Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77126 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77126 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Mario doesn’t answer immediately. He sits there for what feels like an eternity, immobile except for the rise and fall of his chest. His gaze remains fixed on the floor.
Eventually, he looks up at me, age evident in his weary eyes. The years of ruling our family with iron fists seem to have caught up with him in this single moment.
“I’ve done a lot of things in my life that I am not proud of,” he begins, his voice hoarse with emotion. “But losing Serena was and always has been my biggest regret.”
His words hang in the air.
His biggest regret?
Not his violation of me? Of Mikey? Of our mother?
Not all the merciless killings?
But at least he’s showing some emotion.
I swallow down my bitterness and manage a nod. “Then don’t make the same mistake again. If she chooses you, you’ll both get your happily-ever-after in some tropical paradise. If not, then at least you gave her the respect of a choice.”
“What about you, Vinnie?” he asks, dragging his gaze from the floor to meet mine. “What do you get out of it?”
My heart clenches. What do I get? A kingdom built on blood and violence…and the chance to make it into something better.
“I get a chance,” I reply, “to prove that the Bianchi family can be more than its past.”
A slow, reluctant smile tugs at the corners of Mario’s lips. His eyes glimmer with a mixture of pride and resignation.
“I always thought you had potential,” he admits. His gaze never leaves mine, the somber resignation in his eyes slowly replaced by a flicker of hope. “I just hope you’re ready, Vinnie.”
“Ready for what?” I ask, raising an eyebrow at him.
He smirks at me, the ghost of the man I grew up fearing coming back to life in that fleeting smile. “For everything that comes next. You think you can handle it?”
The question hangs in the air between us, heavier than any silence we’ve shared tonight. It’s not just about running the family business anymore. It’s about proving myself, changing decades’ worth of tradition and expectation.
I lift my chin up and meet his challenging gaze with determination. “I can handle it.”
37
RAVEN
Jared rushes toward us, gesturing, his gun in his hand. “You need to stay put,” he commands.
“Austin!” Mom yells.
“Quiet, Mrs. Bellamy,” Jared says. “Just keep your mouth shut. Move out. Move out into the yard. Now!”
I grab Mom’s hand. “Come on. We need to do what Jared says.”
“Austin!” she yells again.
“Mom,” I say. “You heard Jared. Be quiet.” I pull her across the deck, to the stairs, out into the yard. “Let’s go to the pool house. We’ll be safe there.”
But she yanks my hand out of hers and runs back toward the house.
“Mom, no!”
But she’s gone, out of my grasp.
I have no choice but to follow her. I can’t let my mother be in any kind of danger.
She rushes through the French doors and into the house. “Austin!”
I follow her, grabbing her arm. “Mom, please.”
She yanks free again. “Don’t you understand? There’s no one home. No one but us.”
Shit.
She’s right.
Which means…
“Jared!” I yell.
I follow my mother as she frantically searches every room, finally getting to my father’s study.
The door is open, and Jared is standing behind Dad’s desk.
My heart nearly stops.
On the floor…
Seeping into the hardwood…
Redness.
Sticky redness.
I should know.
I’ve had enough of it drawn out of my body, enough transfusions to last a lifetime.
It’s blood.
“Raven, Mrs. Bellamy,” Jared says, his voice a monotone, “you need to get out of here. Now.”
But my mother rushes toward Jared, and then she lets out a bloodcurdling scream.
I gulp as I walk toward them.
Jared is holding Mom, and I cast my gaze to the floor.
Nausea crawls up my throat, inch by inch, sticking its talons into my flesh.
A body.
My father’s body.
Next to it.
A gun.
I try to speak, to scream, but the words die in my throat as I stumble back, smashing into a bookshelf. The room spins, my vision blurring. I can hardly make out my mother’s figure slumped against Jared’s chest as she sobs.
But I don’t need to see. The metallic scent of blood fills the room, cloying and thick. I fall to my knees, the world tilting around me. Daddy? Dead?
Jared is saying something, but his voice is distant and warped, like he’s speaking underwater. He sounds calm—too calm for what has just happened.
A chaotic jumble of questions claws at the edges of my mind. What happened? Who did this? And most importantly, why? But I can’t ask. Not now.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the tears pricking at their corners—hot, burning tears of shock and grief.
Then I open them and I walk toward the gun.
“Don’t touch it!” Jared warns. “Leave everything exactly as it is.”
“Yes, yes. Of course,” I hear myself saying. “Daddy? Is he okay, Jared?”
But the words are ridiculous. He’s not moving, and blood is seeping out of the side of his head.