6

Giselle

My stomach felt like it was eating itself as this psycho casually stepped out of our fucking closet like he was emerging from a spa day. Cool as ice, he turned to face the cops who’d shown up to what they thought was a routine call.

Wrong night for routine.

The officer’s scream cut through the house like a chainsaw, followed by the symphony of our furniture becoming kindling. Grunts, crashes, the whole violent orchestra.

“Get off me!” Mom’s voice—raw, desperate, nothing like the woman who sang me lullabies.

“No, no, no, no!” Dad’s pleas hit different than his usual dad-jokes. This was pure terror in surround sound.

I wanted to burst out of this cramped hiding spot and do something—anything—but Uncle Malik’s grip kept me anchored to helplessness.

“Stronzo!” The second killer went full Italian rage mode. “You fucking bitch!” More angry Italian followed, words I didn’t understand but felt in my bones.

Then silence. The kind that means everything just changed forever.

“Let’s bounce, Vito!” Killer number one, apparently the practical type.

“What about the daughter?” Vito—because of course his name was Vito—shot back, his eyes finding the mirror like he could sense my terror through the glass.

“We don’t even know if the little princess is here.”

“Forget the damn kid!” Practical killer was getting antsy. “Torch this place and let’s ghost. We’re drawing heat.”

“Boss isn’t gonna be happy we came back empty-handed.”

More bitter Italian mumbling. “Not our fucking problem. He wants the girl so bad, he can play hide-and-seek himself. Let’s go before this place becomes cop central.”

The monster slammed our closet door like he was punctuating the end of my old life. Their footsteps faded, but relief lasted about thirty seconds before smoke started creeping in like some vindictive ghost.

Because apparently murder wasn’t enough—they had to go full pyromaniac too.

“I’m getting you out of here, Giselle .” Uncle Malik’s voice stayed steady while my world literally burned around us.

I nodded through tears that felt like they were boiling on my cheeks.

He scooped me up, and for a split second I wanted to fight him—wanted to stay and burn with Mom and Dad because what was the point of surviving this?

The hallway was a smoke-filled nightmare. Malik pressed my face into his neck, trying to filter the toxic air.

“Where are we going?” I managed between coughs.

“Somewhere safe. I’ve got you, Giselle . I swear.”

As the smoke burned my eyes and the reality of being an orphan settled in like lead in my chest, I realized Malik was literally my only lifeline. But honestly? Part of me wasn’t sure I wanted to be saved anymore.

-----

Waking up felt like surfacing from a coma, except instead of relief, I got confusion with a side of leather and mahogany. Definitely not my bedroom.

Where the fuck am I?

My heart started doing that thing where it tries to escape through my throat. The pieces of last night weren’t clicking together—just floating around like debris from a shipwreck.

Mom and Dad were dead. Murdered. By Italian psychopaths who apparently wanted me for reasons no one felt like sharing.

Were my parents secret agents? Drug dealers? Did Dad have gambling debts? Nothing made sense.

And those cops—God, those poor cops just trying to do their jobs.

The door opened before I could spiral completely, and Malik walked in with some woman I’d never seen. She had that lawyer vibe going—white dress, black belt, strawberry blonde hair that probably cost more than our monthly grocery budget.

“Hi, Giselle . Wish we were meeting under better circumstances.” She sat down like we were about to discuss college applications instead of my parents’ murder. “I’m Madilyn.”

Malik stood behind her looking like grief had taken up permanent residence in his hazel eyes. His half-smile was about as convincing as a three-dollar bill.

“I’m with Brady and Brooks,” Madilyn continued, like I gave a shit about her firm’s letterhead. “Estate planning, among other things.” She paused, probably expecting me to be impressed. “I know you have questions. You’ll get answers eventually. But first—I’m sorry about your parents.”

Hearing it out loud hit like a sledgehammer to the chest. The tears came whether I wanted them or not.

“Your mother prepared for this.” Madilyn walked over to what looked like a regular photo frame, but surprise—hidden safe reveal! Because apparently my life was now a spy movie. “She came to me when you were still a fetus,” she said, punching in codes like she’d done this a million times.

Great. My mom was planning my escape route before I was even born. Super normal.

She pulled out a black envelope like it contained state secrets. “Everything you need for your new life in Chicago.”

“Chicago?” I sounded like I’d been hit by a truck. Which, emotionally speaking, I had.

“New identity, passports, money, apartment keys—the works. All under an alias.” She held out the envelope like it was a fucking Oscar. “Once you leave Canada, you can never tell anyone who you really are. Ever.”

“Because of those psychos? Who were they? Why did they—” I couldn’t finish. Saying it made it real.

“Your mother was terrified for your safety,” Madilyn said, going for gentle but landing on patronizing. “She knew terrible things would happen if they found you.”

“Who’s ‘they’? And what’s so special about me?”

“Very dangerous men,” Malik jumped in with the helpfulness of a broken GPS.

“Why didn’t you save them too?” The question came out broken, angry.

He looked away, jaw tight enough to crack teeth. “Didn’t get the distress call until it was too late. Trust me, I would’ve saved them if I could.”

Right. I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, feeling about as stable as a house of cards in a hurricane.

“And the cops?”

“I was outnumbered. Your parents made me promise—you were the priority. Your mother was crystal clear: never leave you unprotected.”

So everyone else could die, but precious little me had to survive. Fantastic.

“The moment you were in danger, we had to move fast,” Madilyn continued, pulling us back to the identity-crisis portion of our program.

I took the envelope, feeling its weight like it might contain plutonium. Madilyn’s expression softened, probably reading the panic in my eyes.

“I know it’s overwhelming, but it’s necessary.”

I stared at the envelope like it might explode. Because honestly, at this point, why wouldn’t it?

“Remember,” Malik added, “these men won’t stop. Your Canadian life is over. No contact with friends, family, anyone.”

Perfect. Orphaned and exiled in one night. I was really killing it in the life department.

“All your questions will be answered when the time is right,” Madilyn said, serving up more cryptic bullshit.

“Do you know what my parents were involved in?” I asked quietly.

“They weren’t involved in anything,” Malik replied.

“Can’t you give me something? Anything?”

“Your parents were good people. Everything your mother did was for you. You’ll know the truth when it’s safe, but for now, you have to trust me.”

I looked at these two adults—the only people left who gave a damn about my existence—and realized I was completely fucked. They wanted me to trust them while keeping me in the dark about why my parents were dead and why I was apparently some kind of target.

But what choice did I have? It was trust them or end up like Mom and Dad.

So I clutched that black envelope like a lifeline and prepared to become someone else entirely.

Because apparently, being Giselle wasn’t safe anymore.