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“What are you looking at?” the leader demanded.
“Nothing,” my father insisted. “We don’t want any trouble.”
I managed to edge around my mom, so that I could at least see what was happening. The boy’s eyes were so dark that they were almost black, and they narrowed on me.
“Are you telling me that little shit,” he jerked his head at me, “didn’t see anything? Because I think he did. He was watching us like some kind of freak.”
I looked him dead in the eye and said, “I didn’t see anything.”
I didn’t say it out of fear, and my voice rang out clear and calm. I wouldn’t tell anyone about the theft I’d witnessed. They could trust me. I could be one of them.
My father tensed, his bulky frame seeming to expand to fill the space between us. Despite the muscle that roped his body, I knew he wouldn’t step up and fight. He was a self-proclaimed pacifist, a pitiful value he’d tried to instill in me.
The gang didn’t know that. They saw a threat, and they acted without hesitation.
The leader drew a gun from his belt in one smooth, practiced motion. The shot rang out before I could draw in a breath to shout a protest. My father fell, a crimson stain blooming on his crisp white shirt.
A red haze descended over my mind, protective fury overriding fear. They were attacking my family. My mother was screaming.
As she threw her slim body over my father’s in an attempt to shield him from further harm, I grabbed a bottle of beer from the shelf beside me. The glass smashed against the metal shelf, creating a jagged weapon in my hand. I launched myself at the leader, slashing in wild, feral rage.
Three gory gashes shredded his face. Another shot rang out as he shouted in agony.
The other boys grabbed their broken, sobbing leader and dragged him away. I stood my ground, breathing hard. The broken bottle was still gripped in my fist, my enemy’s blood dripping onto the cream tile floor.
“Massimo.” My mother said my name in a broken whisper.
I rounded on her, my body still thrumming with violent energy. I should go after the motherfuckers who’d threatened my family. If I didn’t make them pay, they might come back. They would kill my father, and…
His pale blue eyes were glassy, staring up at nothing.
My mother’s body was draped over his. She reached for me, her blood-soaked hand shaking as she removed it from the bullet wound in her belly. A red stain grew on her sunshine yellow dress, soaking the material until the blood spilled over to pool with my father’s on the floor.
Her caramel eyes were tight with agony as she stared at me, taking in the weapon in my hand.
Massimo. Her pale lips formed my name, but no sound came out except a wet death rattle. Her eyes went as dull as my father’s, but her jaw remained slack with horror, my act of violence the last thing she’d ever see.
She was utterly still and forever silenced, but I heard my name in her pained whisper over and over again. It echoed through my mind, shredding me.
“Massimo. Massimo, wake up.”
Soft hands grasped my shoulders, shaking me gently.
“It’s just a dream.” Evelyn’s melodic, soothing voice, promising safety and warmth.
I turned into her and buried my face in her silken hair, breathing in her addictive scent. She pressed a tender kiss to my chest and murmured my name again, the sweet sound layering over my mother’s final, horrified rasp.
I gathered Evelyn into my arms and held her close, allowing her gentle warmth and sweet scent to ground me to reality.
I wasn’t a scrawny little boy anymore. I was strong enough to protect this fragile woman. No one would harm my delicate little butterfly. I wouldn’t fail again.
Chapter 4
Evelyn
“Do you want to talk about it?” I murmured, brushing another soft kiss over his broad shoulder.
He didn’t answer for a long moment. His heartbeat was strong and too fast, thrumming against my own chest as he held me close.
