Beautiful Trouble: A Dark Mafia Romance

“You disappeared.”

“I stole money from my trust fund and told him to go fuck off. But that was too embarrassing, so he spun some media story about me disappearing.”

It hadn’t been funny at the time. My first few weeks in Sea Isle had been spent hiding away in that apartment, afraid to step outside because my face was plastered all over the news. Eventually, the attention had died down, but I’d had to cut my hair, change the color, and wear lots of makeup for months before I’d felt comfortable looking like myself again.

Jason had done it all to save face. He couldn’t have a rebellious daughter, not in his world.

It was better if I were dead. So he killed me.

At least publicly, anyway.

Privately, I was very much alive, and he left me alone so long as I kept up the fiction.

New name, new life, no connections to that existence.

It worked for both of us. He got to play the grief card and get plenty of sympathy, and I got to stay far, far away from that lying sack of selfish shit.

Darren didn’t know. Of course he didn’t know.

But that he didn’t suspect—

That was interesting.

It said something about how he viewed family.

Darren scowled. “It was all bullshit. He was in on your disappearance.”

“No, not in on it. He knew, and he decided it was better if I didn’t exist anymore, so he killed me off.”

He turned and strode away, pacing across the room. I watched him with an amused smile. I was exhausted, and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep some more, but I liked watching him spin around like a hamster in a ball.

“This doesn’t change anything,” he said as he nodded to himself and stopped moving. He gazed at me with something like defiance and desire, and I wasn’t sure what pleased me more. “Your father’s still powerful, and this little secret can work to my advantage. Instead of playing to his sense of familial duty, I’ll blackmail the fucker until I get what I want.”

My jaw dropped. “You’ll what?”

“He doesn’t want the real story about what happened to you getting out into the world, does he? You just provided me with the perfect leverage.”

I had no clue what to say.

He was right.

God, I could be so impulsive sometimes.

I’d been so excited to get one over on him that I hadn’t thought about the consequences. My story had been meant to make him feel stupid or foolish, and maybe he had—for a few seconds.

But he’d already figured out a way to use it against me.

Darren was good. Very, very good. I had to be more careful if I wanted to get out of this in one piece.

“What could you possibly want from my father? All he has is money, but you have plenty of that already.”

“I don’t know yet,” he said, hovering near the doorway. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell you when I decide.” He turned the knob, stepped onto the threshold. “Remember my rules. Welcome to Servant Manor, love. You’ll enjoy your stay. I’ll make sure of it.” He smiled, genuine again, and disappeared into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

I felt his absence like a vacuum down my throat.

That conversation had exhausted me. Trying to keep up and outmaneuver him had cost too much energy and hadn’t done a damn thing to help in the end. I crawled into bed and tugged the sheets over my head.

Spring Kane was dead. I’d drowned her in the ocean and came back out Winter Kresswell.

I was Winter. I would always be Winter.

Your past always claws you back, baby.

3

Winter

My mom stared out from the window of the van. Black tears streaked her cheeks. She always wore too much eyeliner. I took a few steps forward, but my father caught my wrist.

“Let her go.” He didn’t look down at me. His smile said it all.

“When will she come back?” I knew better than to rip my hand free.

He held on tight. “When she’s ready. I told you, she’s sick and we need to make her better.” His smile grew larger. “It may take years, Spring.”

“Where’s she going? To the hospital?”

“It’s a rehabilitation clinic. When she’s better, she’ll come home. Or perhaps she won’t.”

The van pulled away. My father released my arm and turned to the house.

“What do you mean, she might not come back?” I tried not to cry. It only made him angrier when I cried. Even at ten, I was smart enough to know what kind of man my father was. “She said she’d come home. She said she would.”

“Your mother says a lot of things and very few of them are true.” He pushed open the front door. “She’s an addict, Spring. I suppose you don’t know what that means, but you will one day. Addiction is a disease, and one that can’t ever be cured. I will not have that disease spreading in my house. You’ll understand when you’re older. Now come inside before you embarrass me.”