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“If I die, I’ll haunt you till the end of your days.”
Graham chuckles. With a gentle press on the accelerator, the car shoots forward. The world outside becomes a blur of colors and my heart speeds up. Wind whips through my hair and I can’t contain a scream as we zoom around the track. Graham’s laugher mingles with the roar of the engine, creating a symphony of speed and joy.
And maybe it’s the sound of his laugh, but I start to feel my apprehension fade away. He increases the speed and I scream again. This time, it’s one of exhilaration as I feel a rush of adrenaline.
Graham was right. He’s good at this. His expert driving makes every moment on the track much more intense. There’s a certain confidence he exudes as we drive faster than I’ve ever driven before. I shout with excitement as the wind blows across my face.
And I finally realize what he meant by feeling everything. My heart is pounding. I know without a doubt I’m never going to be able to forget this. After what feels like forever, the car starts to slow and we come to a stop at the end of the track.
When I look at Graham, my heart skips several beats. There’s no denying the bright spark in his eyes. He really loves this. I’ve never seen him look this alive before. We stare at each other for a few seconds until a lazy swirl of tension begins to creep between us. I want to look away, but I find myself ensnared in his gaze, unable to do so. I swallow softly and something flares in his green eyes. They flicker to my lips and my pulse starts to flutter with wild abandon.
We agreed to be friends. Anything more would be too complicated, I remind myself. But I also really want to kiss him. I dream about kissing him sometimes. I dream about so much more than that.
Graham’s mouth opens and I prepare myself for what he’s about to say, but it never comes. One of the workers appears beside the car and the tension fizzles with an inaudible pop. With it gone, I’m able to focus on the adrenaline still buzzing through my veins. I look at Graham again with a smile.
“That was insane!”
He laughs. “Told you you’d love it, Sunshine.”
And he’s right. I really did.
My weakest moments happen when I’m asleep. When my defenses are low, my nightmares are able to creep into my subconscious. Assaulting, trapping me, leaving me with nowhere else to go and nothing else to do but feel.
It wouldn’t be so terrible if my nightmares weren’t really memories of the things I’ve had to experience.
“No!” my Papa snaps. “She needs to be able to perfect that dance. And this lesson will not end until she does so.”
He’s seated on a chair in the corner of the room, a glass of scotch in hand as he observes my dance lesson. My instructor swallows softly, terror in his expression as he faces my father. I don’t blame him. My papa is scary. Really scary.
“With all due respect, sir, she’s exhausted. I don’t think she’s going to be able to continue with the lesson.”
He’s right. I am tired. I’m breathing heavily and my knees are wobbly. But that’s not something he should be saying to my papa. Papa’s expression darkens and I brace myself for the inevitability of the next few moments. He’s my third dance instructor in the past four months. The first two simply disappeared. I don’t think my papa killed them, but I can never be too sure.
“Get out,” he says in a low rumble. “If you can’t train a ten-year-old to perfect a waltz then you’re fucking useless. I expect the money you were paid to be returned with interest in the next twenty-four hours. Failure to do so will result in a bullet in your skull.”
His words aren’t the scariest part. It’s the coolness with which he delivers the statement, without even blinking. The dance instructor’s face goes pale and there’s a grim acceptance in his expression. I guess when you enter into an agreement with Miguel Russo without understanding the risks. I wonder how much money my papa paid him. I wonder if he’ll be able to pay or if he’ll end up dead.
And it’s all because he was kind enough to suggest I take a break. We’ve at this for nearly two hours. Of course I’m tired. But my father doesn’t take kindly to weakness like that. Especially from me. I keep going until I’m about to die.
The instructor leaves and then it’s just me and my papa.
“Come here, Isabella,” he beckons.
I walk toward him. I recently learned about panthers in school. They reminded me of my papa. I have to be careful because I don’t know when he’ll strike.
“Are you tired?” he questions once I’m standing in front of him.
I shake my head resolutely. “No, Papa.”
“Good,” he states. “You don’t get to be tired. You have to be perfect in all areas. Dancing is one of them. Maybe one day when you’re older, you’ll be married off to the son of a Don or some other powerful man. These lessons will come in handy then. When you’re a wife, fulfilling your roles. That is the most important thing. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Papa.”
He gets to his feet and looks down at me. I’ve become accustomed to the feeling of fear whenever I’m with my papa. It’s a part of me now. He stretches his hand, gesturing for me to take it. I do, his large palm engulfing mine as he leads me out of the room. We walk down the steps to the lower part of the house.
The basement. My papa’s office. The place where he spends most of his time.
My fear intensifies but I refuse to show it. He opens the large red door and we enter. There are four men inside the room, and three of them stand at attention as we enter the room. The fourth man is on the floor. There’s blood all over him and his face is swollen and puffy. He looks awful and he’s in pain. My heart pinches.
