He backs away farther toward Gabi. I take a step forward as he moves behind her. I’m caught between frozen fear and the sudden urge to get to her. That’s when I see the glint of metal, the flash of the blade in his hand. My mind can barely comprehend what happens next.

  “I warned you. You did this,” he says with a wide grin.

  No, no, no! I stumble forward, and everything slows. My gaze snaps from Enrique to Gabi and back again. Her head is wrenched back by her hair. Her eyes close, long lashes sweeping over her cheeks, as though resigned to her fate. And I can only watch in absolute horror as he swipes the blade across her throat. Blood gushes forward like a waterfall, and Gabi instantly chokes and coughs, her body jerking violently. It’s a real-life nightmare unfolding before me; only, this isn’t a dream.

  “No!” I scream, rushing to my sister. I catch her head when Enrique releases her. Blood gushes over me, drenching my shirt. Too much, so much. “Gabi!” I choke, tears blinding me.

  Shock and pain engulf me, and I…I don’t know what to do. I press my hands to her neck, trying to stop it, but it’s useless. Hot blood drenches my hands as I sob. I’m completely helpless. My sister is dying, and there’s not a single thing I can do for her. I clutch her head to my chest, mumbling incoherently, telling her I love her. I stroke my blood-coated hand through her hair. She’s dying, and I don’t want her to be scared. I want her to know how much I love her.

  Enrique simply walks past me, leaving us alone.

  “Shhh,” I whisper, stroking over her head with trembling hands. Tears run freely as I press my cheek to the top of her head. “Shhh, it’s okay,” I choke again over the steady splatter of her blood hitting the floor.

  Her body goes limp, and the flow of blood slows. He cut her like a slaughtered animal, and she deserved so much more.

  I hold her and cry into her hair until her body starts to cool. I’m numb, lost, in a state of denial where my mind can’t process what just happened. The blood on my shirt goes cold and sticky, and a shiver works over my skin. I don’t want to move because I’ll have to look at her lifeless face, to face the reality that she’s dead. Gabriella, my older sister, my best friend, just…gone.

  Eventually, I realize that she’s still tied to the chair, and it upsets me. No dignity, there’s no dignity. I push her back in the seat, and her head slumps to the side. Lifeless, glazed eyes stare blankly at the wall, and it’s like someone has reached inside my chest, grabbed my heart, and squeezed until it can’t physically beat. She’s dead. The pain intensifies until I feel like I’m burning alive. I reach out, closing her eyes. My father would be turning in his grave, knowing that his oldest daughter met this fate at the hands of that worthless animal.

  I pull the duct tape from her beautiful face, then unbind her wrists and ankles before lowering her to the ground. I push the blood-stained strands of hair away from her cheeks, committing her features to memory because I’m terrified I might forget them.

  Then I just sit there, numb, holding my sister’s cold hand with my blood-covered one. I don’t know how long I’m there, but eventually, something touches my shoulder. I slowly look up at a strange man in a suit. Two more men pass him and start moving Gabriella.

  “No,” I crawl forward. “No, leave her! Don’t touch her!” They’re going to take her and bury her in an unmarked grave somewhere, alone.

  Panic grips me at the thought of her out there in some hole in the ground. Hands grab at my shoulders, and I’m dragged to my feet. The two men pick her up like she’s some kind of meat carcass.

  “No! Don’t take her!” I fight the person holding me, raking my nails over his skin and kicking wildly.

  “Enough. Calm down.”

  I fight harder before pain ricochets around my skull. My vision swims for a moment, and then everything goes black.

  14

  Sasha

  It’s been twelve hours since Adelina went to Bianchi, and I can barely sit still. One look at Lorenzo’s face upon his return was all I needed to know that it wasn’t good. Gabi never came back, either. I pace the living room from the window to the door and back again. A decanter of whiskey sits on a side table with two glasses upturned next to it.

  I don’t really drink, but as the sun starts to dip below the horizon, I find myself pouring a glass. I need something to steady this frantic energy that I have no idea what to do with. The amber liquid burns its way down my throat and heats my chest. I don’t like the taste, but I take another long sip until the glass is empty.

  I pick up my phone and call Una again, hoping she’ll answer this time. It rings twice before she picks up.

  “Nice of you to finally call. Where the hell have you been?” she snaps.

  “I tried to call you earlier.” I sigh.

  “Well, I was busy,” she snips like a teenage girl.

  “I need to speak with you.”

  “Well, I needed to speak with you last week—when I called.” Una doesn’t do well with being ignored.

  “I was busy.” I hesitate, hating the deception that lingers between us because I haven’t told her things—all in a bid to protect Adelina. I’m not comfortable with my split loyalties, and I know exactly how Una would feel about it if she knew. “Enrique Bianchi is alive.”

  There’s a beat of silence. “What?”

  “He’s alive.”

  “So, Adelina didn’t kill him?”

  “She cut his throat. He survived.”

  “And you haven’t remedied this?” Her voice is ice cold and full of accusation.

  “He’s not stupid. It’s the obvious next course of action. He’s gone to ground. I can’t find him.”

  “So, Adelina can’t very well take a seat that’s still occupied.”

  “That’s the least of our problems now.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling the first niggling of a headache. “He made himself known and gave her an ultimatum: kill me as revenge for his brother’s death and return to him.”

  “Or what?”

  “It wasn’t really stated, but she didn’t do it, and he’s taken Gabriella.”

  “Jesus, do those Ricci girls ever have a dull day? Let me guess, Adelina wants to trade herself for her sister?”

  “She’s already gone.”

  “No wonder that family is almost wiped out. They’re so predictable.”

  I pick up my pacing again. “She could have killed me and saved herself a lot of trouble.”

  “Well she didn’t, and she made her choice. Again. It’s time you let it go. We need you here. The Elite have all but halted Nero’s trade through the city.”

  I sigh. “I can’t ‘let it go,’ and you don’t need me. The Elite have been causing issues for months.”

  “How long do you think they’ll simply play with us, Sasha? You know them.”

  Logic would dictate that they’re simply building to one big attack. Mine and Una’s very existence is a torch of rebellion in their eyes. We represent anarchy, a catastrophic failure of the system they hold so dear.

  “You need to come back here and help us handle this. No one knows them like us.”

  Why must everything always be so complicated? “I can’t. I have to kill Bianchi. I owe Adelina that much.”

  “Are you serious? You don’t owe that girl a damn thing, Sasha. How many times does she have to walk away from you? How many times is she going to fuck you over?”

  I clench my jaw but say nothing because no amount of explanation will ever make her understand. She sees what she wants where Adelina is concerned.

  “I know you don’t have much experience with this, but this—what she’s doing—it’s not love.”

  “Una, this isn’t up for debate.”

  “So, you would help her before me?”

  I snap, my temper spiking. “You have an entire mafia around you! She has no one.” A pent-up breath catches in my lungs. “And neither do I.”

  “You have me,” she says quietly. “You’re like my brother.”

  “And you are as a sister to me, but I have nothing that doesn’t involve you, Una. Adelina is mine. I love her,” I breathe. “Just…let me have something of my own. Let me fight for her the same way you fought for Nero.”

  There’s a long beat of silence that stretches on and on, and I almost expect her to hang up. “What do you need?” she asks, her voice almost a whisper.

  “I need to be dead, at least as far as Bianchi is concerned. What would you do if Adelina had killed me and run back to him?”

  She snorts, and I can picture the twisted smile on her face. “Consider it done.”

  “As soon as she is free of him, I’ll come back.”

  She hangs up, and I clutch the phone in my hand. I know Una will sell my death, no doubt threatening to rain down hell on both of them. I just need Bianchi to believe that Adelina is on his side because if he doesn’t… I feel sick thinking about what he will undoubtedly do to her. Irrational anger simmers beneath my skin, tainting clear thought. I should have killed him a long time ago. I had a perfect opportunity at the wedding, but she was so adamant that she wanted to be the one to do it, and I let her have that. I shouldn’t have. I just didn’t know how to handle the situation: her and me. She needed revenge, and I felt so guilty because her father’s death was my doing. I thought I at least owed her that much—Enrique’s blood. I realize now, I owed her life. I owed her father his daughter’s safety, not this.

  I pour another glass of whiskey and bring it halfway to my lips when I hear the side door to the kitchen crash against the wall. There’s a shout, more like an anguished cry, and it sounds so pained that my heart immediately leaps into a sprint. Adelina—it’s all I can think as I stride the short distance to the kitchen. When I round the doorway, all I see is a crowd of men, guards mainly, gathered around a single spot near the kitchen door. I shove them out of the way and see long, dark hair, and blood, so much blood. No, no, no.

  I push through the men and see Gabriella’s lifeless body. My first reaction is sheer relief that it’s not Adelina. Her throat is slit from ear to ear, and dried blood cakes everything. Aside from the blood though, she looks almost peaceful, her golden skin now washed white in rest. It’s not Adelina, but it’s definitely a message. And Adelina is not safe.

  Lorenzo is on his knees on the floor, his face clutched in his hands as heavy sobs wrack his large frame.

  “Where is Adelina?” I ask him, my voice cracking.

  He just shakes his head, so I grab his shoulder, forcing him to acknowledge me.

  “Where is Adelina?” I repeat, almost shouting.

  “With him.” He spits the word on a snarl before he drops his head and cries once more.

  I know he saw Gabriella as a daughter of sorts, especially since the death of her actual father, and his grief is palpable. Mumbled prayers slip past his lips, and I wonder if his faith helps him to justify this violence somehow. I can only imagine Adelina’s pain, how broken she will be at the loss of her sister. I want to drive to that Villa and destroy the entire house. I’d burn it to the ground if Adelina weren’t inside it.

  I fight to remain rational when I want just to act blindly. Love is the enemy of reason, and for once, I don’t care. But I know that just as my love for her skews my judgment, so will her love for Gabriella. I worry that she’ll do something stupid. Act rashly.

  I don’t have much time.

  15

  Adelina

  I wake in what looks like the same room I spent so many weeks confined to. There’s a second, one blissful moment where I forget. Then I remember—Gabriella is dead. It all comes rushing back in, and I can almost feel my mind imploding on itself in a bid for self-preservation. My eyes sting with tears as an indescribable feeling consumes me. It’s like I’m being crushed, my lungs struggling to draw air until each breath feels impossible. My father’s death was my fault, but I was unaware of it. I lead Gabriella here, like a lamb to slaughter. My path was so entwined with Enrique’s that she was always going to get hurt. Her lifeless eyes flash through my mind, and I close my eyes, only to see nothing but blood. I choke on sobs, clutching at my chest as a very real and physical pain feels like it’s digging a hole in my heart.

  I’ve never felt more alone in this world than I do in this moment. I’ve spent weeks forcing down my emotions: my grief over my father, Sasha’s betrayal, Daddy’s betrayal. I pushed it all down so I could get to Enrique. And now it’s like a dam has burst, and I’m drowning, sucking in lungfuls of dark, poisonous water.

  And so, I lie there, on the bed, in clothes stained with my sister’s blood, unable to move, paralyzed by unbearable loss. I want to close my eyes and never wake up. Anything…just to make it stop. But I can’t.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been here. It could be days or a week. I don’t know. There’s a knock at the door, but my unfocused gaze remains fixed on the wall directly ahead. I’m so emotionally and physically exhausted; even moving my eyes takes effort. I just want to exist here, until I slip into nothingness. Darkness is my sole companion now, my grief so deep and bottomless that I can’t seem to climb out of this cavernous pit. I have lost all sense of myself and my basic needs.

  The door opens, and someone cuts into my line of sight; again, I don’t focus on them.

  “Enrique wants to see you,” a man’s voice says.

  The thought of seeing Enrique…I feel sick.

  “You need to shower.

  My arm is grabbed, and I’m roughly hauled into an upright position before being forcibly pulled from the bed. The man bends at the knees, throwing me over his shoulder.

  “Stop.” My voice is weak and raspy.

  He walks into the bathroom and dumps me in the shower stall. “Wash yourself, or I will do it for you.”

  At this point, I no longer have the capacity for humiliation. Simply functioning is a chore. I’m not ready to see Enrique. I don’t have the strength to act in front of him, to pretend to do anything but hate him.

  “Fine." The guy steps forward and tears my shirt straight down the middle, scattering buttons everywhere.

  I’m still covered in my sister’s blood, and the water that cascades across the floor is a rusted, dirty brown. Part of me doesn’t want to wash it away because then…then it’ll be as though she never existed. I finally look up at the man. He’s young, not much older than me. I expect to see a lecherous smile on his face; instead, he looks…disturbed, guilty even.

  “You can leave,” I whisper, my voice barely carrying over the sound of water pounding on the tile.

  He spares me one last glance that almost looks like concern. “I’ll be in the hall.” Then he leaves, and I slump to the floor, wishing the water would just drown me.

  I drag myself through a shower, washing the blood and dirt away, but I’ll never feel clean. My hands are stained with Gabriella’s blood, figuratively and literally. I cry for the first time in days, my tears dissipating amongst the spray. When I finally drag myself from the shower, I dress in a tank top and leggings. I towel dry my hair a little but don’t brush it. When I open the door, the man’s eyes sweep over me, his brows pulling together.

  “At least you don’t look like a murder victim now,” he mumbles.

  I wonder if he even knows whose blood I was coated in or if he’s just clueless.

  When he turns away, I follow him wordlessly, each step exhausting. By the time I’m standing outside Enrique’s office, I want nothing more than to crawl back into that bed and pretend that nothing outside of it exists. My escort knocks, and there’s a muffled shout from inside before he pushes open the door, holding it for me.

  I step inside, and Enrique is at his desk like the prince on his throne. I expected to feel anger, hatred, anything… I’m just numb, too tired and broken to feel. The tiny smile on his face slips, and I know he wanted to hurt me, more than anything. I stand there, just inside the door. The other guy closes it behind me. Enrique pushes to his feet and comes out from behind his desk, eyes narrowing as he approaches.

  “Darling. How are you?” he asks.

  I blink, my eyelids feeling heavy. I can’t remember the last time I slept. “What do you want?”

  “Well, Nero Verdi left me an intriguing message, requesting that you call him. I decided it was too interesting to ignore.”

  Nero? Why? I say nothing, and a tiny line sinks between Enrique’s brows. He turns away, moving back to his desk and leaning against the front. He picks up the phone, dialing a number before placing it on speaker. It rings several times before the line clicks off.

  “Yeah?”

  “Verdi. You requested a call.”

  “I did, but not for myself. Is your wife with you?”

  “She is.” There’s a pause, and silence reigns for long minutes rather than seconds.

  “Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Bianchi,” Una’s lilting voice finally drifts over the line.

  “The Kiss of Death,” Enrique drawls. “To what do we owe the pleasure.”

  “I thought it courteous to give you the warning you denied my brother before your whore stabbed him in the back. You hear that, Adelina? I’m coming for you. I will slaughter what is left of your pathetic mafia, and then I will find you.”

  I know it’s all an act, but it makes me wonder what she would have done if I had killed Sasha. Then again, I have nothing left for her to take—no family, and without them, the family business means nothing.

  “Do you hear me, Adelina Bianchi?”

  “Yes,” I say, my voice flat and muted to my own ears.

  “Good. And when I’m done with her, I’m coming for you, Enrique. I’m going to cut your limbs off and watch you bleed to death.” I can hear the cold smile in her voice.

  The line cuts off, and Enrique laughs.

  I turn away and wordlessly walk toward the door.