by Chloe Walsh
"She is your mother and he is your identical twin," Dad seethed. "She left me, Romi. That worthless cunt left us both, and she took my son with her!"
"I must say, traditora, it took me a very long time to recover your little family. I have had men hunting them down since they day you turned my family to ash." Raffaele took a drag of his cigar before adding, "Your pretty wife hid your heir well – almost well enough."
"She didn't hide him," Dad snarled, visibly shaking. "She stole him away from me, right beneath my damn nose."
"Pot, kettle, black," Raffaele mused, exhaling a cloud of smoke.
"No." I shook my head, refuting his words. "My mama died when I was six."
"She was not your mama, fool!" Dad roared, livid. "She was your night-nurse. The woman I hired to give you nourishment when that whore stole my son and left you behind for me to deal with."
"I didn’t leave her. I was trying to save our son from becoming you. A monster!" the woman screamed back.
"She was eight weeks old, you cunt!" Dad roared, pointing a finger at the woman. "She would have starved to death if Loretta hadn't stepped in."
"Ah, karma is indeed a true bitch, Calisto," Raffaele chuckled. "However, unlike me, you will have a chance to say goodbye to your beloved family." Raffaele smiled. "Before I turn them into ash."
"No," the woman sobbed, clutching her son – my brother. "Don’t hurt him."
"Oh…so I should hurt her?" Raffaele asked sweetly, gesturing to where I was attempting to remain upright.
"No!" the woman screamed, while my father remained rigid. And silent. "Raff, you can't. You loved that little girl like she was your own. She and –"
"If you're really my mother, then why didn't you take me, too?" The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to register what I was doing. Trembling violently and not one bit sorry for my outburst, I stared at the woman who was supposed to be my mother and a sob broke through. "Why'd you pick him over me?" Sniffling, I looked to my father. "Why'd you pick him over me?" Tears trickled down my cheeks as I stared at my so-called twin. "Why didn’t anyone pick me?"
"I'm so sorry, Ramona," the woman sobbed. "I tried to get you out – I swear I did. But I…" sniffling, she took a deep breath, "I couldn’t cope with two children, and I thought you'd be okay. You were sworn to –"
"Don’t talk to her," Dad bellowed. "Ever. Again."
Remaining completely emotionless, Seth continued to stare straight at me, ignoring everyone else around us. His stare was so impassive that it frightened me. Did he have any feelings at all?
"I am growing bored of this reunion," Raffaele drawled in a lazy tone. As graceful as a lion, he strolled over to where my brand-new family were cornered and pulled a gun from his holster. "Now, who's first?"
"Not my son," Dad begged, eyes bloodshot, as his frantic gaze flicked between Raffaele and the boy. "You agreed, Raffaele. My daughter for my son. You swore –"
"Fair enough." Moments later, one of his armed men stepped forward and dragged me away from my father.
"Dad!" I screamed, trying and failing to break out of the relentless hold the man had on me. "Daddy, don’t let him do this to me! Help me…"
"Shh, little pet." With my back to his chest, Raffaele wrapped his huge bicep around my body and hissed, "This is what you want, Calisto?" I felt the barrel of the gun dig into my temple. "Your daughter for your son?"
"Ramona," my father spluttered, awareness finally dawning on him. His heart finally seemed to reconnect with his head and horror filled his eyes as he whispered, "Forgive me."
My father said forgive me.
Not don’t hurt her.
Not stop, or I've changed my mind.
Just forgive me.
My poor fractured heart shattered into a bazillion pieces.
Tears clouded my vision and I clenched my eyes shut and held my breath, preparing for the pain that was sure to come.
"I have had a change of heart," Raffaele mused, lowering the gun from my temple.
My breath escaped me in a sudden rush and I felt myself grow weak. "She will not die for your mistakes today."
Now, collapsing on my potential murderer wasn't the plan, but that's exactly what happened. Legs buckling beneath me, I fell against Raffaele, fully expecting him to let me hit the deck like a sack of potatoes.
Shockingly, he didn’t.
Hooking an arm around my middle, Raffaele kept me pinned to his chest. "You have two choices, Calisto." He tossed his gun to my father. "But you have one bullet, so do not be foolish."
As he said the words, every man in the room cocked the hammers on their guns.
"As I said," Raffaele continued, still holding me up. "I am prepared to offer you two choices –"
"I choose whichever one keeps me alive," my father growled, hammer cocked.
"Such a survivalist," Raffaele chuckled, petting my hair like you would a small child. "I will keep your daughter. That is not up for negotiation. However, I will give you the chance to walk out of here with your son."
My father's hand trembled slightly and I could tell right then and there that he was intrigued.
"In return, all you have to do is kill his mother," Raffaele added and the boy, Seth, hissed out a sharp breath.
"Don’t you fucking dare," my brother warned, showing emotion for the first time. "That's my mother, you sick son of a bitch!"
"Or…" Raffaele continued. "You can do the honorable thing for once in your life and put that pistol in your mouth." Sighing heavily, he added. "You die, and your family gets to live. All three of them."
I thought it would take my father longer than five seconds to make his decision, but it didn’t even take that.
He raised the gun and pulled the trigger before Raffaele finished speaking, sending a bullet of lead into the forehead of the woman who'd given birth to his children.
"No!" I screamed as the woman collapsed in a lifeless heap on the floor. "What did you do!"
"You fucking monster!" Seth roared, breaking free from his restraints. Dropping to his knees beside her limp frame, he pulled her into his arms. "Mom."
"Take her to Carmella's chamber," Raffaele ordered, handing me off to one of his men. "And do not harm her, Alberto. Not yet, at least."
Crying loud and ugly, I watched, trance-like, as Seth rocked her back and forth in his arms. "Mom. Mom…" Another pained cry tore from his chest and he turned his furious gaze on our father. "I will never go with you. Do you hear me? Fucking never!"
"Your precious heir hates you now, Calisto," Raffaele drawled. "What a shame."
Dad paled. "Son –"
"I am not your son!" Seth roared back, clutching his dead mother in his arms. "I was her son and you took her from me!"
"How does betrayal feel, Calisto?" I heard Raffaele goad as the man carried me from the room. "Because revenge tastes delicious."
12
Sketch
For the first time in what felt like forever, voices penetrated my thoughts.
New voices.
Unfamiliar voices.
"You don’t understand –"
"It would be safer to say nothing, asshole."
"Bolillo, put a bullet in this prick already and let's go."
"Did Cal send you… no, god, please! Just… don’t hurt him!"
The hell?
Blinking my eyes open, I glanced around the sterile room, feeling both confused and blinded by the light pouring through the big ass window.
My last thought before I closed my eyes was Romi.
My first, upon opening them again, was Romi.
Nothing new there.
"Where is she?" I tried to ask, but the words didn’t come out right. "Rom –" Whoa, gagging on the tubes in both my mouth and nose, I swiped a hand up to get them the hell off me. Disorientated, I yanked my make-shift plumbing out and groaned loudly, ignoring the voices conversing around me.
"You sure this is the kid?"
"Yep. Pretty sure."
; "Aye, Bolillo, the things I do for you."
Feeling weak, I raised a hand to my face and touched my fingers to my temple, desperate to soothe the ache. My gaze then drifted to a tall, blond dude sporting a man-bun. He was dressed in jeans and a hoodie and leaning against the closed door of what I presumed was a hospital room.
My hospital room?
Or was I in my bedroom?
I couldn’t tell anymore.
Jesus Christ.
Danger. I knew I was in it, surrounded by it, facing it. Problem was, I wasn't seeing the whole picture. I was blinded and at a disadvantage. Something was off. My whole damn life was off. Asking questions wasn’t getting me anywhere.
I needed a goddamn break.
No, I needed Romi.
Right fucking now!
"Who the fuck are you?" I managed to slur, vision blurring in and out.
"The name's Lucky. Your buddy the cowboy sent me." Smirking, the man inclined his chin towards me. "Hurts like a bitch the first time you get shot, huh?"
"Ah yes," another grizzly looking man mused fondly as he appeared in my peripheral vision, armed with a sawed-off shot gun. "I remember it well."
Shot? "What the fuck –" I was too hoarse and croaky to make sense of anything. Trying again, I cleared my throat, licked my lips, and released a pained groan. "Romi." I swallowed again. "Where's my girl?"
"Took me three days to locate you, fullback," the blond man said. "Your daddy did a mighty fine job at making you disappear." Grinning, he walked over to my bed and sat down. "Unlucky for him, I'm all too familiar with the underground Mexican healthcare system." He withdrew a big-ass syringe from the pocket of his hoodie and flicked the cap off. "You and I are gonna take a ride, fullback."
It was at that exact moment in time that I registered the man bound and gagged in the corner and the monitors surrounding me decided to go haywire, beeping and flashing wildly. Squinting, I tried to focus on the man's savagely beaten face.
Holy shit. "Dad?"
"Sleep well, kid," the blond guy said moments before he stuck me in the neck with the damn needle.
Motherfucker!
13
Romi
For the second time in my life, I'd watched somebody take their last breath.
For the second time in my life, that person had been of significant importance to me.
First, Chris.
Then, my mother.
Numb.
I couldn’t feel a thing.
Not anymore.
Not ever again.
Having spent most of the night vomiting and dry-heaving, I collapsed on the plush, queen-sized bed in the luxurious room I'd been shown to.
Rolling onto my side, I curled up in the smallest ball I could and just…stayed like the good girl I was.
Stay, Romi.
Run, Romi.
Quiet, Romi.
Forgive me, Romi.
Lies.
Lies.
More fucking lies.
Nothing made sense anymore and everything was lifeless and ugly.
Blood, bullets, betrayal, and destruction.
It was all around me now.
Sniffling, I stroked my nose against the back of my hand and closed my eyes.
It's a lie.
Your life.
His life.
All of it.
And just like that, Sketch's voice filled my mind, sending a trembling shudder through my body…
"Hey, Ro? The ground wasn't moving. We were on a boat…"
And now you're back.
"The boy behind the door," I breathed, mulling his name over and over in my mind until I felt a wave of calmness sweep over me. Electric blue eyes. They were all I could think about – all I could focus on as the walls of my confinement closed in around me. "Sketch likes to sketch…"
Eyelids lulling from a mixture of trauma and sheer exhaustion, I allowed sleep to claim me, knowing that in my dreams, he would keep me company…
Winter formal officially sucked ass.
Of course, it was only junior year, so I always had next year to look forward to, not to mention senior prom, but if this was a preview of how they would go, then I might just pass.
Slumped at a table, while my so-called boyfriend played Cards Against Humanity with his sidekick, I felt invisible.
Why couldn’t Presley bring a date with him to keep me company while he and Chris did their thing?
It wasn’t that I was jealous that Chris spent most of his time with Pres, I understood that they were best friends, but it made me realize just how much I missed mine.
Or should I say, my former best friend, who was currently skulking in the corner of the festively decorated gym with his football buddies, and slugging back a fifth of vodka like it was going out of style.
Watching Sketch from a distance hurt, and if I stared too long, I was in danger of ruining my makeup.
A wistful sigh escaped my lips and I quickly tore my gaze away from his back.
Keep it together, Romi.
You're here with Chris.
Your boyfriend, remember?
Ignoring Chris and Presley, who were too wrapped up in their game to notice I was even present, I concentrated on reorganizing my clutch. After that, I decided to give the photo album in my cell a little clear out. Scrolling through and dumping a couple of hundred screenshots – aka: receipts – of mundane he-said/she-said social media drama, I grew bored and tossed it back in my purse.
What a waste.
Daddy had paid forty-five hundred for my backless, yellow silk, couture dress and Chris had yet to ask me for a dance.
I wasn’t high maintenance, dammit, but this was freaking ridiculous. We were just shy of our one-year anniversary, supposed to be in that loved-up, honeymoon period, and yet Chris hadn't paid me more than five minutes of attention all night.
I wasn't expecting him to serenade me, one freaking dance would suffice, but oh no, he was too busy bromancing it up with his bestie.
Huffing out a breath, I reached for my cup of spiked punch and tossed it back. And then, for good measure, I grabbed Chris's full cup and tossed that back. too.
Eyes burning from the taste, I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth and willed my throat to stop burning. It was at that exact moment my eyes returned to Sketch, who was now looking straight at me.
Fuck.
Shit.
Dang.
Quickly averting my gaze, I reached for Presley's untouched punch and drained it in three huge gulps, all while my heart hammered violently in my chest.
Just breathe, Romi.
Don’t freak out.
So what if he caught you staring at him?
Just –
"Dance with me."
Huh?
Startled, I looked up and bit back a sob.
All night I'd been desperately trying to avoid Sketch, and now he was here, standing in front me, looking divine in a tux, and offering me exactly what I wanted.
Selena Gomez's Back To You wafted from the speakers, and I felt another piece of my heart chip away.
"Dance with me," Sketch repeated, tossing his jacket on the empty chair next to mine.
"Wh-what? Now?"
"Well, tonight would be good," he shot back, and the smell of alcohol on his breath was potent.
"I, I, I…I, but we, and you –"
"Stop doing that with your mouth. It makes you look like a fish." He tipped my chin up with his thumb, causing my mouth to snap shut. "Now, get up and dance with me."
Feeling slightly buzzed and completely off balance, I climbed shakily to my feet, all the while praying that my pounding heart remained behind my ribcage.
"You look nice," I whispered, unsure of what else to say. Besides, it was a total understatement. He was by far the best-looking guy here. The dark waistcoat and crisp white shirt only emphasized his muscles. "And drunk."
"Oh really, because you look like mine," he drawled, tucking one hand into his pants pocket, as he st
ared down at me. "And bored."
"I look like…" My heart seized in my chest and I quickly looked around to see if anyone else had heard. "Wh-what did you say?"
His eyes, bleary and bloodshot, still burned with heat. "Let's go."
"You okay there, Sketch?" Chris asked good-naturedly, finally noticing our tense interaction.
"I'm taking my girl back," Sketch replied, voice slurring a little as he reached for my hand and tucked me under his arm.
The brothers stared each other down for the longest moment, before Sketch grinned. "For a dance, that is."
"Oh." Chris laughed lightly. "Good one, bro."
Meanwhile, my heart pumped so hard in my chest, I felt faint. I could feel the tears burning at the back of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
"Chris, do you mind?" Anxious, I looked to my boyfriend who gave me the green light with a supportive thumb's up before returning to his all-important card game with Presley.
Lovely.
Just freaking lovely.
Breathing labored, I followed Sketch onto the dancefloor, ignoring the wide-eyed stares we were receiving, as he swung me out for a twirl and then quickly pulled me back to his chest, moving our bodies in rhythm with the music.
With one hand pressed possessively to my lower back, he tenderly placed my arm around his neck and then did the same with the other hand.
Tears pooled in my eyes and I carefully kept them open, not daring to blink. I knew if I did, the dam would burst. Blinking tears away never worked when wearing mascara. Therefore, I had to stare them back to hell.
My hands resting on his shoulders were trembling, my own shoulders rigid. My throat felt like sawdust, my heart crushed to pieces. I was seventeen years old and still completely in love with the boy who broke my heart. I was still in love with my boyfriend's brother.
"Pretend," he murmured in my ear, pulling my body flush against his, hands moving to rest on my hips. "Just for one dance."
I didn’t need to ask him what he meant by that.
I already knew.
Trembling, I pressed my cheek to his chest and let myself wrap my arms around his waist. This was a terrible idea, one guaranteed to crush my heart to tiny, irreparable pieces, and still, I was all in. Because three minutes of pretending with Sketch was worth the next six months I would undoubtedly spend in therapy.
