Page 19 of Ravage God
He looked like he wanted to say something to me. But before that could happen, the front door opened, and a sweaty Valentino walked in. Elio pulled away from me, and something like disappointment settled heavily in the pit of my stomach.
Valentino paused when he saw us in the kitchen. “Is everything okay?” he asked carefully.
I raised my injured foot out toward him. “I hurt myself.”
My brother walked over to me and grabbed my ankle, checking the injury. I humored him for a bit before I pulled my foot back. “I’m fine.”
“What happened?” he asked.
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Elio spoke up. “It was my fault. I scared her. She didn’t know I was in the kitchen when she stumbled in half asleep and dropped her coffee mug.”
“I didn’t stumble into the kitchen,” I argued.
Valentino’s lips twitched as he took me in from head to toe. I resisted the urge to brush my hair down with my hand. I probably look like a mess right now, but since Elio had already seen me like this, there was no point in trying to fix it.
“Did you just wake up?” Valentino asked me.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “No.”
He chuckled and moved past me to the fridge for a water bottle.
We didn’t say anything as Valentino took a drink of the water. I shifted in my seat, feeling awkward, and it seemed I was the only one feeling that way.
Valentino had his back against the counter while Elio was… well, it had always been hard to tell what Elio was thinking or feeling. And I was trying to avoid looking over at him, lest I give both him and Valentino more insights into my thoughts.
“I should go home,” I said, hopping off the counter.
Elio frowned at that. I didn’t want to know the meaning behind that frown.
Valentino nodded. “I’ll drive you.”
I nodded back and made my way to my room, not looking at either man. The entire time, I could feel the skin on the back of my neck burn from Elio’s gaze, and I didn’t know what to make of his attention.
4
ISA
Three days passedby in a blur.
I couldn’t even remember if I had done anything significant—I shook my head. I knew I hadn’t. Sometimes, I wondered if this was all my life was ever going to be. That I would continue to exist with nothing significant ever happening. I let out a small sigh as I turned back from the small walk I had taken about half an hour ago, just to get out of the house.
The property around Dad’s house was expansive and isolated.
Behind it was a short trail that led into a small clearing, and beyond that were trees that Dad had hired someone to plant around the property line more than two decades before. Surprisingly, they had held up well and provided a nice little covering for the house in case it was ever attacked. I never walked beyond the clearing. I didn’t need to. It was far enough away from the house that I felt like I was in my own little world.
If it weren’t so impractical, I might have just stayed out there for most of the days. As it was, the Las Vegas heat was unforgiving, especially since we were heading toward the summer, and I was barely able to last an hour out here before I needed to make my way back home.
I wished I hadn’t. Because as soon as the back of the house came into view, so did Dad and two other men with him.
Made men that, like Dad, were part of the traditionalist group that came up in power along with Amadeo De Luca, a handful of decades past, and their daughters—three other women a little younger than me. They were all out in the backyard, food on the patio table, along with beer bottles scattered about. I eyed those, knowing it wasn’t Dad’s first beer of the day.
Dad immediately caught me, and I fought against the urge to freeze up right then and there. I plastered on a smile I didn’t feel and continued to make my way over to them. There was no escaping this.
“There she is,” Dad said, signaling for me to come closer. I did, stopping when I was about a foot away from the table. I took in each of their faces.
Next to Dad was Aldo Valachi, a man I knew was most similar to Dad when it came to his views of how Massimo was running things now. He had his two daughters with him, Alessia, the eldest, who was only three years younger than me and was already engaged to another traditionalist’s son, and Chiara, only a year younger than her older sister. It was Chiara I was mostly wary about because while Alessia could be mean on a good day, Chiara was downright spiteful. It also didn’t help that she had her sights on Elio and was planning on being the next Mrs. De Luca.
I briefly met their eyes before turning to the other man at the table, Dario Gravano. He brought along his only daughter, Giada—Chiara’s best friend.
