Page 13 of Bitter Poetry

“Dante will stay with you. I need to go. Do exactly as he says.” The words, the tone, and the stricken look on his face are like liquid fear flooding my veins.

“Papa, what is it?” Jessica demands.

“Not now, love,” he says. “Not now.”

Then he is gone, leaving in a rush, and, instead, Dante is there.

“What is it?” I whisper, my eyes searching his. I’m cast back to the last time I was close to his brother. Only now, and with the context of time, do I consider the way Christian made me feel safe despite the violence of the moment. Yes, I had been scared when he left another boy’s blood on my dress, but not ofhim.

They have the same eyes.

And instill the same sense of safety with a side serve of danger.

Dante takes my hand. He has never touched me in such a familiar way, and it comes as a shock.

The front door shuts, but with a soldier on the inside. There is another of my father’s men at the far end of the hall. Both of them are armed with automatic weapons.

I’ve never seen automatic weapons inside the home before.

He takes my sister’s hand, too.

She starts crying and throws herself into his arms.

My throat is too tight to form words. I’m numb. I want to cry too, and I don’t even know what the fuck is going on.

“We’ll wait in the library,” he says to the man at the door.

We go to the library.

Three hours later, we get the news that my mother is dead—shot in cold blood.

My father rushed to her side but was attacked on the way. He’s alive but in a coma.

CHAPTER 6

CARMELA

The sound of chirping birds rouses me from sleep. For a split second, everything is normal. Then a dark, somber tide of memories pours in, leeching all the joy out of me as I remember.

The pain is getting worse not better.

I left the curtains open last night. I can see the bright blue sky beyond the window. Pushing the covers back, I slip out of the bed and pad over to look out. My rooms face the back of the property and a long expanse of lawn and trees. I can see the edge of the pool and the surrounding patio from here. One of the groundsmen is standing on the edge with a long rod and net he uses to clear out anything bigger than the pool vacuum can manage. He comes from Australia and always refers to the pool vacuum as a barracuda. My sister immediately adopted the term and ever since has been perfectly replicating the drawl of his accent.

I smile.

It fades under a crushing wave of guilt.

How can I smile? How is it even possible?

I’m trying to be strong for Jessica. But I don’t think I’ve ever felt this alone.

After a shower, I dress, then head out to find Jessica.

The door to my parents’ suite is ajar. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. For reasons that escape me, I know it’s not going to be one of the maids.

I pass through their bedroom, following the sounds of drawers opening and closing.

“What are you doing here?”