Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96129 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
All of those truths cut deeply. What kind of world did we live in where a kid his age led the life he did? Where one of our own people, our compatriota, would turn against us like this? There had to be a cardinal rule against this. There had to be some kind of standard, where if someone called you to do a job on someone from your fucking island, who may or may not share your blood, you’d have to decline. He didn’t look scared, but he also didn’t look like a killer. The entire time we’d been sitting against the wall, he hadn’t looked in our direction once. I didn’t know anything about him, but I knew his mother would be devastated by this.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” I yelled, the words sounding muffled in my ears.
He turned his head away a little more. I swallowed and rested my forehead on my knees, focusing on breathing. The police would be here soon. They had to be. My brother was sitting next to me in the same position, knees up to his chest, hands tied behind his back, his forehead resting against them as he shook uncontrollably. Through glassy eyes, I could only make out my father’s legs from the other side of the kitchen. I didn’t even know if he was alive. I hadn’t seen him move. A sob racked through me. God, please. Please let him live. It wasn’t fair if he died. It just wouldn’t be fucking fair.
I started crying openly, loudly, when I looked back at Santi to check on him. He didn’t look up, but at least he was still breathing. He hadn’t been too badly hurt. They’d punched him and tied him up. I wasn’t sure it mattered. Emotional trauma was worse than physical scars. Scars you could cover. Scars you could ignore. After a while, those healed and became a part of you, like tattoos. You could cover emotional trauma with fake smiles and bullshit lies, but even as you did those things, the knife twisted deep in your gut. Santi had been staying at a friend’s house when those men barged into our house and killed Mom, but this time it was inescapable, and I knew that even if Dad was alive, the damage was done.
He’d never have the luxury of hearing a loud sound, or even fireworks, without jumping out of his skin. A luxury. That was what it was to be able to walk around without glancing over your shoulder, out of fear of being followed, to sit in a place that was supposed to be a safe haven for you and not worry about someone barging in to try and kill you. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and turned my attention to the guy manning the front door. God, he couldn’t have been any older than Santi. I wiped my face as best as I could with the shoulder part of my t-shirt and sniffled. I flinched at the head pressure the simple sniffle caused. I wondered if Santi’s hearing was okay. I shut my eyes again. Please, God. The door opened again, and Anthony Costello appeared there. He looked down and said something loud that made Dad stir. I held my breath, anticipating the worst, but he took a step forward and left him alone. When he looked at me, he smiled. A shiver raked through me but I didn’t allow myself to cry. I wouldn’t. He’d already hurt me in so many ways that it had become our norm. This was too far, though; he had to know that. I wiggled my fingers behind me so they wouldn’t fall asleep.
Through the kitchen window, I saw red and blue lights. I hoped they’d be able to end this safely. I wished Anthony would just take me and leave my brother and dad alone. I said that, screamed it, and even though I didn’t hear a sound, I saw the way Anthony’s eyes lit up at the words and knew he’d heard me. I looked around for Marco and didn’t see him, and hoped that didn’t mean he was already dead. I shut my eyes tightly. The moment I did, I saw Dominic’s face. The way he smiled, the way he laughed, the way he looked when he was pissed off, the way his eyes darkened when he was turned on. My chest shook again. Would I ever get to see those expressions again?
He’d blame himself for this, and the worst part was that maybe it was his fault, but it could’ve also been my father’s. Anthony had issues with both of them. Dad liked to point fingers, but his hands weren’t clean either. I couldn’t argue that he was completely wrong about Dominic, though. His own brother warned me away from him, and that was after all of the alarm bells had gone off in my head telling me to leave. I knew being with him was dangerous, and yet, I knew that if Anthony hadn’t involved my brother and dad, I still would have chosen to stay. I would have chosen to stay because I wanted him, but I couldn’t put my family at risk again. Maybe I wouldn’t have to. I was sure whatever plans Anthony had for me would end with me six feet under.