Nic’s Pov The Girl in the Dark

NIC’S POV THE GIRL IN THE DARK

When I was a child obsessed with trains and comic books, mystified by the stars and the planets and all the moons in the universe, I dreamt big. When I went to sleep at night I had visions of playing in the NBA and looking into the crowds to find my family cheering for me. I didn’t understand the idea of destiny then. I didn’t know my life had already been mapped out for me.

The day my father missed my third grade parent-teacher conference was the day I saw him end a man’s life. I had come home early, passing droves of harried-looking adults as they herded themselves up the school steps. My mother was in Europe for the week and my father was at home, working – doing those intangible things I never thought to question. He hadn’t been expecting me. I know that because when I flung the kitchen door open and caught him with the wire pulled tight around Leo Marino’s neck, his eyes grew very wide.

Leo Marino was half-dead by then but his feet were still scuffling against the kitchen tiles, so my father didn’t release the wire right away. He held it taut, the strain of it casting red across his cheeks, and I stood there in the threshold, with my lunch bag gripped so tight my fist was turning white, waiting for him to finish what he was doing. I didn’t make a sound, but I could feel the scream building inside me, pressing against my chest like it might burst me open. It’s funny to think that I knew, somehow, even then, that I should keep my mouth shut.

When Leo flopped backwards, his head thudded against the floor like a watermelon, and my father finally straightened up and wiped his brow. The wire had cut gashes across his fingers, so he left a thin track of blood across his forehead. ‘Nicolò,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry you had to see that.’

That was the day I realized my father was not like other fathers.

After that, I got scared. Easily and often. Shadows on the wall kept me from sleeping, noises in the night crept into my nightmares. Cries in the dark jolted me awake. My father’s prolonged absences twisted like barbed wire inside me. I obsessed over visions of him, my uncles, my brothers, my mother, with wires pulled tight around their necks, with eyes bulging as they fell to the ground.

I was unsettled.

Over time, my father gave me the tools I needed to re-shape my view of things and see my life as it had always been, finally unmasked. I learnt of my family’s place in the world, and my role in the future my father – and his father, and his father – had planned for us all. With new desires swirling inside me, my father pressed his forehead to mine and placed his hands on my cheeks so that when he looked at me, he knew I was looking right back at him. He made me a promise. I will always protect you, Nicolò. Stai tranquillo, sei al sicuro. Don’t worry. You are safe . When a promise breaks, it hurts like hell. But when it’s made, and made in earnest, it is a powerful thing.

I stopped being afraid. I stopped overthinking. Now, sometimes I don’t think at all in the darkest moments. I don’t second-guess myself. I don’t let go of the wire. Impulsive, Luca calls me. A hothead. Un pazzo . Crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m focused. And when your focus is unbendable, there is no cause for waiting. I don’t give myself time to become unsettled. I am my father’s son.

The day Gino delivered the honey was the first time I saw Sophie Gracewell, though I didn’t know it then. But I was sure, even in the chaos of our first encounter, that I wouldn’t be able to forget her in a hurry.

I was in the kitchen, watching Dom empty a half-bag of uncooked pasta into a pot. The room was newly painted, and there was a slash of white across his T-shirt sleeve where he had brushed against a wall. Ha . I decided not to tell him about it.

‘How many for dinner?’ he asked me. He started chopping tomatoes, showing his most recently acquired skill – cooking. Though, in its full title, it might have read something more like cooking-basic-Italian-meals-to-impress-girls-so-they-will-sleep-with-me.

‘Don’t know.’ I was sitting on the island in the middle of the kitchen. ‘Maybe you should wear a hairnet, though. I’d like to enjoy my pasta sans-gel, if that’s OK with you.’

Dom flicked a dry pasta shell over his shoulder. I ducked and it snapped against the wall behind me. ‘Good speed,’ I observed. ‘That might have dented my face.’

‘Good reflexes,’ he said, without turning around.

‘Bad aim.’

‘Careful, Nicky boy.’ He raised the knife. It was unnecessarily large. It was almost hypnotizing watching him dice the tomatoes with such speed, wondering whether he would clip a finger by accident, and knowing, with certainty, that he would not. I preferred it to watching his other set of knife skills. I don’t enjoy violence, despite Valentino’s opinion. I enjoy the feeling of completion, of bad people getting what they deserve, and the idea that the world is untilted, just a little, when it’s done.

I slid off the counter just as Luca came into the kitchen. He seemed tetchy, but he had been that way since we got here. The others hated living in Cedar Hill, but I didn’t. We were doing the right thing, and I didn’t mind living in some haunted old mansion in a rundown town to do that. I knew what my priorities were.

‘Nicolò, Valentino wants you to bring the stuff in from the car.’ He leant over Dom’s shoulder, staring into the pot. ‘You should add salt to that. It will boil faster.’

Dom shrugged him off. ‘How about you don’t backseat cook or you get out of my kitchen?’

Luca clutched the back of Dom’s neck with his fingers. ‘Maybe I’ll add your face instead?’

‘Ha ha .’ Dom shook him away, and I left them, slipping into the hallway and out the front door. An order was an order.

It was eerily quiet outside. This place really was an empty shell compared to the city. I wondered how long it would be before we got Gracewell, before I could show him, slowly and painfully, the depth of our revenge. By now he would have gotten our message – he’d be staring at it, finally seeing how his actions were going to catch up with him. We were on his tail, so close we could almost touch him, and soon enough, we would. I would. And then my father could rest in peace.

I ducked inside the SUV. The duffel bag was wedged between the arm rest and the backseat. It came free with a dull thud and the contents slid against each other, clicking and rustling in the quiet. Gino and I had probably been over-zealous in our selection at Felice’s house, but it’s always better to be over-armed than under-armed.

I slung the bag over my shoulder and froze as my reflexes took over. I could hear my own breathing, and… something else. I paused, waiting, listening. This was Gracewell’s lair after all, and we had to be on our guard, always. A distant shuffling – the shifting of gravel, and then the noise stopped. I shut the door and rounded the car, until I was halfway between the house and the gates. I could see it then, the shadow at the end of the driveway.

A girl.

There was a girl standing at the end of my driveway.

Faint light lit up streaks of golden hair. She was small. Too slight to be a threat, but you can never be too careful. She was frozen, and I was overcome by the jarring urge to pull her into the light, to study her face, to see the intent in her eyes, if her lips were parted in surprise or if her expression spoke of something more sinister. What was she doing here so late? Curious new neighbours had come and gone with the daylight. So who was this?

The moment seemed to stretch out between us. It was so quiet it felt like if I strained hard enough I might be able to hear her breath on the wind. Adrenaline surged inside me, vibrating in my fingertips, springing in my heels. I lowered the duffel bag to the ground, slowly, so as not to alarm her, so as not to break whatever spell had kept us like that – tied to each other, waiting for something to happen. I wanted her to come closer.

I pushed the bag out of sight, behind the SUV, and her head cocked, following the movement. She was starting to make me nervous. I knew to be wary of everything, no matter how unlikely it seemed. That was my life.

Come closer. Show yourself .

I took a step towards her. Don’t run. Don’t make me chase you . She was still, so I kept moving, faster, covering the distance between us quicker than I meant to. She sprung into action, like a wind-up toy suddenly brought to life. She turned and stumbled onto the street.

When someone runs it means they’re hiding something.

She started to run, and my instincts took over.

I could tell she wasn’t a runner – her movements were clumsy, her hands swinging out of sync, slowing her down. I closed the distance between us easily. She was a couple of strides away and I was about to call out to her, when she skidded to a stop. I was too late to match her sudden halt. I slammed into her back and she surged forward, a strangled yelp caught in her throat.

Shit.

She thudded to the ground, becoming a collection of pale limbs on the pavement. She clutched herself, groaning, as her head lolled back and forth, and in the half-light, I registered wide eyes and lips twisted in pain. She was no older than me. Younger, even. And I had nearly shattered her skull. Stupid. Careless .

Before I knew what I was doing, I was helping her up. I could feel the warmth of her skin, the curve of her shoulders beneath my hands as I held her steady. Don’t . I tried not to notice how her hair smelt like strawberries as it brushed beneath my chin. I liked it – the way she felt in my arms, how she let me hold her. Usually it was different. When I touched people, it wasn’t to help them. They weren’t warm or soft, like her. I wanted to tell her that. I wanted her to know she was OK. That I wouldn’t harm her.

‘Stai tranquilla, sei al sicuro.’ Don’t worry, you’re safe .

She dipped her head, and then something changed. The moment snapped in half and the world restarted. My hands came free of her as she leapt away from me. She grabbed her bag from the ground and sprung up. I just stood there, watching her scrabble away like a frightened mouse. I didn’t know what to do – how to unwind the fear, to take it away from her. So I did nothing. I just stalled, barely breathing, trying to show her that I wasn’t going to do anything.

She lifted her chin and suddenly she was all squared up, anger filling the space between us. And I think, I think , for that nanosecond, that she was trying to intimidate me.

‘Don’t follow me.’ Her voice was filled with defiance. It was like a songbird trying to screech. It didn’t work. Well, not in the way she intended it to. She was doing something to the inside of my chest, though. Something that tickled uncomfortably – it felt like the beginning of a bruise.

Then she was running.

‘Wait.’ Shit . ‘Hang on a second.’

But she didn’t stop. I had scared her off, and in truth, it was probably better that way. What a terrible distraction she would be. I could feel it already, in the silence she left behind, in the way she had squared up to me – me , braver than all those who had tried to before. And so I watched her run, laughing, because despite the gravity of everything around me, I had been caught off guard.

She had unsettled me.