Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

AURORA

Age Twelve

T he 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.

"You don't need to tell me. I'm sure it was one of the cartels. Let me guess. Powell's gang? They tend to be quite foolish. Those documents you stole have been rendered useless by now. Which means you put your life in danger for nothing, kid. All for what? Enough money to buy a meal? Did they even pay you?"

My father places a hand on the child's jaw. He fights against the touch for a second, but Uncle Sebastian presses the gun further into his neck, and the boy goes still.

"They probably didn't give you what you were owed, judging by the state of your face. What's your next plan, then? You'll continue to live on the streets? You're a brave little thing, aren't you? How long do you plan to live like this? I can give you a better offer. How about you come to work for me?"

That gets a reaction. The arching of a dark eyebrow. But he still doesn't say a word.

"Your silence isn't doing you any favors right now, kid," Papa says. "What's your name?"

Still nothing. Finally, my father stands. He sighs before waving a hand through the air.

"I despise killing children, but he leaves me no choice. Sebastian, kill him once we're gone. Come, Aurora."

Uncle Sebastian doesn't need any more prompting, but my heart jumps into my throat at the pronouncement.

"No," I whisper.

It's practically under my breath, but my father hears. And the boy does, too. The boy with the intense blue eyes slowly looks towards me. My heart squeezes, and I suddenly feel breathless. I don't like him looking at me. My father's looking at me too, a question in his expression.

I look up at him, swallowing softly.

"Don't kill him, Papa. Please."

I have no idea why I'm begging for his life. I don't know this stranger. And I never interfere in my father's business.

My father stares at me, gaze questioning. Finally, he looks towards Sebastian.

"My daughter has interceded for him. We'll take him with us. Maybe a few days in confinement will loosen his tongue," my father announces, still looking down at me. "You will be in charge of him, principessa . Do you understand?"

I swallow once again. I don't want to be in charge of this boy with the intimidating gaze and unnatural darkness. But I don't have much of a choice. Whatever my father says is law, and he has granted me this upon my request.

"Yes, Papa."

He leads me out of the dark parking lot and toward the car. But I can't help taking one last look at the boy. His eyes follow me as I walk with my father. I wish I could tell if he was grateful.

Or if he hates me for saving him from his fate.

As my father requested, I take responsibility for his care. Every day, I go down to one of the buildings in our compound where dangerous people are confined. I go there with food for him. He takes the food, but he doesn't speak to me. He doesn't do much at all except glare at me from the inside of his cell. I'm not daunted though.

I speak to him sometimes. Tell him about my day, stupid stuff that he definitely doesn't care about. It's only a slight change, but over some time, I notice he starts to relax. He stops glaring when I appear in front of his cell.

It takes him weeks to tell me his name. To say anything at all. When he does, his voice is just as cold as the rest of him. His tone is always controlled.

"Can you do me a favor?" he asks.

I'm so shocked that he spoke to me that all I can do is stare with my mouth parted.

"Why are you suddenly staring at me like you're mute or something?" he asks, rolling his eyes.

I still have no words.

I'm the one acting like I'm mute? He hasn't said a word in three weeks!

"Can you do me the favor or not?" he asks again.

For a homeless kid with nothing to his name, he sure does seem entitled. No one has ever spoken to me like this before. It's different, but I don't dislike it.

"What's your name?" I finally ask once I recover.

Those intense blue eyes stare me down for a minute. It feels very long, that minute. He has the ability to suck you in with his gaze. It makes me nervous. Because I have no way of telling what he's thinking.

When he finally replies, his voice is low, and I get the feeling he'd rather not say his name. But he does.

"My name is Nicolas. But you can call me Nico, princess."

"Don't call me that," I snap. Everyone calls me a princess, and I hate it.

Nico raises a dark eyebrow. "What would you prefer I call you?"

"Aurora. My name is Aurora."

"All right Aurora," he states, leaning backward in his cell, the picture of control. He says my name like a threat. There is absolutely nothing normal about this boy. He's the one in the cell and yet, I'm the one feeling like I'm cornered. "Are you going to help me?"

I really shouldn't. I should run away. Get out of here and have the guards lock the doors behind me. My father won't kill him now. I doubt he even remembers his existence. The danger to his life has passed. If I request that he be let go, he probably will be. But I don't leave.

I stay put because there's something about Nico that calls to me. It's the unnatural darkness within him. It feels familiar yet frightening, and I want to get closer to it.

"What do you want me to do?" I ask.

And with those words, I'm pretty sure I have sealed my fate. Nico smirks, like I've played right into his hands. And I can't help a shiver.

Maybe I should have let my father kill him.