapers to strip malls and, eventually, the cab comes to a stop in front of a 7-Eleven.
“You know this place doesn't open until seven, right? It’s right there in the name, babe,” the driver says.
My eyes dart to his in the rearview mirror. I notice for the first time he has a creepy smile, full of yellow teeth. A chill runs down my spine, but I ignore it. I’ve been in worse places with more dangerous people than this cabbie.
I shrug my shoulders and hand him my fare plus a tip. I may not appreciate the vibe this guy is giving off, but I know what it’s like to live off tips and save every penny. I always try to give a little extra whenever I can.
He takes the cash, and I step out of the cab, grabbing my backpack and slinging it over my shoulder. I trudge up the slight hill toward the only home I’ve ever known. It’s not in a great neighborhood, but it’s not the worst one, either. I’ve tried keeping up on house repairs over the years, but I stopped growing at five feet and two inches, so I’ve been limited on what projects I can do without help.
Still, a smile pulls at my lips as I see the two-story house nestled between apartment buildings. I planted flowers out front last week, and they’re in full bloom. Tim, my eldest brother, made fun of me for trying to make our “shithole house” look presentable. His words, not mine.
But I don’t care. They aren’t for him. They’re for me. A little bright spot in my day. I can look out my window in the morning and see a pop of color, reminding me that all sorts of beautiful things can grow in unexpected places.
As I approach the little house, I notice an unfamiliar car parked across the street. It could be someone visiting a friend in one of the apartment buildings nearby, but it wasn’t here when I left for work at ten last night.
My muscles tense as my heart picks up speed. Awareness prickles my skin, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. As I get closer, I notice the car is a sleek black BMW. Not the kind of car that frequents this side of the tracks.
I clench my jaw, trying to calm myself with a deep breath. It’s not working. The last time a luxury vehicle was parked outside my house, it left with my father’s body stuffed in the trunk.
