16. Isabella

My hands curl into fists and I pull my bottom lip between my lip as apprehension rolls through me. I woke up pretty excited about whatever it was Graham had planned, but that excitement fizzled out when Enzo informed me that there was going to be a business meeting at the house.

He's always been pretty good at keeping mafia business out of the house that our little cousins live in. But apparently, the location of the meeting is non-negotiable. It's with an important person or something like that. I don't really care. I tried to tell him to take it out of the house, he said no. We fought and I left, coming to see Graham.

Now I'm starting to think that was a bad idea. I stare at the maze of sleek curves winding gracefully into the distance and disappearing in a daunting endless expanse of track. My stomach rolls with nerves. I turn around just as Graham reappears.

He strolls towards me at a leisure pace, looking completely at ease. His hair gleams thick and glossy in the sunlight. He's wearing a blue jacket over a gray T-shirt and jeans that mold to his body like they were made for him. His biceps flex with every movement as he approaches. I notice he's wearing gloves. Thick black ones.

"I've thought about it," I start to say, "and it would be awful if I died today."

His lips twitch as he stands in front of me. "And why is that?"

I scramble for an excuse. "Because there's so much I haven't done. I've never been to Bhutan and Taiwan and so many other countries. I've never seen an aurora. Aurora's are so pretty, Gray. I can't die without seeing one."

"An aurora, huh?" Graham asks, deeply amused. His green eyes damn near twinkle and I get the sudden urge to punch his jaw. "Stop being so dramatic, Sunshine. I promise you'll get to do all those things before you die. You can get started on them after this ride."

"Graham," I sigh, "I don't do well in these kinds of situations."

I've never been that person chasing adrenaline or living life in the fast lane. The most adventurous thing I've done in the past year was going to that party in Boulder. And that turned out awful.

"That's because you've never tried, Isa," he says soothingly. "Come on, trust me. I promise nothing bad is going to happen. They wouldn't let me on to that track if they didn't think I could handle it. Plus, I've done this lot of times."

I swear there must be something wrong with me because why does one look at him have me nodding my head in agreement? He's an incredibly terrible influence. Graham grins.

"You'll love it, I promise."

I don't speak as the feeling of apprehension intensifies in my gut. Graham leads me toward the edge of the track where a sleek red car is waiting for us. One of the workers holds the passenger door open for me.

I slide in, feeling like cattle being led to slaughter. The door shuts and it's just me and Graham. In a convertible luxury car with the open air surrounding us.

Graham offers me a soft, reassuring look. His eyes trail over my face before shifting lower. He smiles before leaning out of his seat. I hold my breath as he reaches for my seatbelt, sliding it over my body and clicking it firmly in place.

"Safety first, Sunshine. We should also probably be wearing helmets," he informs me.

"Then why aren't we?" I question, feeling a flutter in my chest.

Although I'm not sure if it's due to nerves or his proximity.

He smirks as he leans away and I finally inhale. He puts on his own seatbelt before answering my question.

"Because I want you to feel all of it, Isabella."

He doesn't clarify the statement. After one last look at me, he starts the car. The purr of the engine as he does so hints at the power within.

"Ready, baby?" he asks, his voice filled with anticipation.

I can only imagine the smile playing on his lips. I can't look at him right now. My eyes trail the long winding track in front of us.

"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.

"Now, Isabella. This man here stole from me. What do you think I should do to him?" my father asks, crossing the room to sit behind his desk.

He leaves me standing there, in front of the bloodied man. He looks at me, pain in his expression and I stare back. I can't show any emotion, I can't show empathy. I want to cry but crying never got me anywhere. I know what I have to do. I've had to do it a lot of times. It doesn't make it any easier, though.

His eyes are brown. I always remember the color of their eyes. That's the only thing I know about them.

I muster the courage to say the words I don't mean. Words I wish I never had to say again. I lift my head, feigning confidence as I pronounce the brown-eyed man's sentence.

"Kill him, Papa."

That's the only answer I'm allowed to give. The only acceptable pronouncement. The first time I was brought here, when I was nine years old, I started to cry and I begged my papa not to kill the man. That earned me two nights locked up in my room and a stern lecture about what was expected of me. It was hard to learn, but I eventually figured out what I had to do.

It doesn't make it any less painful, though.

The man's expression crumbles and he starts to beg and cry. My gaze goes up to my father. He smiles and offers me a nod. This is the only time my father ever smiles at me. When I ask him to kill people.

"Take her to her room," he orders one of his men.

I'm glad. He never makes me watch him kill anyone. At least I don't have to see it. It's where he draws the line. Me watching a murder wouldn't be acceptable. But it doesn't make it easier.

I'm led out of the room and I fight the urge to turn back. My eyes well up with tears that I can't let fall.

My father is a monster. And I'm a monster's only child.

My eyes flutter open and heaviness settles over me. My heart aches as the pain of my childhood momentarily renders me heartbroken. I was so young back then. No ten-year-old should have to go through that. For the first few years of my life, my father mostly ignored me. Then, when he believed I was mature enough, he began to teach me the ways of the world. Or at least the ways according to him.

I always knew he hated me. After all, I was responsible for killing the only person he ever truly loved, my mother. But living with him was hell on earth. I had to survive through that hell for most of my life.

It's already six a.m. when I finally rise from my bed. I bury the memory and the heartache, shoving it all deep within me. If I don't think about my trauma then it doesn't exist.

My steps are light against the heated floors of my bedroom as I head for the bathroom. I might as well get in an early start to the day. It's Sunday and I have a few hours before it's time to go to church. I'll wake the twins up in two hours so they can get ready. Then I'll see if either Enzo or Rosa is interested in joining us. Enzo doesn't care much for church and Rosa attends her family's church whenever she goes.

I'm brushing my teeth when I get a text from Graham. Tingles roll through me at the sight of his name flashing across my screen but I ignore them.

Graham: Hey, Sunshine. Are you awake?

I arch an eyebrow before replying.

Me: Yes, I'm awake. But the real question is, why are you awake? Didn't you go to bed really late because you were working on that proposal?

He and I parted ways after dinner yesterday. He told me he had some work to catch up on and ignoring it was making him feel like he was about to break out in hives. I told him that was ridiculous and he works too much. He ignored me. I think he's still trying to prove himself. But from what I can tell, he's not the same person he was before. And anyone who can't see that is a dumbass.

Instead of a response to my text, my phone starts to ring with an incoming call. After spitting out the toothpaste in my mouth and rinsing it out, I answer.

"Your obsession with me is getting concerning, Gray," I say, making my voice flat even though there's a smile on my face.

His voice is low and husky from sleep. I practically melt when he speaks.

"You can't blame me for being obsessed, Isa. Your charm is impossible to resist."

I roll my eyes. "What do you want? And why are you awake so early?"

"There's a race happening right now," he informs me.

"Race?"

"Yeah. The Australian Grand Prix. No way in hell am I missing this."

I sift through the information stored in my brain before coming to an understanding of what he's talking about.

"Are you talking about Formula One racing?" I question, heading out of my bathroom. "I guess it makes sense you're into that stuff considering your hobbies. So you dragged yourself out of bed at an ungodly hour to watch some dudes racing cars?"

He makes a short disgruntled noise.

"Excuse you, it's not just some dudes racing cars. F1 is a competitive sport—do you have any idea how grueling training for a Grand Prix is?"

"Well, sorry, I don't care about stuff like that," I mutter. "The only thing I know about F1 is that there's a couple of hot drivers. Like Lewis Hamilton."

Graham groans softly. "I'm so disappointed in you right now."

I laugh. I'm about to ask him exactly why he called when he starts to speaks again.

"I refuse to be associated with someone who doesn't understand the nuances of Formula One racing. Where are you?" he asks.

"In my bedroom, where else?"

"Is there a TV in there?"

"Sure," I reply, sitting down on my bed, which faces a huge flatscreen.

"Good. Turn it on and switch to ESPN. The race has started and you're watching it with me," Graham announces.

I scoff. "No way. I don't know anything about it, as you kindly pointed out. It's Sunday morning and I have better things to do."

"Like what?"

"Like church, Graham. Not all of us lounge around on the Lord's day."

He's not deterred. "Isn't it too early to be going to church? The race will only take two hours."

"Two hours?" I balk. "You think I'm going to sit here and watch some guys racing for two hours?"

He heaves a heavy sigh of disappointment and I roll my eyes. "Like I said, Sunshine, it's so much more than that. I'll tell you everything you need to know over the phone. Come on, watch with me."

There he goes again, talking to me with that inflection in his voice that short-circuits my brain. I'm not a nice person, and I'm usually not easily swayed. But Graham barely even has to work to get me to do things I would never do. He can never know how much power he has over me.

"Graham, I have to wake the twins so we can go to church," I complain unconvincingly.

I already know he's a bull and won't give up no matter what I say.

"What time does mass start?" he questions knowingly.

"Around ten-thirty," I mumble, knowing I've already lost this argument.

Graham chuckles lightly, "Wonderful. Which means you've got two hours to spare and more. We're watching. Sit tight, Sunshine. And turn on your TV."

I mutter a few choice words under my breath as I do as he asked, switching the channel to ESPN where a race is currently ongoing. One of the players is being interviewed and my lips turn up as I take in his good looks. He's really hot.

"Who am I looking at right now?" I ask, unable to keep the smile from my voice.

"That, sweetheart, is Charles Leclerc. Quit lusting over him. I didn't ask you to watch so you'd check out the drivers."

"I have to at least get something from this," I protest, listening to the commentary. "So, who's your favorite player? Who do you support?"

"You don't typically support one driver, Sunshine. There are teams. Each team has two drivers. There's Mercedes, Ferrari, McLaren, Red Bull Racing, and more. I support Ferrari," he explains.

"And who plays for Ferrari?" I ask curiously.

He sighs. "Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz. You're welcome to root for them because they're pretty fucking great, not because you like how Charles Leclerc looks."

I grin. "But he's so cute. Okay, fine, what team does Lewis Hamilton play for?"

"Mercedes," he says dully. Then, suddenly, he's yelling at the TV. My gaze moves up and I notice one of the cars speeding past another. "Fucking hell, pick up the pace Leclerc. Your shitty starting position doesn't matter."

I am deeply amused. "Alright, fine. Since I'm stuck watching this for the next two hours, you might as well explain all this to me."

"Okay, so first thing you need to know is that Formula One involves a series of races taking place across a couple of months in different locations around the world. They're called Grand Prix."

He starts explaining everything I need to know about the sport while we watch, providing commentary and letting me know key aspects. I actually start to get into it. It's interesting watching the drivers race at ungodly speeds; a little nerve-racking but fun nonetheless. Plus, it reminds me of yesterday, being in the car with Graham and feeling everything else fall away.

I'm still watching the race with Graham when the twins wake up, and they even join us. He stays on the phone with me the entire time and they chat with him, too. I can't remember the last time I had such a peaceful morning.

And even better, the dream I had is the last thing on my mind by the time the race ends. Instead, I'm beaming because Lewis Hamilton finished first. Graham's a little grumpy about it, but that does nothing to put a damper on my excitement.