Page 29 of Fierce Hearts

That had sliced a rift between my uncle and father, considering how my uncle had gone against my father's orders for that call.

He'd lost all trust.

Memories flooded back—unwanted and far too vivid as I climbed into my car and gripped the steering wheel.

I stood in my father's study, my heart pounding wildly as Uncle Ernesto and my father stood on either side of me.

"Loyalty means doing the things we need to do for the family, even if they're difficult," Ernesto said, and I stared at the man kneeling before us with his head bowed. "We don't tolerate thieves."

"We protect what is ours, always." My father offered me the gun as my heart caught in my throat.

I didn't know this man, I'd never seen him before in my life. But he'd stolen from us. That's what my father had said.

I was only fourteen, but I'd been running errands for my father, delivering messages, doing all sorts for him. When I obeyed and did as told, I didn't wind up with the punishment of his belt. The few times I'd disobeyed or refused, he'd shown me what that earned me. Not just him though.

Uncle Ernesto had given me orders as well, dangerous ones. And when I'd refused, I'd wound up with two broken fingers.

My father had broken bones as well, but he'd also broken me with words while trying to mold me.

Sometimes, I wasn't sure who was worse out of the two.

"Women are weak, but not you. Not my daughter, right?"

I looked up at my father, the gun still outstretched.

I nodded as I took the gun, finding the weight of it more than I was used to. Marco had taught me to shoot years ago, but I'd never shot anything before. Nothing alive.

"Good." My father nodded before he focused on the man in front of us. "We need to make an example of him."

I knew what those words meant, what he wanted me to do.

But taking a life?

I turned my gaze on the man before me, who was still bowed, unwilling to look at me. I'd seen his bruised and beaten face when I'd first been brought into the room.

He'd never see another sunrise or sunset. Breathe in the scent of flowers, or experience joy and delight. My family wanted this room to be his final sight.

For me to be his executioner.

"Family does what must be done, Sofia. No hesitation." My father stepped closer to me, his presence stilling me even more.

I was a Savoca, a woman willing to protect this family like he'd raised me to do.

Without another thought, I lifted the gun up, holding it with both hands and pulling the trigger without hesitation.

I'd protect my family, as was my duty.

"That's my girl, I'm proud of you." My father smiled as I turned to him, not wanting to look at the slumped body of the man whose name I didn't even know, whose skull I'd just put a bullet in.

It was the first time I'd seen true pride on my father's face.

It was also the moment I began to truly question the Savoca name and everything that had been ingrained into me.

I'd pulled the trigger many more times after that, acting as my father's tool. Dishing out punishment and making examples of him. Every time, he was so proud of me, and a part of me was delighted to have made him proud, a sick, broken, twisted part of me. Until I'd see my mother, and she'd look so broken, so lost. I was torn between two parts of myself, the one who yearned to do right by my family and earn my father's approval, and the part of me that wanted nothing to do with it all.

But I had no choice, it was do as told or be punished, and the punishments had grown more and more severe. The belt and broken bones had turned into beatings and being locked up with no food for days.

Eventually, I'd stopped disobeying or fighting, becoming nothing more than a shell of myself.

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