SeraTo take my mind off my anger at Killian, and my anxiety over all the photos of my mother in the attic, Olivia proposed we go to the mall to shop for furniture and decorations. Baby Michael was fussy, and Penelope preferred to stay inside, so I took up Olivia’s offer.And whether he wanted to or not, so did Patrick.“If you two,” he warned from the driver’s seat, “make me carry bags like girlfriends make their boyfriends do, I’m immediately ditching you.”Olivia leaned forward. “Go ahead. See what the Hand of Death has to say about you leaving your post.” She beamed at him, her smile as sweet as venom. “If anything happens to Serafina Bianchi, it’ll be your head.”Patrick swallowed and looked ahead. Olivia tittered in satisfaction and sat back to pat my leg. “You’re so wired, girl. Did Killian mess up or something?”I shook my head. “It’s not just him. I saw some old photos in the attic, is all.”Olivia’s brows rose. “Of what?”I shook my head again. “Just a bunch of people. I don
KillianOf all the violent, terrifying, bloody, life-threatening events I’d experienced in all my decades, somehow, I had never had a shotgun inches from my forehead.Two dark holes with a quick death at the other end stared down at me.But I had been just as quick to draw. My pistol was aimed at my assailant’s stomach. “I want to assume,” I said in a low voice, careful not to spook the potential shooter, “that you’re not Robert.”“No. Who’s asking?”I didn’t let the surprise show on my face. It was a woman aiming a shotgun right between my eyes.“Who are you, what do you want, and what the hell are you doing on my property?” Her voice was husky, indicating she was older. If she had a shotgun in the middle of nowhere, she was either faking that she knew how to use it or she definitely knew how to use it. “And put that gun away.”“I mean no harm. We’ll put them down together.”She hesitated, not trusting a trespasser with a fatal weapon. She then stepped closer, the shotgun less than a
Sera“Sera Bianchi? What the hell are you doing here?”My mouth dropped open as I stared up at Jim Harrison, the blue-eyed, broad-shouldered gym teacher at Jefferson Middle School. Jim Harrison, the American Dream. My dream, when I had a crush on him just a few months ago. All of a sudden, it seemed like years had passed.Months or years, regardless, he was no less handsome. His face, looking as dumbfounded as I felt, had healed from all the wounds Killian had inflicted on him.My brain could muster no words as my past came rushing back.Then I noticed he was with a woman. Not just any woman, but Eva Jacobs, the pretty sixth grade reading teacher. I had always thought was beautiful and knew how to roll with the punches, which meant she was destined for whatever life she made for herself.They were holding hands.“Sera?” Eva looked me up and down as if trying to decide if I was a figment of her imagination. “Sera, I thought you were—” She clapped her free hand over her mouth to stop he
KillianI was face to face with a woman who had died fifteen years ago.Allegedly.Somewhere along the way, all I’d learned about her had been tangled up in a web of lies. Tonight, I’d tugged on one of those threads, and there was no going back, assuming she didn’t unload that shotgun on me.Caterina Bianchi, the wife of Andre Bianchi, the mother of Leonardo and Serafina Bianchi.Her expression and body language suggested she was warring with herself about whether to shoot me for saying I was in love with her daughter—with an age difference of twenty-two years—or keep me alive long enough to get answers. I had killed her son, after all. She knew that much.Would Sera be thrilled when I told her that her mother was alive? Or would she be enraged that she had faked her death all those years ago?Caterina swallowed hard. “I should put a bullet through your heart.”“You could.” I gave her a look I would give one of my men who had stepped out of line. “But I’m here for a reason. Would you
SeraWhen Olivia, Patrick, and I returned to the mansion, he dropped the wreaths the first chance he got and fled the scene before we could force him to help us decorate. I took no offense and thought it was hilarious.“What a surly teenage boy,” I said, laughing.“Such fragile masculinity for a mafia brute,” she mused. Rubbing her hands together, she glanced around the room. “What should we start dressing up first?”“We should hang the wreaths, of course.”We’d found door hooks in the attic earlier and had hung them up before we left, so it was easy work setting the wreaths on them. Then we wrapped the garland around stair banisters, set fake candles on windowsills, and put window clings of snowmen just above them. We’d bought all sorts of Santas, snowmen, angels, elves, and gingerbread men to sit on every sill, mantel, and side table. Before long, the house was on its way to being Santa’s workshop.Lastly, we wrapped more garland around the tree in the foyer and decorated it with a
SeraIt was midnight by the time Killian came home.I lay tucked in between his silky black sheets, wearing one of his shirts, reading a book about gardening that I’d found in one of the parlors. Sleep tugged at my eyelids, and the words on the page were starting to blur, but I had to stay awake.I had to apologize to him. I couldn’t sleep well knowing our last interaction wasn’t a good one.I kept the door cracked, so when I heard the sounds of entry in the distance, my heart lurched in fear as much as it did happiness. After Briggs, a seed of uncertainty had been placed in my chest. What if it wasn’t Killian, and someone else discovered how to infiltrate the manor?The side table lamp was on beside me, too, filling the room with a warm, soft glow so that when Killian walked in, he wouldn’t have to fumble around in the dark—or freak out when I spoke from the gloom.His hand pushed open the door, and he slipped in, his eyes finding mine as if magnetized. A lightness filled me.“Welcom
SeraI had to be hallucinating somehow.My mother was dead. She died in a horrible car accident fifteen years ago. The woman who stood just a few feet away was surely just a ghost. The light from the hallway behind her almost gave her a glow. Not enough to make her seem like a half-transparent apparition, but imaginations could run wild, and I was able to make her seem like flesh and blood.She was older, her skin less taut, streaks of gray in her dark brown hair.Her eyes were the same, though. They were blue and gentle with love and care, the way she always looked at me, always with an edge of sorrow and pity. Yes, pity, and now I knew why.Because I was a target, and as a child, I’d been blissfully unaware. She had painted that target. But even now as I realized that, I couldn’t be mad. It was only because she wanted to be free. She was only trying to be free of my father’s cage he’d trapped her in, and Leo and I couldn’t fit through the bars, because if we did…We’d all be dead.I
SeraThe young man was another ghost from my past. It was like staring at Leo as a teen— almost a miniature of my late brother, which meant he was an echo of our mother: the same dark brown hair, blue eyes, and a similar face shape.But that was the end of the resemblances. Dustin’s hair was curly, and the blue of his eyes wasn’t as cold and aloof as Leo’s had been. They were curious and hesitant, untouched by the cruelty of the mafia life.Leo had been sucked into it. At fifteen, he’d started to change, and he’d put on an impenetrable armor. He’d become mean and short-tempered as he spent more and more time following our father around. And before I knew it, he was more than just Dad’s shadow.I don’t remember what it was or when exactly, but there was a moment when I was hit with the realization that Leo wasn’t Leo anymore. At some point, he stopped being my brother and was a full-fledged mobster.Dustin was different. That was evident—comfortingly so. And for a moment, I felt a rush