“Well, I’m sorry for appreciating your help,” she scoffs, her face turning sour. “So much for saving us.”
When no one is watching, I push her up against the wall, planting a hand beside her face. “I don’t save people. I hurt people.” I fish the knife from my pocket and show it to her. “You think I took that beating to save you? Wrong.”
“Then why? Why go through the effort.”
I lean in, smelling the scent of fear on her breath as I go in closer and closer and closer until I’m right beside her ear, and I whisper, “Because I crave violence.”
It’s in my blood. My very essence.
Pain. Blood. Murder.
It’s what we’ve been taught by my parents early on in life.
What we’ve been told is the only means to get what you want.
Power.
And with power … you control the world.
I lean away again, tucking the knife back into my pocket. “Don’t say thank you to a monster. You’ll regret it one day.”
And I take my hand off the wall and walk off, determined not to look back for fear of what I might do.
What I might want, more than power, more than anything else in this entire fucking world.
What I might take if she starts being nice to me.
Her.
Chapter 7
Luca
* * *
WHACK!
The strike of his hand against my face hits harder than any punch I’ve received from the fuckers I destroyed at school or wherever else.
“That’s for fighting at school,” my father says.
Another strike to the other side of my face makes my lip twitch in resentment.
But it’s nothing compared to the pain I’ve felt numerous times before … and not just by my father’s hand.
“You should know better than to draw attention to yourself and tarnish our family’s name.”
I didn’t even get a chance to explain that I was trying to …
Save Jill and Jasmine.
No, fuck that. I’m no knight in shining armor.
And my father probably wouldn’t even care.
He slaps me twice more just because he enjoys seeing the blood rush to my skin. I got my wicked cravings from somewhere, and it wasn’t my mother whose genes passed it on.
“And that’s for bringing girls into my fucking house,” my father seethes.
I don’t know how he found out.
Probably the cameras.
I should’ve covered them.
“How dare you? How fucking dare you disobey me?” he says, his voice filled with contempt. “I told you, you and your brother need to start taking your lives seriously.”
I don’t respond. Nothing I can say will make his rage go away. Mine never does. And I didn’t get it from a stranger.
“You’re a disgrace,” he says, and he spits on the floor in front of my feet. “Don’t ever fucking humiliate me again, Luca, or there will be hell to pay.” He points at the door. “Go to your room.”
He doesn’t have to say it twice. I’m already out the door.
Fuck him and fuck that high horse he rode in on.
I can do whatever the fuck I want. No one’s gonna stop me, not even his harsh rules or the hard hand he hits with.
It’s not the first time I got hurt, and it definitely won’t be the last.
I learned a long time ago my father uses violence to get what he wants, whether it’s with his competitors … or his own damn son.
Nothing is forbidden. Violence is normal when you’re a part of the mafia.
Mafia.
That one word we’re not allowed to use. As if denying its existence makes it easier to swallow what my family really is.
A bunch of mobsters who use violence to get rich and powerful. And to force their own damn family into the same fucking life, even if they end up hating you for it.
Fuck this.
I hurry up the stairs and stomp into my room, slamming the door shut … only to find Liam sitting on my fucking bed.
“Get out,” I bark.
“No, c’mon,” he says, leisurely lounging on his elbows. “I’m your brother. Let’s talk.”
“No,” I spit back, my palms turning into fists.
“You’ve made enough enemies,” Liam says. “Don’t turn me into one too.”
“What the fuck do you want?”
He sits up straight. “I just wanna know what happened.”
“I got in a fight at school. Big deal,” I reply.
“I thought you said you were done with that?” he says.
I cock my head. “Yeah, well, that was before those two Baas girls tried to walk all over the school grounds in those fucking glass slippers, wearing that red lipstick like they owned the fucking place.”
My brother’s brows rise in that annoying way they always do when his interest is piqued. “Sounds to me like you paid a little too much attention to them.”
“No fucking shit,” I respond. “It’s kinda hard not to notice when they’re making new ‘friends.’” I make quotation marks with my fingers.
“So you got into a fight for them?”
I pause. I almost want to say it out loud.