Page 15 of Cinder
Just as I think it, my brother walks in without knocking.
I don’t bother greeting him. I don’t even acknowledge him.
He comes up behind me, and I bristle. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“You look beautiful, sister.” He turns me around to face him, and it takes all I have to look at him. “I don’t need to tell you just how important tonight is, do I?”
“No, you don’t.”
“Good, because I would hate for you to do something stupid, something to ruin this opportunity for me. It would make me a very unhappy man.” He brushes his thumb across my chin. “And you know what I am capable of when I am unhappy.”
Oh, I understand all too well. And I’ve got the scars on my body to prove it. Strategically placed scars, that can be easily hidden. Luca Moretti might be pleased by his handiwork when it comes to hurting me, but he knows that kind ofbehavior is looked down upon. And if it’s one thing Luca can’t stand, it’s being looked down upon.
It’s why the bruises he causes are in places that can be concealed by clothing. Why the scar that he inflicted on me as payment for trying to flee him is cut into my inner thigh and not on my face where he truly wanted to put it.
He might like to inflict pain, but he likes money more, and he’s not about to damage the goods.
For three months, I have endured his beatings. His retaliation when I fight back. Or for just being there when things haven’t gone to plan and he’s needed someone to take his rage out on.
And there is no one to help shield me from his violence.
My father’s old alliances are either dead and buried, missing without a trace, or enjoying the riches their new leader bestows on them for their allegiance.
Luca made it very clear that loyalty would be rewarded well, while resistance would be met with death. Some didn’t go down without a fight. But Luca always won, because money screams louder than loyalty, and I guess it’s easier to bury an old friend in a shallow grave when you’ve got a fat envelope of money burning a hole in your pocket and a villa waiting for you on the French Riviera.
And the police?
I can’t go to them. Not again. I tried that once, even though I was raised by a powerful mafia don who had some strong feelings about the authorities. But in a moment of desperationafter enduring one of Luca’s beatings, I ran to the police for help.
Unfortunately, Luca has many of them in his back pocket, and I got dragged back home again where he sliced open my thigh with a sharpened letter opener. A reminder of what will happen if I try again. Six inches for the six hours I was gone. And Luca enjoyed every second of every inch he cut into my skin.“Every time you see this, you will remember you are mine to do with as I choose.”
Luca might not be as revered as our father was, but he certainly still has the power to make things go away. He would kill me if I went to the authorities again.
Worse, he would turn his attention to Lucretia, and I can’t bear the thought of her enduring what I have.
“Do we understand one another?”
I nod, unable to meet his eyes.
He grips my chin tighter and forces me to look at him. “You fuck this up and I will kill you.”
I tighten my jaw and look deep into his black eyes that are void of anything good. “I understand.”
One day I will kill this man.
I will take the letter opener he used to cut open my thigh and I will kill him.
I will plunge it deep into his rotten black heart.
But for now, I force a smile, and he lets me go.
CHAPTER 8
Ella
My datefor tonight is Cheezy, and he is a complete douche bag. By the time we arrive at the Knights’ clubhouse in his beat-up chevy truck, I have figured out three things about him that I know for absolute certainty.
One, he’s a wannabe big-talker who will one day get himself killed by either the Knights, or whatever organized crime gang he’s trying hard to be a part of. Actually, correction—he could be murdered by anyone he comes into contact with, because he is so fucking annoying.
