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ADELINA

“ C arlos is dead.”

Soft notes of French classical music drift through the air, dancing around the words I speak aloud into the empty conservatory where only the dewy drops of paint on the end of my brush bear witness. The soft yellow paint wells up on the end of my brush, threatening to escape the bristles while the vibrant painting before me blurs through my building, unshed tears.

Marie, my dearest and currently only friend in the entire world, told me it helps to say these things out loud. It’s part of the natural grieving process, apparently, and bottling up such grief will only lead to disaster—disasters like the wonky eyes of the teddy bear I’ve spent forty minutes crafting with delicate strokes of my brush. The bear is supposed to look warm and welcoming, but he’s currently giving off serial killer vibes.

It’s not the best design to hang in the halls of a children’s hospital.

I close my eyes, letting warm tears drip down my cheeks while my chest squeezes like someone’s reached inside my ribcage and grasped my heart in their fist.

Carlos is dead.

My fiancé.

Five days ago, I laid him to rest in the cemetery alone. No one else attended except my bodyguards. Not even his family.

Because his family are dead too.

To those around me—mainly Marie—Carlos was a sweet, kind gentleman I’d met while volunteering at the hospital. I was the painter, and he was the weekly entertainer. We bonded over our shared passion for bringing smiles and laughter to children battling a range of illnesses.

It’s the partial truth. I volunteer there as often as possible, reading to children who have no one, playing dress-up, and hosting art classes for every budding Picasso. Carlos would also be there but in a much more formal capacity.

Carlos was a Mafia heir and I was to be his wife, joining our families together in order to secure a stronger future for both of us. Such things are common in this kind of life, and our engagement started as part of an arrangement.

For the past five years, a rising family in my world has become known as nothing more than bloodthirsty tyrants, leaving smaller families like my own to scramble for safety and security in the arms of others. While marriages like mine to Carlos would have occurred for traditional reasons, this was supposed to be a joining of strength that would protect all of us.

Now Carlos lies in the cold, hard ground alongside the rest of his family, and I have nothing but infinite heartbreak and renewed conviction that my family will be next. My father works tirelessly to keep us afloat, but these days, no one is safe from the Varricchio family. They’re the sharks and everyone beneath them are simply chum.

And they took away the man I loved.

At least I think I loved him. Sometimes, it’s difficult to untangle my feelings.

Carlos spent time with me. He was a kind man with warm eyes and a good heart. While he spent most of his time at the hospital acting like my bodyguard, he was so good with the kids. He would bring me coffee and the last toffee donut from the cafeteria. We’d share childhood stories over pasta at a local restaurant, and my heart would flutter each time he called for me.

I was lucky. Most arranged marriages rarely result in romance. And he made me feel good, so it had to be love.

Now it’s over.

He’s gone.

I’m alone.

And my family’s future teeters on the edge of destruction.

Slowly, I open my eyes and squint as if my time in darkness will have altered the look of the teddy bear. Nope. It stares at me with squint, empty eyes that peer directly into my soul. Definitely not kid-friendly.

Although…

Wiping my tears with the back of one hand, I sniffle and try to compass myself. Rather than scrapping the painting, I attempt to salvage it. Instead of holding a bouquet of flowers, I give the teddy bear a small knife and cover it in brightly colored blood. Adding an eye patch over the worst-painted eye, I adjust his sailor’s outfit to be ripped and dirty, then quickly paint in some scattered pieces of a toy robot.

It’s gone from a sweet teddy bear picture to a somewhat alarming killer picture. Not ideal for this time of year, but I’ll put it aside for Halloween. I’m sure the kids will appreciate it since they’ve gone through things much more terrifying than a killer teddy bear. By the time I add the last strokes of detail, my tears have dried and I’m nearly out of paint on my palette.

It’s good enough.

The small burst of satisfaction in my chest is momentary and quickly swallowed by the next wave of grief.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry .

“Addie?” The sudden arrival of my father makes me jump, and I half-slide off my stool, bracing one foot on the ground and turning to face him.

“ Papà ?” My knuckles graze one last time against my damp cheek and I force a smile.

“Addie, my darling.” My father is a portly man with a thick, grey mustache and small eyes that twinkle like stars every time he smiles. Despite his rotund form, he hurries toward me with alarming speed. He immediately clutches one of my hands between both of his, causing my damp paintbrush to drift precariously close to his pristine charcoal suit. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing.” I sniffle, forcing a wide smile. “I’m fine. It’s just the paint fumes, you know?”

His eyes dart around my face, then he smiles, which causes his mouth to disappear up into his mustache. “Are you sure?”

I nod quickly, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind my ear. “Positive.”

He already has enough on his plate with the death of Carlos and the entire Giordana family. They were our ticket to increased strength to help defend against the Varricchios. Now we have nothing and no one to help us. I want to ask him what the plan is or what our next steps are, but I’m not sure I want to know. I trust him to have a plan, but the alternative is just impending doom while waiting for the Varricchios to turn up at the door.

“What are you working on?” He pats the back of my hand and then releases me, turning toward my painting. “This is not for the hospital, is it?”

“Yes.” I set my brush down and slide the palette back onto the table next to my easel. The table is absolutely covered in paint, a complete map of every painting I’ve done over the years dating right back to the first time my mother put a brush in my hand. There are few things in this home that hold such a wealth of memories.

“Are you trying to scare the little ones into getting better?” My father picks up the painting and turns it in a variety of directions as if he’s some kind of collector admiring my work.

“No, Papà.” I chuckle. “It was supposed to be a painting for spring, with daffodils in his hand and a few easter eggs around his feet, but something about the way he turned out just made him more…”

“Scary?”

“Unique,” I correct. “So I went with it, and now he’ll be ready for Halloween.”

“Beautiful,” my father murmurs, using every ounce of his fatherly pride to mask his obvious dislike for the painting.

“Thank you, Papà.” I’ll accept the compliment regardless. All that matters is the sick children think he’s cool. After all, it’s they who will pass him in the corridor.

“Will you do another for Easter?” He sets the canvas back down on the easel.

Handing him one of my spare fabric rags to wipe any transferred paint from his fingers, I nod and begin to clean up my supplies. “Yeah, I’ll try again tomorrow. I want to visit the hospital on Friday, so as long as I have something to take to them, it will be fine. I hate turning up there empty-handed.”

“You do so much for them, Addie,” my father says, and sadness enters his voice.

I pause with two paint pots in hand and turn to face him. The look on his face is distant as he turns away from me and gazes around my studio.

The walls are covered in various artwork, all painted by my mother or me before she passed. My mother’s style was incredibly delicate and elegant. She painted masterpieces, and while that had been my goal when I started to learn, I found my joy in painting for children. The differences between the paintings on the wall are stark. The day my paintings became the majority was a painful day.

If she were still here, I’m confident she’d be proud of me. And she’d love that little serial killer bear.

“Papà?” I place the pots down in the large, white sink in front of the windows and cross back toward him. “Is everything alright?”

“Quite alright,” he says, staring up at one of the landscapes my mother worked on. “This one.” He points to it, drawing my eyeline upward. “She painted this just after we got married.”

“I remember.” I stand beside him, studying the delicate city skyline and rolling fields. “She told me it was her proudest work.”

“She was mine,” he says, his voice full of love.

All these years later and he still harbors such devotion to her. Will I feel the same about Carlos after fifteen years?

Suddenly, my father turns toward me and takes my hand. “Come, Addie. I must tell you something.”

I knew it. As soon as he entered here and used my nickname, I knew something was wrong. My father isn’t exactly a direct man, and it takes him a while to work up to talking about the important things. An awkward quality to have in a world where snap decisions are required to keep people safe, but it’s worked for him so far.

“You’re scaring me,” I say with a burst of nervous laughter. “Did something bad happen? What could be worse than what happened to Carlos and his family?”

My father leads me to the wooden bench near the doors that open out onto our vast garden. As we sit, he pulls one of the knitted blankets onto his lap and smooths it out, then he fixes me with a look that takes me right back to when I handed him a terrible report card as a child.

Something I will forever blame my tutors for.

“Adelina, you know how much I love you, don’t you?”

My heart begins to race as I nod. “Papà, what is it? You’re starting to scare me.”

He reaches for my hand and places it over the blanket in his lap, caressing my knuckles. “I know Carlos’ passing was hard on you. The loss of him and his family is a devastating blow.”

I nod slowly while my heart runs a marathon in my chest. Bracing for bad news is difficult when I’m still so raw from losing the man I was supposed to spend the rest of my life with. Regardless of my obligations to Carlos, I cared deeply for him.

“You know the threat of the Varricchio family and in a perfect time, I would be able to give you time to grieve and process everything that is happening, but my dear, we do not have that luxury. Not if we want to survive.”

I suddenly know where this is going. “You want me to marry someone else, don’t you?”

A flash of relief warms my father’s eyes that I was able to work it out and he doesn’t have to say anything. “Yes, my dear. I do. Alone, while we are strong, we don’t have the numbers to stand against a family as large as the Varricchios. So I need you to understand that this is the best option for all of us and the only way I can keep you safe.”

It’s a surprise but not altogether unexpected. I’ve never shied away from the weight of responsibility that falls on me as the only child of the Castiglioni family. Despite our criminal roots, I know we do what we can to keep people safe, and the loss of the alliance with Carlos’ family was a terrible blow.

“I understand,” I reply softly, gripping his hand. “It’s just business, right?”

“Exactly!” My father perks up suddenly. “If there were any other way, then I would be taking it, but we can’t do this alone. You know, it’s been hard since we lost your mother to her illness, and I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. You know that, right?”

“I know.” I don’t have the heart to tell him that another marriage is the last thing I want. That if I had the choice, I would leave all this behind and dedicate my life to the hospital that fought so hard to save my mother’s life.

But that is not my future.

“So,” I say, taking a calming breath, “who is it? One of the smaller families? Someone bigger?”

My father squeezes my hand warmly. “Raffaele Varricchio.”

The world around me screeches to a halt as my blood turns to ice in my veins. A dark, painful pit opens up in my gut and for a few long seconds as I stare at my father, I can’t breathe.

“What?” I gasp hoarsely, ripping my hands away from him. “You expect me to marry the monster who murdered my fiancé?”