"I told you, she grew up in the Covey. She's a daughter of the syndicate."

  She nods silently, a shadow casting over her pretty face. Is that a flicker of jealousy I see? Or am I seeing what I want to see?

  She hates me. She must hate me. Why would she be jealous of a girl who once managed to charm the pants off me?

  Once.

  It feels like an eternity ago. So much has happened since—and most of it wasn't good.

  "About goddamn time," Daveed greets us when we step back into the house. "Almost thought you guys had run off together."

  He's sitting at the table, cleaning guns, like he always does when he's on edge. The look he throws at us is his usual, full of menace and disdain. I wish I could trust this guy as much as I trust Mike, but with Daveed you never know. He was quick to join the Onyx mission when we first started out, but his snide remarks and objections have been giving me a headache from the beginning. And it's only gotten worse since Lailah fell too sick to carry out her part.

  "Dinner's almost ready," Mike says, grinning at me with misplaced pride. He's standing next to the steaming water kettle, a few packages of instant ramen noodles spread out before him, along with some sandwiches and cans of soda. What a feast, indeed.

  The girl's eyes widen nonetheless, and it's obvious that she's craving food as much as I am, if not more.

  That's good. She needs to eat, and if she has an appetite there's less to worry about in regard to her mental constitution.

  "Sit," I tell her, pointing to one of the chairs at the table, across from Daveed. I don't want her to sit next to him.

  The frown on her face reminds me once again that this is not Lailah I'm speaking to. She looks so different when she grimaces that way. Or maybe it's just because Lailah never looked at me like that. She was stronger than this girl, more experienced and fierce in a way that only a girl bred into crime could be—but she was also more obedient. It was ingrained into her to follow orders from a superior without question.

  This one, however...

  "I don't understand why you feel the need to treat me like a dog," she needles as she trudges over to the empty chair.

  Daveed and Mike chuckle at her remark and cast me ridiculing looks. It makes my blood boil. I can't tolerate her defiance in front of my people.

  She'll have to pay for this later.

  "Shut up and help Daveed clear the table so we can eat."

  Now I'm met with two frowning faces. I wave them off and turn to Mike, ignoring the smirk on his face as I put away the guns we used for training.

  It's never been a problem for me, or any of us, to eat in complete silence. It's the perfect time to retreat, to organize your thoughts, especially in times like this.

  But it's different with an outsider at the table, and it's even worse with her. It seems that she's too hungry to be frightened, but she's clearly uncomfortable. While each of us is occupied with the substandard food in front of us, her charcoal eyes are scrutinizing everything in the room, clinging on to anything that could distract her mind while she slurps on her instant ramen. She looks like she's about to say something any moment now, but no words ever escape her pretty lips. Still, it's keeping me on edge, straining me in a way it shouldn't.

  Daveed and Mike don't seem to be bothered by her unrest, both of them digging into their ramen like they always do, not at all concerned about the fact that there's a girl at the table. A girl we kidnapped.

  I, on the other hand, can hardly stop my pulse from racing with nervous rage. It's getting worse with every moment she doesn't speak but just lets those big eyes wander around the table, taking turns latching on to each of us.

  "What is it?" I finally hiss at her when her uneasy eyes meet mine.

  The guys throw me a questioning look, both revealing that they really hadn't noticed the girl's fidgeting.

  She bites her lower lip as she casts me an apologetic look. "I'm sorry. It's just that... I'm not used to eating like this."

  "Like this? Like what?" I ask, jutting my chin forward.

  "In silence," she responds. "When we eat together, we always talk."

  "Well, we don't," Daveed barks at her, shaking his head before his attention shifts back to the food in front of him.

  Her face drops, leaving a sharp sting poking at my chest. I hate to see her in pain like this—but I hate it even more that I care. Because I shouldn't. She's a means to an end, and she has yet to prove to us whether she really can be of use to us.

  I shouldn't care about her personal happiness. And yet I do.

  Either way, I can't reveal this weakness in front of my men.

  "Just finish your food," I tell her brusquely, arching my eyebrows in a warning. "We'll talk later."

  "Why not now?" she questions, dropping her chopsticks. "It could be helpful. You could tell me more about this mission and the Scivola family and-"

  "I will," I cut her off. "After we're done eating."

  She sighs, lowering her gaze. Her shoulders sink as if someone placed a heavy weight on her.

  "No, you won't," she whispers. "You'll just lock me up in that awful room again."

  My objection to her comment is quick, and it's revealing something even I didn't know until that moment.

  "No, I won't," I say, avoiding eye contact with her or anyone else at the table. "You'll come with me."

  I can feel her puzzled look piercing through me, but I don't respond to it in any way, opting to keep my attention focused elsewhere.

  "Come with you where?" she asks.

  Taking a deep breath that I make sure is laced with strenuous annoyance, I reciprocate her aghast look. I can tell from the corner of my eyes that she's not the only one directing silent questions at me. The guys are confused by my statement, as well.

  And so am I, even when I elaborate my statement.

  "You'll join me," I repeat. "In my room."

  Chapter 15

  Malia

  My heart is pounding so hard that I sit with my hand pressed against my chest, as if I was trying to stop it from running away. I'm sitting on the edge of a thick mattress on a bed that is much nicer and cleaner than the one I woke up in. The entire room is an upgrade to that terrible hole I was in before, but it's still far from what I would describe as nice. At least it’s not damp and the air doesn't smell like mold, the wallpaper is not peeling off the walls, and the sheets on the bed appear to be somewhat fresh.

  There's even a window that provides a view of the backyard where he took me for shooting practice earlier. We're on the second floor of the house, so I get a better view from up here. But it doesn't tell me anything I didn't already suspect from what he was willing to share with me. Vast valleys spotted with trees and a lonely road winding through the landscape, but not a single house in sight. I have no idea where we are, but it's obvious that there's nothing and no one nearby who could help me, even if I screamed my lungs out.

  All I can tell is that the window must be facing west because I can still see a faint bright line on the far horizon, a subtle remnant of the setting sun.

  He locked the door after telling me to take a seat on the bed. It's the only piece of furniture in this room, so it's not like I was provided with any other choice. But that doesn't make it any less awkward. It's just him and me, behind a closed, locked door.

  The two of us—on a bed.

  My cheeks flush with another wave of shameful heat, and I hope to God he doesn't notice when he approaches me. The light is dull in this room, provided by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling, just like in every room in this house, it seems. It's neither completely dark nor bright enough to gain more than a surface level idea of everything around us. Maybe it's better that way. Maybe it's better that I don't get too close of a look at these shabby walls, the creaking, dirty floor, and the moth-eaten fabrics on the bed.

  It sure as hell gives me some kind of comfort in knowing that the exact color of my cheeks remains obscured in this lighting.

  Nate is standing next to the bed with his back half turned to me and his gaze fixed on the view outside the window.

  "You wanted to talk," he begins without looking at me. "Here's your chance. We all need to get some rest, so don't waste time."

  I furrow my eyebrows, aware that he is paying no attention to my expression. It's so hard to make sense of him. He seems to go back and forth between being an absolute ass to granting me with the only source of comfort I have around here. What happened out there when he was teaching me how to shoot handguns? Was that all an act to cozy up to me, just to guarantee my obedience? Is that how he operates?

  I feel so stupid. I really shouldn't have read too much into it, or actually anything into it.

  "You said you guys... the Covey, have a deal with this Scivola family in Rhode Island," I begin, pushing aside my hurt feelings to force myself to remain focused. "And that this mission is to provide them with a bride for one of their sons, Lailah."

  He nods, crossing his arms in front of his chest before releasing an impatient groan.

  "The Covey is well organized and somewhat established in this neck of the woods, but we lack one major thing to position the New England Mafia ahead of the competition," he says. His gaze is still averted out the window toward the horizon.

  "And that is?" I prompt.

  "Family ties," he responds. "Blood is thicker than water, and that's something we have no control over. These families protect each other with unequalled ferocity."

  A jolting shock runs down my spine. I feel like I’ve been doused in an ice cold shower of water.

  Am I understanding this right? Is he saying that...

  "So you want Lailah... you want me, to have a child with this mafia guy?" I burst out, my heart beating anxiously. "You want to use me to breed a blood relation with the Scivolas so you can—"

  His laughter interrupts my horrified ramblings. It's a profound laughter, originating from deep within his chest and causing his entire body to shudder with amusement. He's shaking his head still looking out the window, but then he turns around to throw a thoroughly entertained grin at me.

  "That's actually quite genius," he says, still chortling. "And yes, that would have been one way to go. But believe me, our Lailah would never have signed up for that. So neither will you."

  I let out a heavy sigh of relief, which evokes even more laughter on his part.

  "Don't ridicule me!" My voice is surprisingly shrill, and he's not the only one startled by it. I sound like an angry little girl who is pissed off at someone for stealing her candy.

  This always happens when I get angry. It's no wonder that no one ever took me seriously. My small frame, my mouse-like face, the pouty lips, and a high-pitched voice that shrills even higher when I'm furious–people always tend to overlook and belittle me because of how easily I become angered.

  "I'm not ridiculing you," he argues, now turning around to face me directly. The look on his face is stoic, expressing a concern that surprises me. I inhale sharply when he joins me on the bed, sitting so close that our knees touch.

  And for whatever reason, I don't retreat. The warmth of his body is comforting, just as it was outside while we were shooting.

  "Look, Onyx–"

  "Why do you insist on calling me that?" I interrupt him in a whisper. "My name is Malia."

  "Not here it isn't," he contends. "I know it sounds trite, but it's for your own safety. This is serious business, dangerous business. I don't want to know your real name, and I sure as hell don't want those guys out there knowing your real name. You have to work for us–but you also have to protect yourself from us. Understand?"

  His face is solemn when he pins me down with his stare.

  I nod instinctually. I do understand, but there's something that confuses me and nags at my gut. Something about what he just said doesn't add up.

  He said he doesn't want to know my name. But if he doesn't know my name, how does he know who I am? How does he know who my parents are?

  If he doesn't even know my name, how does he know anything about me that would enable him to threaten to kill my family if I don't comply with his orders?

  It doesn't add up. Not at all.

  My lips part, ready to give voice to these troubling thoughts, but I stop myself just in time.

  You need to protect yourself from them. From him. He just said so.

  That means I can't disclose every little thought I have.

  I need to be smart about this. Smart and reticent.

  "So Lailah was supposed to marry someone once she was old enough," I say in an effort to redirect my own thoughts. "And then what? Earlier you said this mission was all about pretending, and the wedding would never take place. But... if the wedding won’t take place, what will happen then?"

  He sighs, and for a moment I fear he will wave me off just like he did before, retreating to his usual excuse of saying that it's better for me to know as little as possible.

  But he doesn't. Not this time.

  "Lailah will turn twenty-one soon. That was the deadline we set. Once she turned twenty-one, we agreed that we would bring her to the Scivolas," he goes on, inserting an extended pause during which he locks eyes with me. "They haven't seen her in years, which is why I'm pretty certain they won't realize you're not her."

  "Pretty certain?" I repeat. "That's not reassuring."

  A smile streaks across his face.

  "Trust me, you have nothing to worry about in that regard."

  Trust me. He keeps saying that, as if it was that simple.

  "So Lailah was supposed to act as if she was to become someone's dutiful bride, but the wedding was never going to happen," I summarize. "What was supposed to happen instead?"

  He takes a deep breath, his gaze trailing away from me. When he turns back to look at me, his expression prepares me for the words that will ice the blood in my veins.

  "She was going to kill them," he says simply. "Her job was to kill the Scivola family."

  Chapter 16

  Nate

  I can't believe I just told her that! How stupid am I? She wasn't ready to hear this and the way she looks at me confirms that.

  All the color drains from her face, and she stares at me in horror, her lower lip quivering as she processes my words.

  "Is that...is that why you're teaching me how to shoot?" Her voice comes out as a small, helpless stutter. "Because you want me to kill people?"

  Tears are shimmering in the corners of her black eyes, threatening to streak down her cheeks. She tries to fight them off, I can tell. She doesn't want me to see how frightened she really is, but it's too late for that.

  The effect of this latest piece of information causes her entire body to deflate.

  "Just great, Nathaniel. Great job."

  I can hear my father's scathing voice as clearly as if he was standing right next to me, and see his raised eyebrows, shaking head, and disappointed frown. It was always the same when he was faced with yet another letdown courtesy of his only son. I never came close to living up to his expectations, and it didn't take long for him to adopt a condescending cynicism to cope with his constant disappointment. Every little mistake, every minor mishap, every wrong decision was met with the same criticism, "Well, that's just great, Nathaniel. Great job!" The memory of his tone will haunt me forever.

  I can guarantee he'd say these very words in this moment.

  "Just great, Nathaniel. Great job! Look how you scared that poor girl. Could have gone a little easier on her, considering what she's gone through, but no, you had to dump it on her like a truckload of crap, didn't you? Great job, Nathaniel."

  "I'm sorry," I say hurriedly to her, resisting the urge I have to touch her, to place my hand on her shoulder or thigh in an attempt to comfort her. The gesture would come from the right place, but I doubt she would find it comforting.

  "You're sorry?" she repeats my words, a frown forming on her face. "What exactly are you sorry about? For abducting me in the middle of the night? For forcing me to do whatever you say? For threatening me?"

  She pauses, biting her lower lip before she continues. "Or are you sorry for finally telling me the truth, because that's the last thing you should be sorry for."

  The onslaught of tears still threatens, but there's a strength behind those eyes that impresses me.

  And a beauty that rattles me.

  While her physical resemblance to Lailah was what first drew me to her, it's the differences that I find most appealing. As frightened and confused as she may be, there's something greater concealed inside this petite woman. Something that's been waiting to be released.

  "I'm sorry for making you feel this way, for scaring you-"

  "I'm not scared," she insists, and to confirm her statement, she straightens her back to sit taller.

  "Yes, you are," I object. "And you should be. This is no easy task."

  She scoffs. "It's impossible. You saw how I was with the gun today. It was my very first time even touching one. I can barely get myself to pull the trigger without flinching—and now you're telling me I have to shoot and kill an entire family?"

  I shake my head so violently that it causes her to pause and lock her eyes on me, unspoken questions flickering in their depths.

  "It's not quite like that. First, you won't have to shoot anyone, and second, you won't have to kill an entire family," I clarify. "Today's training was meant to be a precaution, just like I told you. Lailah's - your - mission is based on a soft kill."

  "A soft kill?" she wrinkles her eyebrows. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "Lailah is merely a way for us to infiltrate the Scivola family and kill them from the inside, without anything linking it to us. They have had a long standing in Rhode Island, but the family is weakened and no longer holds the kind of power they used to. They have lost too many family members already, are struggling financially, and no longer have the manpower nor the weapons to defend their territory. It would be entirely possible to eradicate them through brute force."

  "You mean by just... attacking and killing everybody?"