I sat next to my sister on the couch while we both numbly watched an episode of The Office.

The funny moments, all the “That’s what she saids” passed without even a smile.

My mamma had taken a bottle of wine and a Xanax up to her room, and she hadn’t made an appearance below stairs in hours.

After we gave our vague statements to the police—we’d been schooled on how to talk to cops at age four—we came here and hadn’t left the living room since. Our Uncle Marco and Dominic, his son, were both in the house, but since the incident at Francesco’s, the rest of the males in the family had been absent.

Red.

It was now dripping somewhere other than my uncle’s restaurant.

And I felt no remorse about it, just numb.

It was two a.m. when they decided to show up. The light in the living room flicked on, and the sound of steps and voices filled the foyer. Weight pressed down on my chest.

Papà came around the couch. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and his suit jacket was off, which he was never seen without, even on sweltering days like today. Not a good sign. I swallowed when I noticed the blood splattered against his white dress shirt.

Marco, Dominic, Manuel, Tony, Benito—who must have discharged himself from the hospital—Luca, and finally Nicolas filled the room. My gaze followed Nico, but he didn’t give me a glance. He still wore the same outfit from lunch, and his expression was unreadable as he leaned against the TV stand.

His fiancée had been impregnated by another man. Any Made Man would take that as a personal and grave insult, but as he finally flicked a thoughtful gaze to me, for some reason I wondered if that was even what was on his mind.

Eight men stared at my sister. They were going to try to intimidate the name right out of her.

“Phone,” Papà barked.

Adriana sat cross-legged on the couch in the white dress she’d worn to lunch, while I’d changed into shorts and a tee. She didn’t even look at our papà or acknowledge his demand. That had him grinding his teeth.

I grabbed her phone that sat on the couch between us, stood, and handed it to my papà. We’d already deleted every speck of Ryan’s existence from it.

Papà handed it to Dominic, who began searching through it.

“We’ll find out who it is, Adriana, so you might as well tell us,” Marco said. He was starting with a softer approach, but my papà wasn’t going for it.

“You’ll tell us, Adriana. Now. Or I swear to God you won’t see daylight again.”

My sister crossed her arms, her eyes flashing with defiance. That strategy would never work with Adriana, and Papà knew it. I thought one day he believed she would magically become compliant.

“We won’t kill him,” Marco said. “There’s a baby involved, it’s different.” He didn’t say it, but we all heard it: Different than me. Different than my situation.

When hope flickered in Adriana’s gaze, my stomach twisted.

“He’s lying,” I blurted.

Angry male eyes shot to me.

I swallowed, giving Nicolas a glance, but he still seemed to be a mile away.

Uncle Marco shook his head. “No, I’m not. We’re not going to kill him, Adriana. I promise.”

The glint of hope in her eyes grew a tiny bit more.

Panic flooded me. I knew that look in Benito’s gaze, in my brother’s.

Lie. It’s all a lie.

“They’re lying, Adriana,” I urged. “Don’t believe them.”

My pulse leapt into my throat as the back of Manuel’s hand came toward my face. I flinched, expecting the blow. When only a brush of air touched my cheek, I opened my eyes to see Nicolas’s hand wrapped around my uncle’s wrist.

“Hit a woman in front of me and you won’t be alive to do it again,” Nico growled.

Seconds passed before Manuel ripped himself from Nico’s grip and took a step back, his face red with disdain.

Papà watched the exchange with neutrality, but something close to displeasure played behind his eyes when he looked at Nico. My papà had never hit me—his distaste was for another reason than Nicolas stepping in, but I wasn’t sure what.

My mamma’s brothers had always been mean, except Marco. He was gentle, reserved, but at the slightest infraction, he was nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing on the hunt.

“Elena,” Papà barked. “Leave.”

I had never stood up to my papà before. However, I knew my sister; she was tough but gullible. She wanted to believe in her fairy-tale, so she would. And it would be the death of her prince.

I didn’t move.

“Elena.” My papà’s tone was colder than the Arctic and tinged with disbelief.

I was pulled by the desire to listen, yet my feet were frozen to the floor. I now stood on cheap apartment carpet, watching a similar scene play out before my eyes.

Papà flicked a gaze to Tony, who, with a look of contrition, came around the couch to me.

“I’m not leaving,” I protested.

“Come on, Elena. Let’s go.” Tony reached for my wrist, but I jerked it away. He sighed, before wrapping an arm around my waist and lifting me.

“Adriana, don’t do it,” I pleaded as Tony half carried me, half walked me with one arm to the door. “I promise you they’re lying.”

I knew the kind of guilt this carried around—let alone the heartbreak—and I couldn’t allow Adriana to live with the same.

Once my feet were in the hall, Tony shut the door, leaving me alone on the other side. I let out a noise of frustration, before smacking the wood with my palm. Sliding down the door with my thighs pressed to my chest, I listened to their voices seep through the cracks.

I waited and waited for the name Ryan to escape my sister’s lips.

It never did.

A clock ticked. Ice clinked in a tumbler glass. Cigar smoke hung in the air. And a certain distaste emanated from Salvatore sitting behind his desk.

I occupied a chair in front of it, leaning back with one elbow on the armrest. I was pretty sure he hated the way I sat like I was bored, so I’d continued to sit that way.

I wasn’t sure how long we’d been in his office, remaining silent, while Salvatore smoked his cigar, but something was building, and it wasn’t from me. Truthfully, I enjoyed the atmosphere. I could survive on tense, awkward silences alone.

“You can’t have her.” The words cut the quiet like a knife through the air.

My gaze found Salvatore’s through a haze of smoke. “I didn’t say I wanted her.”

He let out a sardonic breath, shaking his head. “Cut the shit, Ace. I know you want Elena, and she’s not on the table.”

My jaw ticked. I did not like being told what I couldn’t fucking have. “I don’t think you get to tell me what’s on the table, Salvatore. You fucked me over.”

Technically, his daughter fucked someone, but it was the same thing in our eyes. He’d breached the contract.

Salvatore puffed on his cigar one last time, before contemplatively putting it out. “Elena isn’t a possibility, even if I wanted to give her to you.” His gaze came to me, showing me that he didn’t. “She’s engaged.”