Page 1 of Bones of Revenge and Reckoning

Chapter 1

Renata

Nine-years-old

Christmas is a few hours away, and I can’t sleep. I’m so excited. I asked Santa for a bicycle. I’ve wanted one for the past two whole years and asked and asked, and one never came. I know why. It’s because I’m a bad girl. Mamma always says this. I’m a bad girl, the bad sheep. I’m sure that is what I heard them calling me. The bad sheep. I don’t really know what it means, but I don’t want to be the bad sheep anymore.

I’ve been such a good girl this year. I did everything that was asked of me. I did everything right. I wore the scratchy dresses Mamma puts me in and let her curl my hair into ringlets. I didn’t play with toy soldiers and instead tried to be interested in my dolls. I didn’t argue back, which Mamma hates more than anything. And I tried not to argue with stupid Nico, but that was the hardest part.

I’ve done good deeds too, which Father Angelo talks about a lot in his long sermons. I didn’t even fidget in church.

Then, at school, we all wrote a letter to Santa, and the teacher said if we’ve been good, we might get what’s on our lists. My list had only one word on it.

Bicycle.

The minute I hear the maids open the curtains in the large drawing room, I shoot up out of bed.

As I hit the landing, I see I’m not the first. Nico is there. I smile sweetly. I’ve also tried very hard this year not to be angry at my little brother. Even though he makes it really difficult because he looks at me like he wants to hurt me. And I think he really would, if he were bigger. He always has a sneaky smile on his face, like he’s thinking of ways to upset me. As I’ve been a good girl, he’s had to try even harder to annoy me.

“Merry Christmas, Nico.” My smile is as sweet as honey. I don’t think our parents are up yet to hear me, but Santa hears everything.

“Eat slugs,” he replies.

I sigh and roll my eyes.

“Nico, be nice to your sister,” Mamma says on a yawn as she appears behind him.

Nico is younger than me but not by much. I once overheard Nonna say that’s because he was an accident, and it was a bad thing he came so soon after me. I don’t understand what that means, but Nico is bad, so maybe that’s why.

I’ve been told too many times that I’m not the usual little girl, playing with dolls and trinkets, but I do like some girlish things. Toys are so boring. I love Mamma’s paints, though, that she puts on her face, and her shiny baubles. Mamma always looks so pretty, and I like to dress up like her, except I’m not allowed. The last time I played with her paints, I got told off by Babbo.

I liked the way the red looked on my lips, but Babbo got so angry.

He called me a word I don’t know. Puta something. I know it was a bad word by the way he said it, face all scrunched up and twisted, and then Mamma scrubbed my face so hard my cheeks burned.

She isn’t wearing the paint this morning, but she’s still pretty.

Babbo comes out of their room, scratching his head and mussing his hair. Mamma immediately smooths it down. Mamma always likes for us to look our best. She makes me wear scratchy dresses a lot, even though I prefer pants like Nico gets to wear. If I’m good, and it’s Saturday, she might let me wear my jeans. Sunday is the scratchiest day as I have to wear my church dresses, and they are the worst.

We descend the stairs, and Mamma ushers us into the large dining kitchen. We eat here in the morning and in the dining room for other meals. Although Mamma has a lot of help, she mostly cooks the evening meals. Not breakfast, though. Angelina makes that, and she’s serving up now.

I take my seat, bouncing with excitement. I want to see the gifts in the drawing room. Just a peek.

“Mamma, please may I use the bathroom?” I ask.

She purses her lips but nods. “The downstairs one, and do not go into the drawing room.”

“Yes, Mamma.” I race from the table and go to the small, downstairs bathroom. I pretend to use it, just in case Santa is watching the house. I don’t think he can see inside bathrooms, but if he saw me go in, I better try to take the right amount of time. Maybe, even at this late stage, he can take gifts back.

After I’ve washed my hands, I exit the room and head back to the kitchen, but along the way, I tiptoe to the drawing room and peek in.

My heart stops and then does a somersault of giddiness. There, in the corner, wrapped in paper, is a bicycle shaped present. Oh, it is such a pretty shape. I clasp my hands to my heart, and my mouth stretches into a giddy smile.

I try to wipe it off so Mamma and Babbo don’t know I peeked.

I take my seat at the table, but I’m too excited to eat.

Babbo narrows his eyes and looks at me over the edge of yesterday’s paper. Anything to avoid making conversation with the family. “Renata, eat something. You’ll waste away.”

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