Page 1 of Lethal Vows

CHAPTER1

Rya

Fourteen years ago

My feet dragon the cobblestones. It’s hot, and I don’t mean cool-breeze-flowing-up-my-shirt hot. I mean, damnhot. It’s meant to start cooling down in Rome in September, but here we are, and I wish I could tear off my clothes. But my father may very well kill me if I did that, even if he isn’t here right now.

I know he would find out.

That’s what happens when he has connections—everywhere.

I walk past restaurants, and people nod to me and quickly look away.

I’m only sixteen, but they all know who I am. It’s in their best interests, and they would be silly not to. My sister laughs as she kicks off her shoes and starts running ahead, not concerned about our father’s wrath or how we’re viewed or should be acting. She’s three years younger than me and somewhat free-spirited. I have no doubt she’ll be giving Papa a run for his money when she turns sixteen.

I look back to Marco, who has basically been our bodyguard for as long as I can remember. He’s shaking his head but trying to hide a smirk. She wants to see the Colosseum together one more time before I leave. Butterflies dance in my stomach with excited energy at the thought of the one-way ticket to New York I’ll be putting to use in only a few hours. Who am I to deny my little sister one more outing before I leave? It also gives me time to say goodbye for the last time to my friends.

“Rya.” Tourists walk around us as Honey yells out my name. She’s easy to spot even amidst the crowd with her bright pink dress and dangling shoes in hand. We are a stark contrast as I wear my sandals with baggy jeans and a cropped T-shirt. I sure as hell should have worn a dress, it would have been much cooler.

“I don’t want you to go.” Honey runs at me, her arms wrap around my waist, and I awkwardly brush my hand down her back to return the hug. Honey’s hair is long and chestnut colored—she takes after her mother, my stepmother—whereas mine is almost caramel in color.

I’m going to live with my mother, which does not make my father happy. But I feel like living here, I can’t reallylive.

I know that’s not the entire reason.

What I mean is I can’t live without being watched.

And I’m always watched living here.

I hate it.

I want to sneak out.

I want to kiss a boy I don’t know.

I want to be felt up without the fear of one of my father’s men shooting him for touching me.

I want it all.

I want my freedom.

And yet, it breaks my heart to leave Honey. I love her. Yes, she can be annoying like any other little sister. But for as long as I can remember, I have put her to sleep every night by reading a book to her.

Who’s going to read to her now?

Her mother drinks—a lot.

Our father—he’s always busy.

So it’s just her and me against the world.

It’s been fun.

But I want to escape.

No, I need to escape so badly that I want to pull my own hair from my scalp. But how do I explain that to a thirteen-year-old?

“I’m sure you and Papa will come visit me in New York, and I’ll come back here for visits as well,” I say, trying to reassure her.

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