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Just great. I hang my head.
The lead singer steps up to the microphone, hits us with his deep voice, and sings to us in the middle of the meal provided for everyone. People murmur to one another, decked out in their best clothes, dripping in diamonds. The amount of money slithering through the fancy ballroom would have me swallowing my tongue—if I had one.
My eyes find Jericho, my best friend since birth, standing stoically next to his father, who shakes the hands of several suited men. His cousin, Olivia, wrinkles her nose next to him as her father, Gabriel’s brother, and Gabriel himself talk with straight expressions.
“Fucking Rafael,” my father growls, stabbing his fork into his juicy steak. “Always brown-nosing and trying to get back into his brother’s good graces,” he scoffs. “The best thing Gabriel ever did was send him and his whore wife away.” My father rolls his eyes, shoving a large piece of steak into his gullet, chewing loudly.
My mother darts her eyes toward my father and places a soft hand on his wrist, silently telling him to cool it. He never does, though. Nor does he listen. Ever.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” he growls at her, tossing off her hand.
She nods. That’s all she does these days, setting her eyes on her minuscule plate of salad and carrots—all he allows her to consume to stay thin. Even though she’s perfectly fine.
I stare off at Jericho again, who connects his eyes to mine. Nothing rests there. No emotions. Just like his father has trained him to be. Stoic. Emotionless. Heartless. But what his father doesn’t know is it’s all a facade. Has been for years. Thank God. I need someone by my side when we rise to the top after our own initiation. That’s where we’re headed. Jericho is the son of the leader of the mafia. And in turn, that’s where he’ll be with me and his adopted brother, Arrow. My other best friend.
“Pay attention, boy,” my father growls, elbowing me when Gabriel takes the microphone, droning on and on about the three men around him on stage with their shirts open, revealing the wound across their hearts.
Their initiation party. A celebration of the day they dropped to their knees, after years of training, and pledged their souls to the very organization that will lead them astray the moment they fuck up.
“Your time will come, boy,” my father’s deep voice penetrates through the fog in my brain. “You’re only twelve, but it’ll come before you know it. Then, you’ll make me proud.”
I nod. That’s all I can do these days. Nod. Write notes. Just like he wanted. Since the night… I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to live through the trauma once again. Panic blooms through me when he places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes.
“You’ll make me so damn proud. Won’t you?” No. Never. I don’t want to make him proud; I want him to leave me the fuck alone.
I shake myself out of my memories, laced with nothing but pain. The only memory worth noting was the best day of my life. When the light in my father’s eyes faded, and we lowered his body into the ground, encasing him in a coffin and six feet of dirt. I never had to look at him again. Or see the cruelty in his eyes or the hate he projected on me, his son. The man who was supposed to protect me fed me to the wolves. Over and over again.
“Don’t worry, Sheppy Boy. The good doctor in the next room is on his last leg. I got him good last night,” Arrow says, waving a hand in the direction of the sounds coming from the doctor situated in a make-shift jail cell, hanging from the ceiling.
The man couldn’t keep his hands to himself and injured his dental patients when they trusted him. He’d put them to sleep and then take advantage of them. They never knew until a few days ago. It all came out when someone came forward to Arrow and spoke her truth, begging The Devils to do their worst.
This is his lesson. One he won’t live through. Courtesy of Arrow and his ambition to be good for the community.
Some would say Arrow is nothing more than an unfeeling psychopath. In part, they’re right. But what he does with the town’s scum since he killed that man for Journey has ramped up. Sure, he always cleaned the streets of the worst to tamp down his insane blood lust. Now, though? He’s taking it seriously, putting his focus into something our girl will be proud of.
My heart leaps at the thought of her—Journey West. Our girl.
“If it isn’t silent Sheppard Mondelli,” Jaxson, a boy from class, sneers in my direction.
I swallow hard, trying to accommodate myself to the new reality my father thrust me into over six months ago. By now, the swelling has ceased, and I can at least eat normally. But it doesn’t stop the teasing or the put-downs. Even when our bodyguards hover in the corners of the rooms, watching. But they do nothing to save me from this torment. Probably an order from my father to let me suffer more than I already have. They won’t even defend me when Jericho and Arrow are around. And right now? They’re in a separate class, leaving me to fend for myself.
“What’s the matter, Little Sheppy?” he sneers again, poking at my chest.
My fists curl at my sides. I open my mouth to defend myself, but then I remember. The art of language was stolen from me. My voice was clipped and taken right before my eyes.
“Leave him alone.” It’s a scoff, and a small figure pushes in front of me. “You’re so pathetic, you know that? Picking on a guy who can’t speak.”
In the shadows, my bodyguard finally advances toward me, eager to hurl Journey away. My stomach twists. They’re never concerned when boys step up to me, eager to put me down. But her? That’s a different story.
Jaxson narrows his eyes at her, ready to open his mouth, but doesn’t get the chance. Journey punches him right in the dick, sending him to his knees with a squeak.
“Next time, just punch them in the balls. It’s their weak spot,” she says, turning to face me. Her neck cranes back as she stares up at me with pursed lips, and then, she walks away as quickly as she came. I don’t know what got into her or why she stood up for me, but I watch her from then on out. We hadn’t been allowed to speak with her or anyone else, really.
And that was the moment, when I was twelve, that I fell in love with the girl who stood up for me. I vowed to return the favor tenfold, by secretly looking out for her. I never want her to suspect it's me leaving donuts every morning. Or that it’s me that stocks her fridge with essentials to get her through the days. I was so damn tired of watching her scurry to the food pantry and bringing back minuscule amounts of food, that I had to do something. That day she didn’t have a clue what I had been through. No one did. Not even Jer. She knew who I was—everyone did. Sheppard Mondelli. A boy destined for bad things within the mafia. But she didn’t know the voice she gave me that day.
The voice with my fists.
Speaking of…
