Page 24 of Renata Vitali (The Five Syndicates)
He was the sperm that should have been swallowed.
And I was his offspring.
What did that make me?
The muscles in my neck tightened. “She’s a minor, and she’s a Vitali. Either of those reasons alone should be enough to dissuade a rational person fit for the position of De Luca mafia boss.”
He ignored my dig—just barely, I suspected. “The Vitali need to know their place.”
“What do you think happens when a minnow picks a fight with sharks?”
My dad stood up, his fists clenched at his sides. “Watch your mouth, son.”
I had been.
For eighteen fucking years, I had been.
But I felt my plan coming to fruition, and I needed him to lose control for it to work. I needed him to take a swing at me and make contact. Somewhere visible, where the physical proof couldn’t be missed. A black eye, perhaps.
“Oh, Angelo. You don’t get it, do you?” I shook my head and tsked. “You’re the minnow. The Vitali are the sharks. And they will eat you alive.” I rose from the divan until we stood eye-to-eye, arms width apart. “Feel free to facilitate your own death, but leave the De Luca name out of your mess.”
“You will not disrespect me like this.”
“I already have.” I’d always taken his abuse without a word, and maybe he’d gotten used to it because his eyes expanded before forming angry slits. Still, he needed more provocation. I let loose a deep, disrespectful chuckle. “Or what, Dad? You gonna kill me like Great-great-grandfather Ludo killed his son? I dare you to fucking try.”
Hatred brimmed in me, such a contrast from my time spent with Ren, and with her mere feet away, I wanted to stand up for myself. I didn’t want her to see me like this. Didn’t want the patience I needed to take over the syndicate to coerce me into taking the emotional abuse my dad had been spewing my way since childhood. Didn’t want to wait for this damned plan to work before I destroyed him.
But I needed him to punch me. I needed there to be physical proof of him losing control for the soldiers and capos to see. An inkling of doubt lurked in my conscience. Ren didn’t need to hear this.
Too late.
Dad swung at me, his form all brute and no finesse. I feigned a dodge to maintain appearances of a fight but let his fist connect with my face. It connected hard enough to leave a bruise. He adjusted his suit while I fell to the floor. As he towered over me, a sharp laugh struck the air before he walked away.
I leaned my head back onto the floor, thinking about the million times he had dished a similar punishment to me. Usually with a belt on my back. This time around, the marks would be visible. This was what I wanted, wasn’t it?
Self-pity clogged my throat, making the breaths I forced myself to take sluggish. A few seconds after the door clicked shut, Ren emerged from behind the drape and stared at me. She moved a step closer, and a lock of hair loosened from her bun and covered her right eye. Didn’t matter. I had the color memorized.
She looked particularly angelic in that moment, though. The light blonde hair. Pale skin. Eyes an inhuman shade of amber. But I preferred her naughty side. The one that argued with me—all strength, backbone, and sass. I wondered which side she’d give me now.
I waited for her to say something. The more time passed, the more I convinced myself she’d rub what had happened in my face. Self-pity didn’t flatter me, but I did nothing to stop it from building.
I could have curled my lips up into a smirk. Made a witty remark. Told her how hot she looked from this angle. But that would make a mockery of our friendship—and we were friends, even if she didn’t know it yet. Hell, sometimes it was even hard to admit our friendship to myself.
She opened her mouth, and I braced myself for her words. “Pick yourself up, Damsel.” My eyes hardened at the nickname, the context striking me harder than I would ever let on. I opened my mouth to retaliate, but she beat me to it. “Angelo De Luca is weak, and when you dwell on the punishment he dishes, so are you.” She brushed the hair out of her eyes, giving me half a second to absorb her words. “But that’s not who you are. Is it, Day?”
One day, when I didn’t have my head so far up my ass, I would look back at this moment and realize it was precisely the moment I fell for Knight.
After all, damn it, what does being in love mean if you can’t trust a person.
Evelyn Waugh
Girl power. Noun. Power exercised by girls, specifically in the context of supporting oneself and fellow women. Origin: coined by American punk band Bikini Kill. Alternative spelling: grrrl power.
Antonym: Laura Willis.
Laura had supporting herself down to a T. I would give her that. But when it came to empowering other women, she fell as flat as a slashed tire. It had taken me five seconds at Devils Ridge High to realize exactly the type of obstacle she would pose for me, and months later, I could confirm the accuracy of my initial assessment.
Which was probably why pickpocketing her phone wasn’t the best idea I had ever had, but other than my nightly forays with Damian in his home library, boredom had become a sibling of mine. Plus, I needed a phone to contact Maman.
