Some events in life are so transformative, they can leave a person speechless. When my father had my mother killed six months ago, words completely escaped me. Nothing I could say would help me understand or keep me from being in danger, so I chose not to say anything at all.
For the past six months, I hadn’t spoken a single word.
Not to my brother or my best friend. Not even alone in the dark.
I hadn’t made a sound since I’d woken up in the hospital after the car wreck that had taken my mother’s life. At first, I was in a state of shock while processing what had happened and trying to comprehend the magnitude of my loss—my mother and father gone in the blink of an eye.
Dad might not have been in that car, but he was dead to me all the same.
He’d orchestrated the accident that had stolen the best part of my world from me. My mother. My heart. Without her, a gaping hole had been carved from my soul.
In the midst of my crippling sorrow, fear and fury simmered to life beneath my surface. All of it was directed at one man. The same man who should have been my solace and sanctuary. I became so furious with my father that I feared what I might say. That he’d hear the accusation and frustration coating my words and figure out I knew the truth.
So I didn’t dare open my mouth.
The bruising across my neck from the seat belt and doctors speculating about possible trauma gave me the perfect excuse. My father was only too happy to accept my silence. He had whisked me back home to a life I no longer recognized. A life under virtual lock and key.
Days turned into weeks turned into months.
The one time each day I could be alone beyond the walls of my father’s home was during my morning coffee run. Each morning, I was allowed to go get coffee—with supervision, of course. Umberto, the goon assigned to keep tabs on me, had quit following me inside after the first couple of months on my daily errand. He stood outside on his phone while I sat at a table with my breakfast and contemplated how to escape the clutches of a mafia life I now hated.
I would have run away if things had been that simple, but they never were. The issue was my younger brother. I couldn’t leave him behind, but getting him to come with me would be a challenge. He idolized my father. Always had. Even if Dad allowed us to be alone together unobserved, convincing Sante would be a monumental task. The dilemma plagued me every single day. I’d been biding my time for the right opportunity, but after six months of constant supervision, I was growing more worried by the day that my chance would never come.
“Hey, Noemi. The usual?” The kind older gentleman behind the counter waved when I entered. The morning crew at the coffee shop all knew me by name, though I never talked to them. I’d only had to write out the explanation for my silence once, which was a relief. They’d been very understanding and did all the talking for me.
I smiled and nodded. After paying at the counter, I took a seat as far from the door as I could get and took out my current read. My phone was monitored, so I rarely used it, even to quell boredom. I’d never been a big reader before, but lately, it had become my favorite escape. I was only a few pages into a chapter when a masculine voice spoke behind me.
“You shouldn’t keep such an obvious routine. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?”
I couldn’t see him but knew the comment was directed at me. While the nature of his observation should have alarmed me, it was the seductive way his deep voice feathered across the back of my neck that made my spine stiffen.
Slowly, I turned to peer at the man who sat behind me and tried to remember how to breathe when my gaze collided with the bluest eyes I’d ever seen. A deep blue so radiant it hypnotized like those fish down at the bottom of the ocean that dangled brilliant lights to distract their prey before swallowing them whole. Even the shadow cast by his prominent brow couldn’t dull the richness of color.
A full twenty seconds passed before the meaning behind his words slashed through my stupor and yanked me back to rational thought.
How did he know I kept a routine?
I most certainly would have noticed if this man was a regular in the café. Even without his mesmerizing eyes, he wasn’t the sort you could forget. Cloaked in an air of power and privilege, his presence demanded attention and respect. Maybe even fear. It was carved in the angular cut of his jaw and the commanding way he carried himself. He was a beautiful predator, and he’d been watching me. Why? For how long? And how had I never noticed?
Unnerved, I turned back around and decided to ignore him, unsure what else to do.
“But then again, maybe not so predictable.”
My eyes snagged on the page. I should have known a man like him wouldn’t accept rejection.
“Seems like every book I ever see in a woman’s hands is a romance, setting unrealistic expectations of some perfect fairy-tale life in their heads. But that’s not what you’re reading, is it?”
My book was about murder. A mystery novel to help keep my mind occupied rather than dwelling on my problems. I liked romance as much as the next girl but needed something darker and more compelling. Something more relatable to the state of my life.
Unsure what else to do, I took out the notepad I kept with me at all times. I planned to jot a note explaining that I couldn’t speak in the hopes that it would end our encounter, but other words materialize at my fingertips.
Is it so unrealistic to expect men to be decent human beings?
I couldn’t believe I was engaging him, even as I shoved the pad toward him.
The confusion I expected him to show at my lack of verbal response never registered. Instead, I was met with a wolfish smirk.
“It’s unrealistic to expect decency out of anyone, man or woman. In my experience, we’re not so different from our prehistoric ancestors as we’d like to believe.”
I raised a brow and scribbled my response.
Speak for yourself.
I couldn’t help myself. Something about him tipped the scales of my control after months of perfect restraint.
Shadow dimmed the turquoise slivers in his eyes. “Believe me, I am. There is absolutely nothing civilized about me.”
Shocked by the intensity of his response, I stared as he rose from his seat. Expecting him to leave, I was surprised yet again when he went to the counter to retrieve my coffee and bagel. I’d been so consumed with our exchange that I hadn’t heard the barista call my name.
The stranger placed my food in front of me, lifting his thumb to his perfect lips and sucking at a dab of cream cheese while his cobalt stare pinned me to my seat.
“Enjoy your breakfast,” he murmured before casually prowling away.
I was left utterly flabbergasted after one of the strangest encounters of my life. Aside from the odd topic of our brief conversation, he never batted an eye at my lack of verbal communication. As if he’d already known. But how? Did he know who I was?
I was suddenly kicking myself for not asking his name. My eyes returned to his retreating form as he passed through the café door, then reappeared outside the shop window. In an instant, Umberto was toe-to-toe with the man, challenging him with the same energy as an angry rhino.
Had Umberto seen the man talking to me? No, because if he had, he would have come in and confronted the man immediately. If not that, why was he so angry? My jailor had been distracted, and I’m sure that added to his irritability, but it was still unusual for him to be so confrontational.
My entire body tensed as I watched the two square off. Umberto was huge, but the stranger didn’t seem remotely bothered. If I’d had to guess, I would have said defending himself against angry goons was an everyday occurrence. He was the picture of cool indifference, which only seemed to enrage Umberto even further.
My father’s watchdog sneered as he spoke, lifting his hand to point a finger into the man’s chest. Before he could make contact, and seemingly out of nowhere, the man’s fists whipped out in a series of punches so vicious and lightning fast that Umberto dropped like a leaden weight to the ground. He didn’t even get in a single strike.
The stranger spit onto his unconscious opponent, then instantly resumed an air of serene passivity as though the last ten seconds had never happened. He smoothed back his black wavy hair with a steady hand, turned, and pinned me with a breathtaking stare before disappearing down the sidewalk.
As if I needed another reason to hate the Mafia life I’d been born into.
Ruthless ambition and callous irreverence to anyone in their paths were innate qualities of all made men. I didn’t know who the stranger was, but he was just as bad as the rest of them. Maybe worse.
There is absolutely nothing civilized about me.
I shivered at his remembered words, then hurried outside to check on my hapless bodyguard. Umberto was out cold on the New York City sidewalk. For the first time in six months, I had a rare opportunity to slip away and disappear into the city. I could run. Go to my cousin’s and tell her everything.
And what about Sante? Where would that leave him?
Alone. Abandoned. I couldn’t do it. There was no point in pretending running without him was even an option.
Taking a deep breath, I squatted down and patted Umberto’s cheek, shaking him until he roused with a series of muttered curses.
“Fuckin’ pikey. The fuck he go?” He glared up and down the street.
I ignored his question and helped him to his feet. He wiped at his bloody nose with the back of his sleeve, and I left him to gather my things back inside the shop. I abandoned my uneaten food and ignored the curious stares of everyone in the café. I hadn’t been the only one to watch the scene unfold.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he grumbled as soon as I returned outside. His voice was muffled, and I absently wondered if his nose had been broken. Not that it mattered to me. As one of my father’s lackeys, he probably deserved far worse.
I followed him to the car, curious about the mysterious stranger and mildly disappointed that I’d been robbed of my coffee routine. At least the morning hadn’t been boring, that was for certain.
“Jesus, Berto,” my brother blurted when we returned home. “What the hell happened to you?” Sante looked me over to ensure I was unharmed before returning his attention to my bloody guard.
Umberto just grunted and stomped off toward the bathroom.
I took out my pad and explained.
Just a little altercation on the street.
Sante shook his head. “That guy never could back down. Such a hothead.”
I smirked, finding it amusing that he thought himself so much more mature. At the ripe old age of seventeen, he was hardly the epitome of logic and sound decisions. In fact, since our mother had died, his volatile teen emotions had been even more prevalent. I hated to witness the changes in him—partially because he’d always been so sweet before but also because his struggles had magnified his desire to follow in my father’s Mafia footsteps. He saw the power and prestige while being blinded to the uglier aspects of the job.
The Mafia twisted men into monsters. It drained all their humanity and left their souls hopelessly disfigured. I couldn’t think of anything more horrendous than Sante being made. But he idolized our father and the Mafia. He didn’t want to hear what I had to say. I would have told him the truth about what had happened right away if I thought he would believe me. If I thought it would save him.
I wanted to help my little brother, but I’d have to find another way. I hadn’t made much progress solving that particular problem, but at least I’d convinced him not to drop out of school. I had argued via scribbled notes that Mom would have been heartbroken if he had left before graduating. He had reluctantly agreed to attend his senior year in another month when school started. It was a small win but a victory, nonetheless. And until I won the war, I would continue to fight my silent battle against my father’s influence. It was what my mother would have wanted—what she would have done if he hadn’t killed her.
Giving Sante a sad smile, I pointed up to indicate I was headed to my room and retreated upstairs. Once alone, I flopped onto my bed, lifting my hand to look at the book I was still holding. I studied a small tear in the hardback’s jacket cover, though my mind was busy envisioning a pair of captivating blue eyes.
It was so typical that a man like him would scoff at the idea of romance. He probably doubted the existence of anything he hadn’t experienced himself—like empathy and compassion. Such a bleak, narrow-minded view of the world. If it hadn’t been for a spark of heat I sensed beneath his icy blue stare, I would have sworn the man was hopelessly detached from humanity.
A knock sounded at my door, startling me from my thoughts and causing me to drop my book. My father, Fausto Mancini, the most powerful capo in the Moretti family, stood in my doorway. For years, he was more of a name than an actual presence in my life. Mom and Sante and even our cook were more of a part of my life than he ever was. His absence left me struggling with feelings of abandonment and hurt when I was younger. Now that I’d had six months of his tyrannical attention, I thanked God that my father had ignored my existence for as long as he had.
“I have to be out of town for the next two days. I don’t want to hear that you’ve stepped one toe out of line.” His corrosive voice hung in the air around me like a noxious gas, poisoning my insides.
I hadn’t had a day of reprieve from his sinister presence since I left the hospital. The thought of two days away from him made my heart flutter with anticipation.
He must have sensed my response because the corners of his eyes tightened. “Don’t try me, Noemi. Bad things happen to people who defy me.” He stepped closer into my room. “I think you know that, don’t you?” He studied me, and I tried to regulate my breathing, though my lungs seized at his insinuation. It was the first time he’d ever indicated he suspected that I knew the truth. Why now? Because he was leaving town and wanted to ensure I behaved?
“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he continued. “You don’t have to say a word for me to read your thoughts.” His deep mahogany eyes dropped to his hands as he casually assessed the state of his manicured fingers. “Two days. I’ll be watching.” He gave me one last glare before walking away.
His not-so-veiled threat was unnecessary because he was right. I knew exactly what he’d done, and I was plenty terrified of him already. If he thought there was any chance I’d tell someone what he’d done, he’d kill me in a heartbeat.
I couldn’t fathom what my mother had ever seen in him. Had he always been so heartless? Was it possible for someone to start out as sweet as my brother and be transformed into something so cruel?
My stomach clenched tight at the possibility.
It would break my heart to sit by and watch Sante morph into something unrecognizable.
They aren’t all so bad as Dad.
True. Uncle Gino was decent enough. He seemed to care about Aunt Etta, Mom’s twin sister. But if he was faced with choosing his wife or his ambitions, which would come out on top? I wasn’t sure, and that spoke volumes. The answer was no clearer for any of the family men I’d grown up knowing. Sure, they were friendly enough at gatherings, but they could also be frighteningly cold.
I wasn’t willing to bet my life on the outcome of that question. I wanted no part of the mafia world.
I didn’t have my own money or an obvious way out, but I wouldn’t give up. An opportunity would present itself, and I’d be ready when it did.
