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ONE
ALLURA
Red bleeds across the snow, a trail that leads from the back of the building to where a dead bird lies, half-eaten. One of our dogs probably caught it early this morning. They do that when they wander into the gated back area of the building behind where I live. I’ve seen them do it, creep across the snow-kissed grass, and seal birds to a fateful end.
“Allura?” My mother’s voice yanks me from my thoughts. “Are you listening to what we’re discussing?”
She, my father, and members of his “family” are sitting at a table behind where I’m standing. I was sitting there, too, until a few minutes ago when they started discussing my arranged marriage that’ll be taking place in a handful of days. I got up then and wandered over to the frosted window to stop a scream clawing up my throat. That scream has been scratching inside of me ever since my mom and dad informed me of my fateful end that’s similar to the demise of the bloody, dead bird lying in the snow.
“No, Mother, I’m not listening.” I don’t even bother to lie.
She loathes when I do this—when I backtalk. I usually avoid doing it in front of the family, even though my nature is to be a bit snarky. For years, my mom has repeatedly attempted to break that out of me, but I’m too stubborn, so she’s never succeeded. She also despises my refusal to act like the perfect mafia daughter.
I hate that life is this way in this world. Men get to be dangerous, cruel, and cocky. They even get praised for it. Whereas women have to be proper, emotionless princesses. Well, at least they do in public. Behind closed doors is a different story.
“Well, stop daydreaming, come sit down, and listen. This is important.” She’s kinder than she’d be if we were alone. If we were alone, I’d get smacked across the face.
But my mother has to appear put together in front of others. Honestly, she shouldn’t be concerned about the opinions of the men currently sitting in this room. They’re the worst of the worst—all of them have blood staining their hands.
I twist toward her. “Why is it so important that I listen to this?”
As fucked up as this makes me sound, I get a drop of sick satisfaction at watching her struggle not to lose her composure. Sometimes, I even imagine watching her skin split open and bleed out all of her darkness until nothing is left inside of her. Until she is as empty as I feel all the damn time.
“Because it’s your day,” she says coldly. “You know this.”
“It’smyday?” I question with an arched brow. “I’ve had no say in any of the planning, when the ceremony will happen, or even who the guests will be.” I thrum a finger against my lips. “There’s something else missing from that list. What was it again …?” Bitter sarcasm bleeds into my tone. “Oh, yeah, I didn’t even get to decidewhoI’ll be marrying or if I even wanted to get married.”
Everyone is staring at me now, but I’m way past giving a shit. I stopped giving when I realized no one gave a shit about me, and that was a long time ago. Then I really started to not give a shit two months ago, on my eighteenth birthday, when my parents announced that I’d be marrying Ryder St. Claire, son of Axel St. Claire, one of the most feared mafia bosses in the city. To add to this controlling insanity, I’ll also be marrying Blaise Marielle and Reece Averson, Ryder’s friends and the sons of two other powerful mobsters. But I’m not marrying the three of them in the normal sense. Instead, I’ll be participating in a fate ceremony, an old-school mafia tradition that happens when multiple bosses’ sons marry the daughter of another boss to tie all the families together. It works the same as a marriage, at least by the laws of mobsters, which is the only law that matters in the mafia world.
The shitty part is it wouldn’t have seemed so awful if it had happened three years ago minus the fact that I was only fifteen years old at the time. Back then, Ryder, Reece, Blaise, and I were friends. Then they betrayed me, and we’ve been enemies ever since. They rarely speak to me now except to torment me, which hasn’t happened for months, since we graduated and our fate ceremony was announced. And I’ve been happy to return the favor of not speaking to them. Now, we’re going to be forced to live together.
It sucks that my fate has been decided by a bunch of old, power-hungry dudes who want to become even more powerful. They think that if their families are tied together through their children, they can become one giant, powerful family. At least, that’s what they tell each other. Personally, I think this fate ceremony is their way of keeping tabs on each other and protecting themselves from one family trying to dethrone another.
I hate my parents for using me as a bargaining chip. Not that I’m surprised. When they told me what I’d have to do, I put up a damn good fight. I even contemplated running away. But running away when you come from a family with professional bounty hunters working for them isn’t really an option. Not that I’m not still trying to run away. I know people who could maybe help me escape, but it’ll take some time for me to make it happen, which means this wedding—fate ceremony—will take place. But it’s not a legal wedding in the real world’s eye, so it doesn’t matter. At least, I try to tell myself that. Deep beneath my skin of steel, I’m scared shitless about this.
When I was friends with Reece, Ryder, and Blaise and we attended the same prep school, people either feared them or kissed their asses, and girls always threw themselves at them. Well, not all girls. Some didn’t want to deal with the douchebag drama that came with being in their world, myself included. But some girls chased after that princess-mobster-wife dream. I wonder if they realized their sparkling tiara would be stained with blood, pain, and death.
“Justine, control your daughter,” my father warns without looking at me. “Now.”
He’s a cold man and has been since I took my first breath. I think he secretly despises that he never had a son, at least one birthed by my mother. I wouldn’t be surprised if a handful of young men are wandering around in this world with his blood coursing through their veins. But he will never admit to this since that’s not how things work here. Everyone is aware that cheating exists, but they turn a blind eye. That’s how everything works, which is why mobsters can get away with anything, including murder. They also pay off the police department to keep them hush-hush.
“Yes, dear,” my mother says then turns to me and growls, “Get over here, sit down, and pay attention—now.”
Part of me wants to lift my chin and defiantly march out of here, but I know that if I do that, then after this meeting is over, I’ll have to spend hours listening to her reprimand me. And I have big plans tonight that I won’t risk ruining. So, mustering every ounce of calmness I have, I walk over to the table, pull out a chair, and sit down by my dad, three other men, and my mom.
The three men are my father’s closest colleagues, the oldest and grayest man being my father’s closest ally—Frank, the only family member I can tolerate. He’s usually nice to me. And one time, when I was sixteen, he caught me sneaking out of the house to go to a party. Instead of berating me, he let me go and didn’t tattle on me. So, yeah, I kind of like the guy, even if I once saw him sitting in my house with his face splattered with blood. I was young when it happened and had been spying on my father, curious about what he did behind closed doors. Let’s just say I heard way more than I should’ve at such a young age about what mafia families do. But it didn’t really matter. Not long after that, I learned firsthand about the world’s harshness.
I blink rapidly before the memory surfaces and sit back in the chair as everyone discussesmyfate ceremony.
“We need to make sure we get the ceremony as publicized as possible,” my father states. He’s a big man with black hair and a scar on his brow. I asked him once where he got it, and he told me during a bar fight, but I’m certain he was lying. “I want everyone to know our families have been united.”
“I’ve already been working on that,” my mom tells him, tucking a strand of her chin-length brown hair behind her ear.
I resemble her more than my father, with the same hair color and our green eyes. My hair is longer, though, and wavy. I’m tall, too, a trait of my father’s, though my leanness comes from my mother. My attitude and personality, however, are all mine. And I’m not going to let them take that away from me. Eventually, I’m going to escape this life.
I swear to God I am.
My mom begins to prattle on about the ceremony plans, and I tune out, daydreaming of tonight. I’m going to a party with my bestie where I will try to find someone to have a one-nighter with. Call it my one wild night before I seal my fate. Not that I’m some sort of Goody Two-Shoes. I’ve gone to parties before, and I’ve done reckless shit, but the whole kissing and sex thing has been an issue for me, thanks to my messed-up head. Not tonight, though. Tonight, I am going to push through my issues because if I don’t, that moment will be stolen away from me.Again. No, I’m going to get over this hurdle. I’m not going to lethimhave control over me anymore.
