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PROLOGUE

Sam

Ten Years Old

It's hot, the humidity making my favorite dinosaur shirt stick to my chest. The ropes tied around my wrists scratch my skin and the ground beneath me is hard. I can't get comfortable with my hands bound behind my back. Water sloshes outside of wherever we're being held, and I can't shake the idea that there might be an alligator right beside me. I can't see if there is, due to the smelly sack covering my head.

Beside me, my mom is talking; she's been talking since they put us in this room — or wherever it is that we are. She's telling me to stay calm, but I think she should be telling herself that. Her voice sounds panicked, the way it does when Dad is out late and she's pacing in front of the door, thinking I can't see her from the top of the stairs.

Lately, it seems like my mom is always scared.

"You gotta be brave for Mama, Sam."Dad just gave me the bravery speech yesterday, reminding me that Costello men aren't afraid. We're strong, resilient, and brave.

I'm strong, resilient, and brave.

"It's okay, Mama." I say, interrupting her. "I'm gonna get us out of here." I can't see her face to know if my words have calmed her, but I assume they do. Without my dad here, I have to be the man. I have to protect her.

"No, no, Sammy. We need to stay put." Her words are quick and worried, sounding like the time I almost got hit by a car when I didn't look both ways to cross the street. Like she's trying to keep me from danger.

But Mama is always worried. And Dad told me to be brave.

I wiggle my wrists, trying to see if there’s any slack in the ropes the men used to tie them. When that fails, I reach around me, searching for something to cut the bindings. That's what Dad told me to do if I'm ever kidnapped and they tie my wrists.First step, get your hands free.

Running my fingers along the bottom of the wall I'm propped against, I search for anything sharp enough that I could use. Mama is still telling me to take deep breaths and that Dad will be here soon, but I know my dad wouldn't want me to wait for him. He'd want me to take action, so I keep up my search.

Finally, my fingers touch something metallic. A screw, I think. This should work. I grasp it in my hand and rub it against the rope over and over. Feeling the rough material beginning to fray, I keep working.

With a snap, the material breaks open, and I free my hands, immediately reaching for the sack and pulling it from my head. I blink rapidly. It's dark, so it takes my eyes a minute to adjust. We're in a small room, with a concrete floor and wooden walls. Tossing the sack to the side, I reach for my mom.

"Mama," I whisper, pulling her blindfold from her face. Her eyes widen when she looks at me.

"Sam, what did you do?"

"I got my hands free. Here." I take my screw, reaching behind her to start sawing at the rope holding her hands together.

"Sam, I told you to sit still!"

"Dad said if I'm ever kidnapped, I need to get my hands free first. I have to be able to protect you, Mama."

"No, baby, you don't need to protect me?—"

The rope snaps before she finishes her sentence, freeing her hands. "There!" I grin.

Mama wraps her arms around me, squeezing me so tightly it hurts. "Sam," she whispers. "I love you, baby. Always know?—"

She doesn't finish her sentence. We're interrupted by the door swinging open and banging against the wall.

"What the fuck did I tell you?" The words are loud and harsh coming from the man wearing ripped jeans and a leather vest with a snake patch.

I push myself in front of Mama, making a tough face just like Dad taught me. "Get away from us!" I shout.

The man doesn't look scared, though. His lips twist up as he laughs loudly. "Carmine Costello's kid thinks he's grown, huh?"

"Don't hurt him." Mama is shoving me behind her now, her hands tight on my shoulders as she shields me with her body. She shouldn't be doing that; I'm the one who's supposed to protect her. That's what dad said.

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want!" The man's shoes thud against the concrete floor as he marches toward my mother. He reaches around her, yanking on my wrist to pull me out. Mama screams, her hands grasping onto my arms as she plays tug-o-war with the man—only, I'm the rope in the middle.

And then something loud bangs in the distance, startling both of them, hands freezing on my arms and giving me a chance to slip out of their grasps.