Page 1 of First Comes Blood

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Chiara

In one moment, your entire world can shatter.

Irreparable.

Absolute.

Final.

I’m living in a perverse, inverted Cinderella tale of wealth, privilege, and protection. At the stroke of midnight, it’s ripped away until I have nothing left. Not even a fairy godmother to pat my cheek and tell me it will be all right.

Nothing will be all right ever again. I belong to them now. My devil princes. Rulers of this city. Harbingers of disaster. Four men who are as dangerous as they are handsome and as brutal as sin. They hold my life in their hands, and I’m their plaything. A pawn to increase their power in this corrupt city.

They’ll take what I love and make it bleed.

But none of this has happened yet. It’s not quite midnight on my birthday, and my virginal white dress is clean without even a spot of blood.

My life and heart are in one piece, for a few more hours at least.

Tick tock.

* * *

Candles light the dining room,and there are fresh flowers along every wall. The table has an elegant centerpiece in black and gold—Dad’s signature colors—and gleams with crystal glasses, silver cutlery, and white bone china. The napkins resemble lotus flowers that are spreading their petals on each dinner plate.

Hanging from the ceiling is a baby blue banner that reads,Seventeen today!

It’s affectionate and kitschy. That will be my mother’s touch, and my heart lifts at the sight. Maybe this will be a happy night after all, and over dinner I can ask my father about going to college, and this time he won’t walk away or change the subject.

There’s no time for my mind to run away with this daydream because the moment I enter the room, I’m called to heel.

“Chiara, come here.”

Obediently, I go and stand before my father. He’s dressed in a tuxedo, spotlessly neat and groomed. His thick black hair is swept back, and a few silver threads glisten among the strands. He’s a powerful man, in all senses. Big and imposing with flashing eyes and broad shoulders, but a powerful man politically, too. He’s the Mayor of Coldlake. We’re wealthy. Influential. Untouchable. People like to tell lies about my family, but the rumors never stick. Bad things seem to happen to our enemies, and they just melt away.

Over his shoulder, Mom’s hovering, her hands tightly clasping her elbows, her too-thin face even more gaunt than usual. She’s wearing a long black evening gown, her blonde hair is coiffed, and she’s sparkling with jewels, but her dark eyeshadow makes her face look like a skull.

A specter at the feast.

We studiedMacbethin school a few months ago, and the idea that a mournful spirit has come to my birthday party flits across my mind.

I flash Mom a reassuring smile while Dad inspects me from head to toe, from the tiara tucked into my blonde hair to the white chiffon gown that skims my body and pools at my feet. I don’t know why he’s looking at me like he’s never seen this dress before. He chose it for me. I look like a sacrificial virgin on my seventeenth birthday.

I fiddle nervously with the diamond earrings hanging from my earlobes, and he slaps my hand away.

“Stop that. It makes you look nervous, and nerves are for the weak. Do you want to look weak?”

“In front of who?” I peer past him to the table, wondering who’s coming to dinner. Dad’s been dropping cryptic remarks about an honored guest for weeks but won’t tell me anything else. I count the place settings on the oval mahogany table.

Me.

Mom.

Dad.

And…four more places?

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