Page 1 of Dreadful
Prologue
Sever
Fifteen years ago
“The butler, the maids, and gardener… The driver, capo, and priest… The judge, godmother-and-father, to them I beg to leave. To them I beg to leave.”
There she goes again.
The girl’s silly song wakes me from my post-lunch nap. When I sit up too quickly, I swallow back a groan. The bruises from the capo’s fists aren’t as bad today, but they still suck.
I should be used to all of this by now. Every day has been the same since I was shoved into this tiny room by one of my father’s men.
No…one of myuncle’smen.
The capo was supposed to be loyal, but no one devoted to my father would kidnap and beat his ten-year-old son. They’d die for their Boss before betraying him. Which means my uncle is gaining supporters and his feud with my father has somehow gotten worse.
My mother thinks I’m too young to learn the business, but there’s no escaping it when I’m torn in the middle. The rivalry between my father and his half brother runs deep. From the moment my uncle was born, they’ve had to pretend not to hate each other “for the good of the Family.” My father tries to keep their arguments private to avoid being seen as weak. That secrecy and his stubborn need to win are probably why no one’s rescued me yet. My uncle wants something, and he’s threatening my life to get it. But this is Family business, and Family business is always kept quiet, even when someone gets hurt.
Especiallywhen someone gets hurt.
While the girl keeps singing, I rub my eyes, still blurry from a nap that’s made me more tired than before. Once my vision clears, I glance at the basement’s small bulletproof window to figure out what time it is. The window is high up the wall and level with the garden outside. But even through the bushes and flowers, the setting sun’s pink sky beams against my aunt’s flowery wallpaper.
It’s plastered on every wall throughout the Vincelli brownstone, and my mom hates it. She says one of Boston’s oldest and nicest homes on Beacon Hill should always be in style. I’m surprisedzia Antonellabothered wallpapering this room at all. It’s not like they let guests come down here, so I don’t know why she tried to make the underboss’s jail cell look pretty.
I’ve been to this house plenty of times for Sunday dinner, but never as a prisoner. I always thought myziawas a good woman like my mother, only caught up in our messed-up world like we all are. I was wrong, though. She knows exactly what’s going on in this house, and she’s letting it happen.
My eyes pinch closed at the thought.
The girl’s odd melody seeps through the wall and into my mind. If our plan works tonight, this will be the last time I hear it. The thought weirdly makes my chest hurt.
Even after being stuck next door to each other for days, this song is pretty much all I know about her. Every time the guards hear us we get punished, so we always wait until they’re gone to talk about anything and everything besides ourselves. I think she’s younger than me, maybe seven? I don’t care, since she’s still wicked cool and way smarter than any of the kids in my class at St. Catherine’s.
The words she’s made up are to a familiar tune, “Three Blind Mice.” I hear it all the time during recess while the girls jump rope, but her lyrics are somehow even creepier than the original. I think she’s trying to make herself feel better before the strange man comes by again.
She stops mid-song with a sharp inhale. Heavy footsteps grow louder as they come toward us down the hallway, and I hold my breath with her. My fingers hurt as they squeeze the sheets beneath me, but I’m prepared if I need to make a break for it.
The fading light flickers through the window, dancing shadows on the walls. When the leaves outside wave in the wind, they trick me into thinking the door is opening, and all my muscles try to jolt out of my skin and flee.
It’s not dark enough yet, which means it’s too early for what we had planned. What if she’s not ready?
I swallow the need to throw up as the steps come closer. There’s no way I’m looking away from the door, not even to hurl up my late lunch.
“Fucking gardener,” the capo grumbles. “I’ll call in a replacement tomorrow.Quell’idiotastepped on garden shears and nearly cut his toe off. Antonella saw the whole thing.”
He passes by our rooms, and relief slows my racing heart. I want to get the hell out of here, but this plan the girl has made up is missing major parts that she won’t tell me. It makes me nervous that I don’t know what she has in mind, and if she gets hurt because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.
Once the capo’s voice completely disappears down the hallway, I release the mattress from my death grip and collapse to my side. I’m facing the wall between me and the girl when I hear a slight rustling. Three small knocks thump against the wall next to my head, and I smile.
“Boy?” Her whisper hisses through the vent at the head of my bed. I return the knocks without hesitation and roll onto my stomach so I can answer.
“I’m here,girl.”
“You always make fun of me for calling you that.” Her melodic giggle makes my grin widen. “It’s our last night. Will you finally tell me your name?”
I sigh. “I can’t. But maybe if you tell me yours—”
“Yeah, right.” She snorts. “If you don’t give me your name, I’m not giving you mine.”
