Black

He kneels in front of Cami and hands her a black gun. “Remember what I taught you?”

My eyes widen, but Cami doesn’t flinch. She simply blinks as though this is something she saw coming.

“Yes sir,” she says. Taking the gun, she does a series of things that mean absolutely nothing to me, and then she looks up.

“Good girl,” Daddy says. “And don’t forget to take the safety off.”

Cami nods, and he smiles approvingly, patting her cheek before turning his attention to me.

“You listen to your sister, got it?” His voice is stern, which isn’t foreign to me considering I’m the bad sister—first to get in trouble, last to apologize, and according to my dad, the sole reason for his salt-and-pepper hair. But this time it’s different. This time there’s an underlying tone that speaks of danger and begs cooperation.

“Yes, sir,” I whisper, failin

g to hide the tremble in my bottom lip.

Cupping my face in his hands, Daddy looks me in the eyes. “You’re my little princess, yeah?” I try to nod, but his hands are holding me captive. “You’re Bianca DiMarco, and DiMarcos are strong. Don’t ever forget that.”

He kisses me, kisses Cami, and in the blink of an eye, he’s gone.

The soft click of the door latching behind him echoes through the room, bathing us in a deafening silence. Cami stands frozen, her big, brown eyes glued to the gun clenched in her hand. I wait for her to burst into tears, because that’s who she is. She’s the cautious one, the sweet to my sass, quiet to my loud. So when she finally looks up at me, shoulders squared and eyes shining with determination, I’m a little nervous.

“Are you scared?” she asks softly.

I shake my head, and the corner of her mouth tilts upward.

“You need to practice that,” she says, brushing against me as she walks across the room.

“Practice what?” I say, following behind her.

She stops in front of the blinds, peeking outside before glancing over her shoulder.

“Lying. You suck at lying.”

“Do not.”

“Do too. You clench your jaw. It’s your tell.”

“Whatever.”

I step toward the window, and Cami scoots over, giving me enough room to look out. Daddy—aka Luca DiMarco—is a bear of a man. Six foot, two hundred and seventy-five pounds of pure muscle, he towers over most. But not today. Today he’s going head to head in our front yard with a man who’s easily a couple of inches taller and has biceps bigger than my head. They’re both yelling, their arms waving erratically in the air.

“Who is that?” I whisper.

Cami’s answer doesn’t come as quickly as I’d expect. I look up in time to see her pull her bottom lip between her teeth. She worries it back and forth several times before releasing it.

“I don’t know.” She shrugs.

I’m tempted to tell her she’s the one who sucks at lying, but that would be sassy, and my dad says I need to work on not being so sassy. Instead, I look out the window, and all the air rushes from my lungs.

Papa!

I stand frozen, watching in horror as the man pushes a gun against Daddy’s forehead. Through gritted teeth, Daddy says something that causes the man’s jaw to clench tight, and even from the window, I feel the energy in the air shift.

Lowering the gun, the stranger pumps two rounds into the ground at Daddy’s feet before shoving the muzzle under his chin.

“No!” Spinning around, I bolt out of the room, ignoring Cami’s pleas for me to stop. Her nails scrape my arm when she manages to catch me, but I rip free.

“Bianca, no!” she yells, chasing after me.