5

Before I could ponder the meaning of her words, she strode in slow, heavy steps towards her dresser while I closed the distance between my sisters and me. Taking Branka into my arms, I

cradled her and pulled up the little shirt up to check her wound.

“I-is she gonna die?” Mia’s voice shook like a leaf in the wind.

I shook my head. “We have to clean it,” I told her and shot to my feet. Mia followed, her auburn mane a mess and her eyes watching me like I was her savior. I fucking failed. I always failed. If I was a savior, I’d have taken my sisters and disappeared.

Forever. Somewhere where nobody would find us.

A simple life. I could fish and hunt, feed them. I was good with building furniture. I could sell it. I could teach my sisters whatever I knew. We’d be safe; we’d be happy.

The smell of smoke filled the room and I whirled around. My mother flicked a box of matches onto the curtains that were already burning and my chest froze.

We’d burn. She meant to burn us.

“He won’t hurt us anymore,” she repeated her earlier words and I finally understood the meaning. Branka started to scream again. Mia cried, pale and sweaty, while staring at the flames.

I took Mia’s hand in mine and rushed toward the window, dragging her with me. Keeping Branka shielded with my body, I ripped at the curtains, ignoring the pain on my skin. Flames licked at my forearms, my back as I kept Mia and Branka shielded.

“You have to jump,” I ordered Mia. She shook her head frantically, while mother sat on the floor. Numb and ready to die. “Now!”

Two stories down to fall. It was our best chance at survival.

She took a step forward, then glanced at me over her shoulder. “I’m right behind you,” I assured her.

“What about Mother?” she whispered, her eyes flickering to the broken woman. “I’ll take care of everything.”

She jumped. Father’s men were already alerted, shouting and screaming filled the night. Keeping Branka out of our mother’s reach, I took three steps to her and yanked her with my free hand.

She stumbled, reverting back to her old, empty self. Maybe I should let her burn; let her find peace in death. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

I pulled her with me, flames quickly spreading and licking at our backs. Once at the window, Mother’s eyes met mine.

Dead. She was already dead.

I pushed her out of the window, and I fucking prayed she’d find her peace. She didn’t want this anymore.

I jumped out of the window with Branka in my arms. I fell on my back, the wind knocked out of me. The lawn felt hard as a rock, but I knew it saved me from breaking some bones. All that mattered to me was that the baby in my arms was unharmed.

For her, I’d break all my bones.

My eyes flickered to the grave. She held it against me for saving her. For saving Mia and Branka.

She didn’t have to say it, but I saw it in her eyes. Accusation that I had taken away an escape.

For me, my mother died that night. I had mourned her a long time ago.

Our mother had been a walking corpse for decades. She was too naive and too soft for this world. First, she was deceived by a corrupt, up-and-coming politician who was eyeing the presidency of the United States and couldn’t be bothered with a young Irish woman whom he impregnated. And then she was sold by her parents to a sadistic animal.

The dark stone of the chapel matched my mood. Arched windows gleamed with dullness and

saints leered down from the top of the building, judging this entire damned family. The setting fit the occasion perfectly.

The gray clouds gathered above our heads, darkening by the minute. The sky was weeping for me because I had no tears to shed. They’d been beaten out of me a long time ago.

My eyes remained on the casket as the ground swallowed it whole, the words of the priest… background noise.

Ashes to Ashes. Dust to dust.

The only words that registered as my mother’s body was lowered six feet under.

Branka’s tears trickled down her face in silence as her lower lip quivered and she desperately tried to stop it from doing so. She had learned a long time ago to cry in silence. She had learned the lessons no child should ever learn. At least she was spared seeing the things no child should ever see. I took her hand in mine and squeezed it gently. I could afford to do this now. It has been a while since my old man could overpower me, and since I earned my own money, I’d secured a roof over

Branka’s head, so she wouldn’t have to endure him. My only regret was that I didn’t do it earlier.

With a fifteen year difference between us, I should have been able to protect her from the moment she was born. But I wasn’t. She had to endure years of our father’s brutality. Years of my mother’s broken shell. Fucking years of being locked in her room when he decided to beat on our mother. She listened to their screaming matches and mother’s wailing, unable to save her.

I failed Branka just as our parents had. I failed Mia who ran off to join the U.S. military just to fucking get away. Maybe that was our family legacy - failing all those whom we loved.

It wasn’t until Branka was ten that I pulled her out of that fucked up shit. When I had something to hold over the old man’s head. The humiliation he didn’t want anyone to know about. That his son’s wealth superseded his own by tenfold.

He fucking hated anyone being better than him, especially his bastard son. My eyes darted to him to see him watching Byron. More like, killing him with a glare. My father hated me, but he didn’t want the world to know I wasn’t biologically his. And having one Ashford too close to me could reveal that. We looked too much alike.

What-the-fuck-ever. As far as I was concerned, neither one of them was my father. Byron could go fuck himself and find another soul to stalk. I didn’t need him here for me. Never did; never would.

My eyes searched the crowd for the daughter of the man who had succeeded in protecting his family. Autumn Michelle Corbin. It was then that I saw her and all thoughts of my half-brother Byron crumbled into dust. She was stunning. Her ivory skin. Her raven hair. Lush, plump lips. And those hazel eyes. She hid behind rows of people, leaning against a tree. I couldn’t see all of her, but I could see she wasn’t crying, nor pretending to be distressed. She was here just for Branka. Though I was surprised her parents let her come.

The cemetery was full of men and women who pretended to know my mother. The very same ones who pretended not to know who or what my father was. They simply didn’t care. My mother came from a line of Irish immigrant gangsters so in their minds, my mother deserved what she got.

A cruel and sadistic bastard.

Branka’s hand squeezed mine. She was twenty-two, but she still seemed small to me. My six-foot- five to her five-foot-five probably didn’t help matters. I let Branka mourn our mother, so she could get the peace she needed.

My eyes flickered to Byron Ashford. My half-brother. Fucking bastard. Always trying to mend what Senator Ashford destroyed. That fucker would never be my father, and I wasn’t interested in mending any kind of relationship with the Ashfords.

People whispered that the two of us looked alike. A lot like the old man. Except, I had my mother’s eyes. He had his father’s. Truthfully, I detested any similarities with the fucker who destroyed my mother. I wouldn’t lose any sleep if he died.

The parade of people commenced.

Throwing red roses, my mother’s favorite, onto her grave. Offering condolences. Moving on to go back to their petty little lives. They were like flies on shit, hungry for drama and fake with their sympathies.

Byron didn’t bring a red rose. Instead, he threw a white lilac. The damn bastard always had to be different. I wondered if white lilacs represented purity and innocence. Nothing with Byron was an accident.

He stopped in front of me and Branka. His gaze flicked up and caught Branka’s who watched him curiously.

“Alessio and Branka, my condolences,” Byron offered, his eyes returning to me.

My jaw tightened, words intended for him burning my throat. This wasn’t the place nor the time.

I’d prefer not to see the bastard ever again.

“Thank you, Mister–” Branka didn’t know our complicated family history. I’d protected her from that clusterfuck. I failed to protect her from our father when she was little, but I was all grown now, and I’d use merciless methods to protect my family.

“Byron Ashford,” my half-brother answered, more than willing to prolong this dialogue.

I shoved my hand into my pants pocket. “Thank you for coming,” I dismissed him in a cold tone. Branka’s gray eyes, so similar to mine, furrowed and darted to me, then to Byron and back to me.

Without another word, Byron tilted his head and disappeared. But the persistent bastard would be back. He always came back. Like a bad fucking case of herpes.

The crowds dwindled to fewer and fewer people. My eyes kept returning to the woman with hazel eyes that fascinated me.

For four years, I worked to forget the image of her. The innocence standing amidst pink, frilly bed sheets in front of ruthlessness. And she’d refused to cower. Her eyes met mine and a soft exhale parted her lips and a flush colored her cheeks.

She remembered me. It was in the flicker of those greenish hazel eyes. Chemistry and tension roped us in, the invisible strings wrapping around us, and I knew this time I’d have her.

The moments stretched into eternity and, as if she could see the resolution in my eyes, Autumn averted her gaze.

Something told me I had never stood a chance against this woman. Everything in the last four years led us here, to this very moment.

Her parents would come after me but they’d never win. She’d been mine from the moment we locked gazes. As if she could hear my thoughts, Autumn slid another glance my way. Hesitation. Caution. Fear?

Ironically, she stood with Cassio and Luca King, although she didn’t speak to them. Her wary gaze was on me and the two of them. Rightly so. We were all killers, shaped by our fathers and circumstances.

Another couple came up, murmuring their condolences. I didn’t even bother acknowledging them. All my focus was on the young woman with raven black hair and the strangest hazel eyes I had ever encountered. The girl that shoved me out of her room four years ago. The first person, never mind a girl, to stand up to me.

Soon, it was just my bastard father, Branka, and I, while Autumn, Cassio, and Luca stood to the

side. Cassio and Luca already offered their condolences and they remained in a show of support for me.