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Hope can die.
An inch from my toes, the cliff drops to the swirling black waves below. The wind howls in my ears, clawing its way down my back and chilling the cold hard lump knotted in my chest.
They said it would get better, “eventually”. Somehow, someday, I’m supposed to “get over” Claudia’s death.
No. Some wounds don’t heal. Some pain cuts too deep to bleed its way back out again.
My freshman year here at Knightsblood was supposed to be a new start after what happened to my sister. I’ve even got Carmy here with me. But coming here has only underscored what I’ve tried to overlook ever since my parents died and Vito took in my sisters and me: we may be living in a house that the mafia built, but we arenotmafia.
I’m here at Knightsblood because of Vito’s influence, power, notoriety, and money. Carmine is, too. But the differencebetween us is blood.Everymafia-connected student at Knightsblood is here because of their parentage.
I’m only here because Vito called in favors, and every day I spend here highlights that even more.
It’s not as if Carmine and I don’t spend time together. It’s just that he’s got his own thing going on with other mafia heirs: other students that one day he’ll either do business with, or make war on.
That won’t be my future, though. So I find myself on the periphery, my soul still ripped into pieces from losing Claudia.
I’ve tried: God knows I’ve tried. For her. For myself. For Bianca, of course. For the Barone family, too, after all they’ve done for us.
But sometimes trying isn’t enough. Sometimes, the harder you fight to keep your head above water, the quicker you tire and start to drown.
Interesting choice of words…
I glance down at the ocean beneath me and the cinderblock tied to my ankle. Arrangements have already been made. Bianca will get everything I have, including the letter I wrote to her last night. It’s not that I want to leave her alone—in fact, that’s the hardest part about going through with this.
It’s just that I can’t fight anymore.
I don’twantto fight anymore. I’m tired of it, tired of the endless pain in my heart whenever I think about Claudia and the horrible way she died.
Besides, what am I going to do with my life? Work for Carmine when he takes over as don?
I exhale slowly and tap my toe against the cinderblock.
“Dude…what are you doing?”
My head whips around at the soft, feminine voice. The girl is my age, maybe a year older, with big hazel-green eyes, dark hair, and an elfin chin. Her gaze drops to the cinderblock, and the rope, and the cliff behind me.
I don’t answer for a few seconds. I just stand there, studying this curious girl I’ve never met, but who is probably a fellow student, given the hoodie she’s wearing with the university emblem on it.
“Terrible way to do it, incidentally.”
“Excuse me?” I growl.
“It’s low tide right now, so the water’s maybe…eight feet deep?”
I just glare at her.
“If you wentwithoutthe cinderblock, the waves would probably slam you against the cliffs hard enough to knock you out or straight up smash your brains in. Or carry you out further where you could drown properly.”
I lift a brow, still silent. This girl is fuckingweird.
“Butif you go with the stone, it’s going to anchor you. And you’re what, six feet?”
“Six-two,” I mutter.
“There you go. You’ll be tethered by the ankle. And that rope is like a foot and a half long, maybe, so you won’t even beunderwater. You’ll just be stuck there until the tide goes out a little more, and then comes back in. So it’ll be slow, andreallycold. Also, decent chance of breaking your leg on the way down, for what that’s worth. I’m just saying.”
I can’t stop staring at her. “You’re kinda weird.”
