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“And my every waking hour.”
“I don’t understand.” I’m trying to but she isn’t making any sense.
“And you never will, Vanya,” she sighs. “You’re too sheltered and naïve to know anything. Sometimes, I wish I was you. I wish I could have what you have.”
An unladylike snort bursts through me.
“You’ve seen my life, Ada,” I remind her as I play with a lock of her beautiful curls. They are the same color as mine. Her eyes, too. We could be sisters with how similar we look. Then again, most Greeks look alike to me. “Parents who barely acknowledge my existence. There’s no love here. No laughter. I’m not allowed to attend a public school or make friends. My life has been decided for me since the day I was born.”
“Still better than mine.”
“How can you say that?” Why would she think that? Her mother loved her and cared for her. My mother screams my name when she’s drunk and yells to the world what a disappointment I am. How she wishes I was never born. I’d rather be a maid or member of the staff than their daughter.
“One day,” she sighs. “One day I’ll show you what it’s like to be me and I’ll take everything you have.”
“Fine by me,” I tell her with a wave of my hand. “Have at it. Bonus points if you can stand in the room for five seconds with either of my parents without crying.”
She laughs.
“Deal.”
A solid thudradiates through the shovel.
Paydirt.
I use the sides of the blade to shift the dirt off the coffin and to the side. When I finally get a clear view of the upper latch, I throw the shovel to the side and bend down. Flipping back the lock, I grunt as I struggle to lift the heavy wooden lid.
Unfit bitch.
I am going to get a gym membership when this is all done.
Running from snipers, climbing houses, and now digging holes… yep, soon I’ll be sweating to the oldies or taking Zumba classes.
Fuck this is hard.
A cloud of dust rises around me, a foul stench filling the air.
Gross. Gross. Gross.
This was a better idea when it was just in head.
Okay. I mentally gird my loins and lean down into the coffin. I can do this. I can do this. Maybe if I keep psyching myself up, I won’t vomit at the sight of rotting skin and bones. Taking a deep breath, I fortify myself. I can do this.
I’m on my knees on the bottom part of the casket, which is luckily solid and not cheap. Otherwise, I’d probably fall right through it. Leaning forward, I run my gaze along her left arm searching for the…
No.
That can’t be right.
It’s faded, but there is no mistaking the outline of the golden eagle tattoo on her forearm, right where it’s always been. That doesn’t make any sense. Who else would want to kill my family? Everyone I can think of is either dead or doesn’t have a motive.
Peter wanted money and control, but he never hired the hitman.
The four families would never have made a move against my father. They rely too heavily on their truce to keep the peace. It would be bloodshed if someone called for the hit.
From what I’ve learned, Adrian was already slowly dismantling my father’s empire from the inside using a spy… again. A spy who was also murdered the same day as everyone else. If he’d ordered the hit, he would have left her alive. Also, he wouldn’t have killed the hitman.
Right?
