Page 7 of Die With Me

Only to see my dead brother glaring at me through the darkness.

I pull back with a jolt, snapping open my lids just in time to see his eyes widen as well—meaning that as soon as I let myself be vulnerable, he did the same.

“I need…I need to go to the bathroom…to clean up.” The words taste like ash in my mouth as I scramble off his lap.

Without a word, he lifts his arms and tears his shirt from his shoulders, pulling it down over me to cover my body like a minidress. The crowd parts as I make my way to the bathroom not far from where we’re set up. No one dares approach me. And when I make it to the door, I turn back to see that Luca is watching me walk away from him, puzzlement etched into his already chiseled features.

The water is cold when I splash it onto my face, regarding my reflection in the mirror. “Get it together,” I whisper. “Now isn’t the time to catch feelings for him again.”

As I turn to leave, a man’s voice rings out, unmistakable as it echoes throughout the room.“It was never the time. Yet that didn’t stop you, did it?”

Whirling around, I see a clear image of my brother, Adam, in the mirror behind me. He looks handsome, blue-green eyes shining, skin clear of the blood I last saw smeared on it, wearing the new suithe had on the day he died—compliments of the Morroni family.

Checking over my shoulder, I see the room is empty except for me.

“You’re supposed to avenge me. Not be his whore!”he spits out nastily, tone so full of disgust that I drop my eyes to the counter.

“I know,” I tell him softly. “I know.”

When my eyes lift again, he’s gone, just like I know he will be.

Just like I know, he’s never truly there.

Misty

EIGHT YEARS AGO

“Marisela, I need you to stop arguing with me. I’ll only be gone a few hours. Keep your head down and stay out of trouble. I’ll be back before you know it.” My brother adjusts his tie for the fourth time in the last few minutes, making it even more crooked than it was before.

I knock his hands away and step in front of him, drawing his eyes from his reflection in the mirror as I redo his simple knot. “Adam, this isn’t funny. Getting involved with the mob isn’t going to solve our problems!”

“Neither is sticking around here, Mari. If I don’t start making some money soon, we’re gonna be on the streets. It’s bad enough your counselor has been poking around. You’re barely seventeen. They can take you and put you in the system for a year. Is that what you want?” he asks. His tone is full of exasperation, words quavering with hopeless anger at our situation.

For as long as I can remember, it’s been Adam and me against the world. Our parents were drug addicts who didn’t give a shit about us, let alone about giving us a better life. Thanks to Adam managing to find us food and clothes, we've always scraped by without raising too much suspicion about our living conditions.

The system would have no doubt separated us. And my brother, the best man I’ll ever know, has always made sure that never happened. No matter the lengths he’s had to go through to ensure we always have what we need.

“No,” I say quietly, finishing his knot and adjusting his collar. “I just wish you’d let me help. I can get a job and?—”

“We’ve talked about this, Mari. I want you to focus on school.” He cups my cheeks, leaning his forehead on mine as our matching blue-green gazes lock. “Focus on getting as many scholarships as you can. You’re going to get out of this place and become a big hot-shot doctor someday.”

His words twist and tighten my intestines. There’s so much pressure to have a better future, when I could be helping usnow.

As his hands fall away, my gaze journeys down the length of his navy Kiton suit that could pay for at least three months’ worth of our rent. “How did you even get involved with the Morronis, Adam?”

My brother checks his watch, a knock-off Rolex that looks like it’s seen better days up close but looks expensive from far away. “The less you know, the better. He’s goingto be here any second. You should go to your room. Don’t you have homework or something you should be doing?”

His nerves are frazzled, and the telltale signs of stress are beginning to show on his features. Sweat beads at his hairline, and his eyes keep bouncing from me to the door to his watch.

“I want to know who you’re leaving with, Adam. I don’t like this. Why would they even employ you? You’re young and know nothing about their world. I’m sorry to say this, but you’re not exactly bodyguard material,” I jest, my tone a little lighter as I reach out and pinch his skinny arm. He looks like he’s days from wasting away, always making sure there’s enough food for me—even if that means he goes without a meal for a day or two.

He laughs. It’s hollow and short-lived as a knock interrupts whatever he’s about to say in return.

“Marisela, go. Now,” he pleads.

But I’m already halfway to the door, pulling it open before Adam can stop me.

It feels like time stops as a set of burnished bronze eyes fall from a frame well over six feet tall—tan, olive skin, a head of thick, dark hair, and the most chiseled jawline I’ve ever seen make up the man standing on the other side of the threshold.

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