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CHAPTER 1
AURORA
Age Twelve
The first time I saw him.
My father holds my hand as he guides me across an abandoned parking lot. They’re looking for something, or should I say, someone. I hold my breath against the smell. It smells rotten in here, like dead flesh. There are men all around us.
Guards. My father is a very important man. And important men need people to guard them.
“Search the area,” my father orders, his tone low and foreboding. He sounds scary and intimidating. But then my father always sounds like that. “Find that little shit.”
Some of the men disperse. Their movements are frantic as they check behind the cars and the columns in the dark area.
“Who are they looking for, Papa?” I ask quietly.
He looks down at me and I realize he must have forgotten I was here, despite his tight grip on my hand. My father does that sometimes; forgets our existence. We’re not that important to him. The only thing he cares about is his job. He’s never said it. But I know it.
His expression tightens because my presence is an inconvenience. His brown eyes grow a little darker. I’m not supposed to be here right now. He never brings us with him to stuff like this. But I was in the car with him. He was going to drop me off at my friend’s house for my sleepover when he received the call. I didn’t want to be left alone in the car. I insisted that he bring me along.
Another thing about my father is that he’s not very good at saying no to us. Ever since our mother died, we almost always get what we want from him. Anything we want apart from his attention, that is.
“A thief, principessa. They’re looking for a thief,” he murmurs before looking away again, eyes trailing the dark area.
Who would be crazy enough to steal from my Papa?
“Found him!” one of the men shouts in Italian a few minutes later.
My heart starts to thud in my chest as someone is dragged out from behind a black car. The person is held by the scruff of his neck, and I stare as the small, gangly body is pulled toward us. When they’re within reach, the person is flung at my father’s feet and forced to kneel.
I let out a soft gasp at the sight of him. It’s a young boy. I have no idea how old, but I doubt he’s much older than me. His features are dark, sharp, and completely blank. It’s striking, the way he looks at my father. Most people cower before the Don. He should be begging for his life by now, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. My father cocks his head to the side at the sight.
One of the men steps forward and presses a gun to his neck. It’s Sebastian, my father’s right-hand man. His underboss.
“Do you have any idea who you’re standing in front of, fucker?” Sebastian questions. “Lower your eyes!”
The boy merely continues to stare like we’re all an inconvenience. Like he couldn’t care less about the situation he’s found himself in. He’s in a terrible state. One of his intense blue eyes is nearly swollen shut and his face has a layer of grime over it. He looks homeless.
He probably is homeless and starved. Pity wells within me.
“Tell me about him,” my father says after several moments have passed.
One of his men steps forward and hands him a tablet. My father watches something on it. I still haven’t moved, my gaze fixed on the boy. I’m holding my breath, wondering what will happen next.
“We caught him on camera, boss,” the man beside my father is saying. “He’s the one who infiltrated the drug deal a few days ago. He stole those documents.”
“He’s smart, I’ll give him that,” my father states as he watches what I’m guessing is a video. “Quick-footed, too. He knew he’d be underestimated, and he used that to his advantage. No one paid any attention to the starving boy who found his way into the middle of the drug deal seconds before everyone involved died.”
My hands grow sweaty. This boy did that?
Of course, he did, though. There’s a danger lurking around him—an unnatural darkness. His presence is making me nervous. My father takes a step closer, leaving my side. Very slowly, he lowers his body down in front of the boy, who is still on his knees. The boy’s eyes are still fixed on the Don in a glare.
He’s brave. But foolish. My father will kill him.
“Who sent you?” my father asks in a low tone.
The boy doesn’t reply.
