Chapter 2

CELESTINA

I stood off to the side as usual, far enough away from the dance floor so no one would feel obligated to ask me to a dance. My eyes followed Alejandra as she danced with her husband, Damion. Her eyes caught mine briefly, and she smiled. She had already moved out when I had to move in with Aunt Josephine and Uncle Altair six years ago, but she and I had become close friends nevertheless, closer than anyone else, especially my older brothers. They were allowed to stay in Atlanta after our father was killed by my cousin Phoenix. I shivered at the memory.

Alejandra was one of the few who looked at me with kindness and not a superior sneer. I resisted

the urge to rub my arms; it seemed like I was always cold. Even the music failed to set me at ease. I couldn’t wait to be back home and feel the keys of my piano under my fingertips.

My spine stiffened when Phoenix headed toward me. His wife, Caroline, probably took pity on me

and told him to ask me to a dance. I really wished he wouldn’t.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked, holding out his hand. Since I’d turned eighteen last year, I was expected to attend social events. Even Aunt Josephine and Uncle Altair couldn’t find excuses to keep me away anymore. I was still shunned by many, not openly, but I caught their looks when they thought I wasn’t paying attention.

“It’s an honor,” I said quietly and took his hand. My body revolted at the physical contact, but I forced it into submission and followed Phoenix toward the dance floor. He was my cousin and I’d known him all my life, not that I knew him very well. We had too many cousins in our family to allow a closer bond.

I tried to brace myself for the next step, for his hand on my waist, tried to prepare so I

wouldn’t flinch, but the moment his palm touched my hip, my entire body seized. Phoenix regarded me but didn’t pull back. He was probably used to that kind of reaction from people. His reputation and size would have sent even a normal woman running. I tried to soften my body in his hold as we danced, but it was a losing battle and eventually I gave up.

“Your father was a traitor, Celestina. I had to kill him.”

I’d never held it against him. My father knew the consequences of betrayal, yet Phoenix seemed

to think that was the reason I couldn’t stand his touch. I wished it were that. God, how I wished it were only that, wished it was only Phoenix’s touch that brought me close to panic. I swallowed the memories of the nights that had broken me.

“You had to,” I agreed. “And I don’t miss him. He wasn’t a good father. I miss my mother, but

you didn’t kill her. That was my father.”

In my head I began playing the melody I’d been working on over the last few weeks, hoping it

would calm me. It didn’t.

Phoenix nodded. “I talked to Aunt Josephine and Altair. They are concerned that you aren’t married

yet.”

I was nineteen and hadn’t been promised to anyone yet. “Who wants to marry the daughter of a

traitor?” I muttered. Deep down I was relieved. Marriage would reveal a secret I needed to hold on to, a secret that would turn me into a pariah in our circles.

“You did nothing wrong. Your father’s actions don’t define you.”

People were watching me. “Why don’t you tell them,” I spat, looking around at our audience. I

cringed at my tone. “I’m sorry.” Phoenix was Capo. I needed to show respect.

He regarded me, wearing a blank mask. “I don’t want to promise you to a soldier. You are a

Romano and should be married to one of my Captains or Underbosses.”

“It’s okay. I have time,” I said quietly, my cheeks flushing in shame. I didn’t really have time. I

was getting older and being unmarried and a traitor’s daughter would only make people talk more.

The dance was finally over, and I gave Phoenix a quick, forced smile before I made my way back

to the side. After that, I did what I could do best—had learned to do best—I pretended I wasn’t there. My aunt choosing modest dresses in subdued colors from last year’s collection definitely helped with that. I couldn’t wait for the Romano Christmas party to be over. Christmastime was connected to too many horrible memories.

Christmas Time. Seven years ago

I couldn’t sleep. No matter how I twisted and turned, I always managed to lie on the bruises. Father had been in a horrible mood today. Mother said it had something to do with us being in New York. Tomorrow, we’d finally return to Atlanta, and then his mood would be better. Soon, everything would be better. Soon, Father would have solved all of his problems and we’d finally be happy. I knew it wasn’t true. He would never be happy, never stop hitting us. Father enjoyed his unhappiness and he enjoyed making us suffer.

Something clanged downstairs. I got out of bed and stretched, trying to get rid of the soreness

in my limbs from the beating I endured this morning. A sound in the corridor drew me toward the door, and I carefully opened it, peering out the crack. A tall man lunged at me. Something over my head gleamed in the light, and then a knife was wedged into the wooden doorframe. I opened my mouth to scream, but the man clamped his hand over my mouth. I struggled, terrified of the huge stranger.

“Not a sound. Nothing will happen to you, Celestina.” I froze and took a closer look at the man. It

was my cousin Phoenix, my father’s Capo. “Where is your father?”

I pointed toward the door at the end of the corridor, my parents’ bedroom. He released me and

handed me over to Warren, my other cousin. I wasn’t sure what was going on. Why were they here in the middle of the night?

Warren began to lead me away when my mother stepped out of the bedroom. Her terrified eyes

landed on me a moment before she jerked and fell to the ground.

Phoenix threw himself to the ground as a bullet hit the wall behind him. Warren shoved me away

and darted forward, but another man gripped me in an unrelenting hold. My gaze froze on my mother, who stared at me with lifeless eyes.

Only Father had been in the bedroom with her, and he had killed her.

Dead. Just like that. One tiny bullet and she was gone.

I was dragged downstairs and out of the house, pushed into the backseat of a car. Then I was

alone with the sound of my shallow breathing. I wrapped my arms around my chest, wincing as my fingers touched the bruises on my upper arms caused by my father’s outburst this morning. I began rocking back and forth, humming a melody my piano teacher had taught me a few weeks ago. It was getting cold in the car, but I didn’t mind. The cold felt good, soothing.

Someone opened the door, and I shied away in fear, pulling my legs up to my chest. Phoenix

poked his head in. There was blood on his throat. Not much but I couldn’t look away. Blood. My father’s?

“How old are you?” he asked.

I didn’t say anything.

“Twelve?”

I tensed, and he closed the door and sat in the front beside his brother, Warren. They assured

me I was safe. Safe? I had never felt safe. Mother always said the only safety in our world was death. She found it.

My cousins took me to an older woman called Raffaella, whom I’d never met before. She was

kind and loving, but I couldn’t stay with her. As honor dictated, I had to stay with family, so I was sent to Baltimore to live with my Aunt Josephine and her husband, Altair, who was Underboss in the city like my father had been Underboss in Atlanta.

I had met her only during family festivities because she and my father hated each other. Phoenix

took me to them a couple of days after my mother’s funeral. I was silent beside him, and he didn’t try to make conversation. He looked angry and tense.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered when we came to a stop in front of a large villa in Baltimore. Over

the years, I’d learned to apologize even if I didn’t know what I’d done wrong.

Phoenix frowned at me. “What for?”

“For what my father did.” Honor and loyalty were the most important things in our world, and Father had broken his oath and betrayed Phoenix.

“That’s not your fault, so it’s nothing you should apologize for,” he said, and for a little while I believed it to be true. Until I saw Aunt Josephine’s disapproving face and heard Altair say to Phoenix that it would reflect badly on them if they took me in. Phoenix wouldn’t hear it, so I stayed with them, and eventually they learned to tolerate me, and yet not a day passed when I wasn’t acutely aware that I was seen as a traitor’s daughter. I didn’t blame them. From a young age, I’d learned that there was no greater crime than betrayal. Father had tainted our family name, had tainted my brothers and me, and we’d always carry the blemish. My brothers, at least, could try to make a name for themselves if they became brave Made Men, but I was a girl. All I could hope for was mercy.

Today

Being regarded as a traitor’s daughter, facing the pitying or disgusted expressions wasn’t the worst part about these gatherings. Not even close. He was. He caught my eyes from across the room, and his face held the knowledge of what he had done, the triumph over what he had taken. He stood beside my aunt—his wife—beside his children—my cousins—and was regarded with respect. His eyes on me made my skin crawl. He didn’t approach me, but his leering was enough. His gaze was just like his touch; it was humiliation and pain, and I could not stand it. Cold sweat covered my skin, and my stomach churned. I turned around and hurried toward the women’s restroom. I’d hide there for the rest of the night, until it was time to leave with my Aunt Josephine and Uncle Altair.

I splashed my face with water, ignoring the minimal makeup I wore. Luckily it was

waterproof mascara and a hint of concealer to cover the shadows under my eyes, so I didn’t do much damage. I needed the cold of the water to help me get a grip on my rising panic.

The door opened and Alejandra slipped in. She was beautiful in her bold violet dress with her

light brown hair. She carried herself with confidence and had for as long as I could remember. That was probably how she had managed to make her marriage with Damion work despite their age difference.

She came toward me and touched my shoulder, her brows drawing together. “Are you okay?

You left the party.”

“I’m not feeling well. You know I’m not good around so many people.”

Her eyes softened further, and I knew what was coming. “Phoenix would kill him if you told him

what he’s done.”

“No,” I croaked, my eyes darting to the door, afraid someone would come in and overhear us. I often regretted that I’d confided in Alejandra shortly after it had happened, but I had been broken and confused, and she was always kind. “You swore not to tell anyone. You swore it, Alejandra.”

She nodded, but I could tell that she didn’t like it. “I did, and I won’t tell anyone. It’s your

decision, but I think Uncle Bennett needs to pay for what he did.”

I shuddered, hearing his name. Turning my back on her, I washed my hands again. “You know

that I will be the one to pay, Alejandra. This world isn’t kind, least of all to a woman like me. I can’t go through this. I will be worse off than I am now. Your parents already have trouble finding a husband for me. If the truth got out, I’d die a spinster. They would never forgive me.”

Her lips formed a thin line. “My parents never treated you the way they should have. I’m

sorry.”

I shook my head. “It’s okay. They took me in. They never hit me, never punished me harshly. It

could have been worse.”

“I could ask Damion if one of his men would be a good match for you. There are many decent

men in his ranks.”

Decent. Damion ruled over Philadelphia with an iron fist. What he considered decent probably

didn’t qualify as decent for other people, but I had no right to be choosy or judge others. “No. That would offend your parents. You know how they are.” “Yeah, I know …” Her brows tightened.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m in no hurry to marry,” I said. Marriage would be my final ruin.