Chapter 2

I found more than dirty clothes when I entered Beth's room.

One entire wall was covered with trophies from dance competitions and research contests. Our parents had even placed a small plaque in front of each one.

Each plaque listed the date of Beth's win and how old she was.

A large family portrait hung among the trophies.

I wasn't in it.

On the day it was taken, my mother had taken Beth out early for hair and makeup. When they reached the car, she realized Beth had forgotten her hat.

I ran upstairs to get it.

By the time I came back down, they had already driven away.

When the photo came out, the father said, "It's okay. The family members don't recognize you. Taking a group photo now doesn't make sense. Wait until we get you acquainted with the family members, and then we'll take a photo together."

I averted my gaze and didn't look again.

The promise made by the father has not been fulfilled yet.

A notice about the family's firearm assignments for members who had come of age lay on the desk.

I still remembered the day we received ours.

My mother had accepted the letter and chosen both guns herself.

When she handed them over, Beth's was brand-new, with her name engraved on the barrel. She couldn't put it down.

My mother smiled and said, "I picked this one especially for you and had the gunsmith engrave your name on it."

When I looked down at mine, dried blood still stained the barrel. No one had even bothered to clean it.

My mother merely said, "There are no good guns left. All that's left is this one with blood on it. It might have been left by the previous owner. It's a bit dirty, but if you clean it up properly, it can still be used."

Later, when she sent a thank-you letter, only Beth's name appeared at the top.

I scrubbed the gun clean and packed it in my backpack.

I would take it to Milan as a reminder never to look back.

After gathering Beth's laundry, I went back to my room to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything. I left the old fountain pen she'd given me on the desk.

The certificates and trophies I'd packed away in a box could stay too.

I had forgotten nothing.

Only then did I sling my backpack over my shoulder and leave.

After dropping the laundry off, I called a car.

Right then, my mother sent a text. "Pay the cleaner. I'll reimburse you later.Remember to have a meal. "

I didn't reply. I switched off my phone and got into the car.

I didn't turn it on again until I was in the departure lounge.

A social media post popped up about another Moretti daughter who had been assigned to escort weapons shipments in Southeast Asia.

Before leaving, she had posted photos of the equipment her parents had prepared for her.

There were more than a dozen sets of specialized body armor alone.

I closed the post.

Beth had sent two messages.

"Monica, have you left yet? Let me know when you arrive."

"Stay safe."

I read them and didn't reply.

I switched off my phone again and boarded my flight to Milan.

Three hours later, I landed without incident. The Turner family's underboss had sent someone to meet me and help arrange my accommodations.

The man who met me stared at my lone backpack.

He blinked in surprise. "That's all you brought? It's fine. Everything you need is already waiting for you. Actually, you could have arrived empty-handed. You will have to take care of yourself in Milan, though."

I smiled without answering. I had taken care of myself all my life. I was used to it.

They put me in a villa on the outskirts of the city.

A private club nearby would be my first assignment. Running it would teach me how the Turner family operated.

I turned down the staff they had arranged because I preferred the quiet.

On the first morning, I made toast.

In the family group chat, Beth posted a photo of a healthy meal our mother had cooked for her.

A few days later, the unfamiliar climate left me bedridden with a cold.

More photos filled the group chat. Our parents were taking Beth to dinners and introducing her to socialites and politicians.

She was surrounded by people, and our parents' faces were full of pride.

No one asked whether I had made it to Milan.

No one asked where I was living or whether I had enough money.

No one asked if I was carrying a gun to protect myself.

That evening, the assistant assigned to help me learn the job came to the villa and found me pale, weak, and drenched in sweat.

She immediately called a private doctor.