31. Laura

Chapter 31

Laura

A nother summons from the Don. When the text appeared on my phone from Simon's personal line basically commanding me to his office, I thought about ignoring it. I mean, in all the years I've been living here, I've barely been in the main office because I'm only tangentially involved with the Famiglia. My siblings all take it very seriously, but to me, it's barely a consideration.

Now it's like Simon thinks he has some kind of power over me. Which honestly kind of pisses me off.

That anger simmers in my guts as I stomp through the house, bang on his door, and storm into the office. It smells like burning firewood and old furniture polish. Not the worst, all things considered.

Simon doesn't look up from the file he's reading on his computer screen. His lips are pressed together, and he holds up a hand for me to wait, like he's not even remotely surprised that I just barged into his private sanctum without announcing myself first.

"Almost done," he says, knitting his brows in concentration. "Do you know how many whiny emails I get from my Capos? And how many of them are fucking incriminating? These are supposed to be clever, hardened criminals, and yet I swear they're a bunch of hormonal teenagers with ego problems half the time."

I walk over to his bookshelf, pick out a volume at random, and carry it over to the fireplace. The logs burn with a merry crackle. I glance at the cover—it's in Latin and looks very old—before tossing it on the flames.

Simon makes a choking sound. I walk over to the bookshelf and grab another. This one's got gold lettering over green leather, something about economics. I walk it over to the fireplace.

"Point made," Simon says quickly. He shoves his keyboard away and stands up. "Please, stop burning my books."

I throw it on top of the other and brush my hands together. "Just trying to get your attention. I'm sure you can replace them."

He glares at me, jaw working. "Some of these are antiques. Dad collected them."

"All the more reason to burn the whole lot." I face my brother the Don, arms crossed over my chest. That stunt was childish and petty, but it felt really good. "What do you want?"

His expression gets serious as he sits back down. His hands remain flat on the desk and he's leaning forward, staring intently. Seconds pass and he doesn't speak, leaving me lingering by the fire wondering what the hell this is about and why he looks like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world than right here. But he finally pulls some papers from a drawer and pushes them toward me.

I walk over and recognize Marco's profile. The same profile he procured for me once already.

My skin gets cold and clammy. My hands start to sweat.

Simon says nothing. He keeps staring at me, and I know what this is about. I can't take my eyes from Marco's image on the front page: it's him, but it's not him, not really, it doesn't capture the amusement in his smile and the sparkle in his eyes and the way his hands feel on my hips. It's not Marco, and it's definitely not Jackal. The two men I feel myself spiraling toward.

"I'm not going to apologize," I say, and my voice is very small and very soft, but I mean it.

"How did it start?"

It's a simple question. It should be easy. But it contains too much. Instead, I deflect. "You followed me."

"Of course I followed you," he says, some of his anger finally spilling over. "Laura, you haven't shown any interest in leaving your house for years, then suddenly you want a fucking car? I had to make sure you were okay. Imagine my surprise when you're caught sneaking out with Marco fucking Vitale . He was a goddamn Santoro lieutenant."

The hurt in his voice cracks my shell. I can't close the gaps in my chest fast enough, and more emotions leak through: shame, self-loathing, hatred, fear. My heart's skittering along in my chest and my hands tremble, and I disgust myself and don't recognize my own reactions anymore.

I've never cared what anyone thinks about me. I threatened to kill Stefania when she first joined the family because I felt like it. I shot a high-powered rifle at Santoro soldiers when they threatened the oasis. I've lived in my own little world for a long time now, and I don't remember what it's like to give a damn what my brother thinks.

Only now, all of a sudden, it's spilling out.

"I didn't know who he was at first," I say, meeting my brother's gaze. The pain in his eyes feels like reaching into the fire to snatch out a burning book. "By the time I figured it out, it was too late."

"You're in love with him." Disappointment laces every syllable.

"I don't know." Which means yes, yes, I think I am but I'm afraid . "But you shouldn't have followed me." There's my only means of escape from this misery. I grab hold of it and let the anger come spooling out. Good: anger's easy. I can handle anger. I can be pissed off at my brother for treating me like a child because that's better than admitting that I fucked up and fell for the enemy and now that makes me the enemy too.

"And you shouldn't have gotten involved with a man who wants to bring down your family. Your family , Laura, even though sometimes I think you forget you're a part of it."

"I haven't forgotten," I snarl at him, stepping forward and jabbing a finger at him. "You're the one that forgot about me. Oh, Laura, she's so weird, all she does is sculpt and hide in her house. You treat me like you're ashamed of me. Only Angelo and Davide really show any interest. I'm a hobby to Elena, and Mom and Dad are too busy dealing with their own problems to care about me. For a while, it worked, but now things are changing. I'm changing."

"I don't even know what you're changing into," Simon says, pushing back from his desk. His face twitches with rage. I've never seen him so angry before, and my own anger rises to meet him. "Not my sister. Not a member of this family."

"You mean Famiglia , because that's all you give a shit about. You and your precious little organization."

"Get over yourself, Laura. I'm sorry about what happened to you, but?—"

"Oh, good, bring up my fucking rape. That'll get what you want." I'm about to jump across the desk to strangle him when he steps back, his eyes going wide as if I hit him, and I can tell he knows he stepped over the line.

But quickly, that anger is back. "I forbid you from seeing him," he declares. "For the foreseeable future, you are not to leave the oasis."

"Fuck you. I'll do what I want."

"Talk like that again, and you won't be allowed to leave your own goddamn house. Go ahead, test me."

I lean forward. "Fuck. You. Simon. Good luck keeping me in a cage. I'll kill your fucking guards if I have to."

His jaw flexes, and he knows that's not an empty threat. "Go home. I don't want to look at you anymore."

I breathe through my nose. I'm so fucking mad I could scream. But there's nothing I can do to fix this, not right now.

I turn away from his desk and leave his office. As I storm out of the house, I'm tempted to rip paintings off the walls and smash some precious, priceless statues and pottery. Instead, I leave it all alone.

Outside, I watch as one of Simon's men drives my car off.

Which is when the reality of my situation hits.

I can start killing Bianco soldiers, but that'll only end up with me locked up in one of the Famiglia's basement prison cells. I can scream and rage, but that won't change my brother's mind.

Because to him, I'm a traitor. Which is the worst thing imaginable.

If I were anyone else, there wouldn't have been a conversation, only a bullet to the back of the head and a burial deep in the darkest parts of the lake.

That would almost be preferable.

No more Marco. No more Jackal. No more life outside of this place—no more finding out who I am and what I want to be.

Back into my studio. Back into the hole I dug for myself. Back into the darkness, where I've always belonged, because there's never been anything else for me, not really.