Page 1 of Vicious

CHAPTER 1

May

I slide my key into the lock and huff with annoyance when it turns easily.

“Baba, I told you to lock it even if you’re home!” I shout into the house.

My father doesn’t call back to me, which is strange, but I dismiss it with a sigh. I hang my keys up on their hook, only pausing when I hear voices coming from the kitchen.

“Baba?” I call out a little more hesitantly, turning the corner and stopping to peer into the doorway of the kitchen.

My heart freezes when I see my father sitting at the kitchen table with three other men in the room. The two larger men are dressed in dark slacks and polos, their large biceps menacingly on display.

The last one is sitting next to my father, his arm slung over his shoulders. This man is smaller, with light brown hair and an easy smile.

“Oh, this must be the daughter,” he says, waving with his free hand. “Craig, show her in.”

My heart plummets into my stomach.

I wish I could say I’m surprised to see a man and his thugs threatening my father. After years of watching his gambling addiction take everything from us over and over again, though, I guess it was just a matter of time before it came back to bite us in the ass.

Baba, what have you done?

The man, Craig, moves to grab my arm, but I duck out of his grasp and present myself in the kitchen with a stubborn tilt to my chin. “I don’t need an escort,” I say.

Baba’s lip quivers. “Please, Giulio, leave her alone. I’m already doing everything I can.”

The man with his arm around Baba’s shoulder, Giulio, bursts out laughing. “Really? Not even a ‘Mr. Pavone’? Simon, Simon, Simon.” He reaches up to pat my father’s jaw. “I asked you for one small favor. That was all. One favor, and I’d overlook all your lies and excuses. But you couldn’t do that.”

Something about this man, Giulio, has my hackles up. He’s not just a typical loan shark. Oh, he’s smarmy and sleazy, but there’s something about him that downright exudes danger. “Ba—” I start to say, cutting myself off. No, these men don’t speak Chinese, and I don’t want them to know what I call him. “What do we owe you?” I ask, my voice going a little bleak.

We. Because it’s never just him. It’s always both of us who have to pay the price for his addiction.

“May!” my father exclaims. “Don’t say anything. I’ll handle it.”

Giulio looks between us in open amusement. “That is hilarious. Very cute. Maybe you should have thought about your baby girl before you decided to screw me over, Simon.” He lets go of my father and stands up, walking over to the small kitchen counter.

He stops next to the knife block and taps the handles.

I freeze. “I have money,” I say quickly. Only the rent, damn it, and enough for a week of groceries, but it has to be something. “We don’t need to be hasty here, Mr. Pavone.”

“Hasty?” Giulio turns to me, one hand on the handle of the largest knife. “That’s hurtful. I’ve never done anything hasty in my life. Have I, Craig?”

Craig snorts. “Never, boss. Not once.”

My shoulders slump. In other words, he either does hasty, stupid shit all the time, or he’s planned this out to the last second. “Please,” I try again.

I tug at the collar of my shirt, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. The damn thing is so tight around my throat.

Giulio takes the knife out of the block and inspects it.

“Giu—Mr. Pavone. Give me another chance,” my father says, starting to rise from his chair. The guard who’s been silent pushes him back down.

Giulio’s expression turns darker. “Another chance? Simon, I’ve given you nothing but chances. I gave you a last chance already. But you couldn’t get one single person convicted? And don’t tell me it was out of your hands.” He waves the knife in my father’s direction. “Now make a choice. Should I use this knife to give you a nice, close shave, or should I start cutting your pretty daughter’s hair with it?”

A chill runs down my spine as I look helplessly between the two. Everything in me is screaming at me to run away, but what kind of coward would I be if I left my father to deal with this on his own? Sure, he’s fucked up—and fucked up royally—but he always means well.

I look between the two of them, swallowing hard as the knife glints in the dim light of the kitchen. I try to speak, but my words get caught in my throat.

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