Page 14 of Heritage of Fire

Ravensburger emerges from the darkened void, holding the elbow of a young girl dressed in fishnets and a corset. Her head is down, all emotion stripped off her face. A metal-looking ring is clamped around her wrist, but I can’t discern what it is exactly before she’s escorted to the limo. I pan behind her. Cold gray eyes meet mine through the binoculars.

Shit.

I jump, bumping my knee on the steering wheel, startling Igor, and dropping my binoculars on the floor. Fumbling for them, I grab hold and refocus on the alley, but the limo is pulling away. Along with Ravensburger and the girl.

I mentally recount those eyes meeting mine, and the slight smirk on his lips.

He knew we were here. Probably knew the whole damn time.

Chapter 7

Luna

“Ouch,” I mutter under my breath. The hairstylist pulls at the bedhead I woke up with. Not caring at all to be gentle.

It came too soon, this day. The day I’ve been dreading.

When I opened my eyes this morning, light filtered into my room, warm and enticing—I reveled in it. That is, until a pounding on my door startled me, and my mother’s voice disrupted my peace.

I rub my clammy hands across my robe. No amount of water has been able to quench my dry mouth. The manicure my mother required I get distracts my attention from the propped mirror in front of me. The French tips are so disturbingly traditional for a wedding that it makes me sick to my stomach. Black would feel more appropriate right now.

“Stop that,” my mother reprimands through gritted teeth.

Her gaze is snagged on my bouncing knee. I slap my hand over it, willing it to stop.

Giulia comes into the parlor with drinks for everyone and sets the tray down on the coffee table. All the grooming is to take place here today. Under the watchful eye of my mother.

Champagne finds its way to her mouth, and I almost snort.

The parlor is right off the front doors of the house, and its large windows display the front yard. Flower beds and meticulously arranged shrubs texture the manicured landscape. Mature trees line the driveway, all the way from the road to the circular driveway that pulls under the porte cochere. Movement outside the window catches my attention, and the solid white oak doors creak open, giving her away.

My sister barrels into the room, last night’s clothes still plastered to her body. My mother’s gaze travels over her scandalous outfit before she flicks her hand toward the stairs.

“Isabella, shower and get down here for hair and makeup.”

My sister doesn’t hesitate. She bolts. I flinch when the door to her room slams shut and echoes along the walls of the house.

The hairstylist teases the top half of my hair, pulling it back and clipping it high. She curls the bottom half, and I’m thankful I get to wear at least some of it down. The makeup artist comes in next, touching up my face and attacking the under-eye circles that give away I haven’t been sleeping.

Different stages of grief have hit me over the past couple of weeks. Right now, I’m stewing beneath this face of makeup. Though, at this point, it’s a bit late for my anger to be manifesting.

My heart starts to pound when my mother comes to stand behind me. She surveys my done-up face and perfectly styled hair, then dares to grin. I meet her eyes, offering a flat, torn-down look of my own. She places a hand on each of my shoulders.

“You look beautiful, Luna,” she says.

I can’t help the contempt from festering deep in my chest and my expression turns hard in the mirror. Tears or pleas won’t work on my mother. They never have.

“Please don’t!” I scream at my father as he hunts in the gun cabinet for a weapon fit for a traitor’s death. My father’s rage is thrown into every movement, while my mother just sits there. Quiet under the soft glow of his office lights.

“I love him!”

“No. You do not. He was assigned to this house, to my family, to guard my daughters—not screw them.”

“Papá, please. I’ll end it. We won’t see each other anymore!” Fear grips my stomach. I feel like I’m going to retch.

“Iknowyou won’t see him anymore. This is not about you, Luna. It’s about my men, loyal to the Cosa Nostra—they know better. Do you think you’re the only one? He’s out at our restaurants every other weekend. Trust me, you arenotthe only one. He will not play this family for fools.”

My heart breaks with each of his words, with what he’s saying. But I need to save Alessio’s life.

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