First Comes Blood by Lilith Vincent
1
Chiara
In one moment, your entire world can shatter.
Irreparable.
Absolute.
Final.
I’m living in a perverse, inverted Cinderella tale of wealth, privilege, and protection. At the stroke of midnight, it’s ripped away until I have nothing left. Not even a fairy godmother to pat my cheek and tell me it will be all right.
Nothing will be all right ever again. I belong to them now. My devil princes. Rulers of this city. Harbingers of disaster. Four men who are as dangerous as they are handsome and as brutal as sin. They hold my life in their hands, and I’m their plaything. A pawn to increase their power in this corrupt city.
They’ll take what I love and make it bleed.
But none of this has happened yet. It’s not quite midnight on my birthday, and my virginal white dress is clean without even a spot of blood.
My life and heart are in one piece, for a few more hours at least.
Tick tock.
* * *
Candles light the dining room,and there are fresh flowers along every wall. The table has an elegant centerpiece in black and gold—Dad’s signature colors—and gleams with crystal glasses, silver cutlery, and white bone china. The napkins resemble lotus flowers that are spreading their petals on each dinner plate.
Hanging from the ceiling is a baby blue banner that reads, Seventeen today!
It’s affectionate and kitschy. That will be my mother’s touch, and my heart lifts at the sight. Maybe this will be a happy night after all, and over dinner I can ask my father about going to college, and this time he won’t walk away or change the subject.
There’s no time for my mind to run away with this daydream because the moment I enter the room, I’m called to heel.
“Chiara, come here.”
Obediently, I go and stand before my father. He’s dressed in a tuxedo, spotlessly neat and groomed. His thick black hair is swept back, and a few silver threads glisten among the strands. He’s a powerful man, in all senses. Big and imposing with flashing eyes and broad shoulders, but a powerful man politically, too. He’s the Mayor of Coldlake. We’re wealthy. Influential. Untouchable. People like to tell lies about my family, but the rumors never stick. Bad things seem to happen to our enemies, and they just melt away.
Over his shoulder, Mom’s hovering, her hands tightly clasping her elbows, her too-thin face even more gaunt than usual. She’s wearing a long black evening gown, her blonde hair is coiffed, and she’s sparkling with jewels, but her dark eyeshadow makes her face look like a skull.
A specter at the feast.
We studied Macbeth in school a few months ago, and the idea that a mournful spirit has come to my birthday party flits across my mind.
I flash Mom a reassuring smile while Dad inspects me from head to toe, from the tiara tucked into my blonde hair to the white chiffon gown that skims my body and pools at my feet. I don’t know why he’s looking at me like he’s never seen this dress before. He chose it for me. I look like a sacrificial virgin on my seventeenth birthday.
I fiddle nervously with the diamond earrings hanging from my earlobes, and he slaps my hand away.
“Stop that. It makes you look nervous, and nerves are for the weak. Do you want to look weak?”
“In front of who?” I peer past him to the table, wondering who’s coming to dinner. Dad’s been dropping cryptic remarks about an honored guest for weeks but won’t tell me anything else. I count the place settings on the oval mahogany table.
Me.
Mom.
Dad.
And…four more places?
Four?“Who’s coming to dinner?”
Mom turns even paler, and her throat convulses as if she’s going to be sick.
Dad’s smile widens. Always that air of mystery. Father knows best and don’t ask questions. Dad’s the smartest man I know and there’s nothing he won’t do for us or the city of Coldlake. When there’s a problem or a scandal, he tells us that everything will be fixed, and then it is. According to him, we don’t need to know how the problems go away. We’re too important for that sort of worry. We’re his beautiful girls.
But this isn’t politics. This is my birthday party.
“You’ll find out.” He glances at the clock on the wall. It’s two minutes to eight. Two minutes until the mystery guests arrive. The ticking suddenly becomes menacing.
Tick tock.
“Chiara.” Mom’s voice is shaking. She comes forward to take my hands in hers, and they’re cold and bony—like death.
“Please try to eat a little more, Mom,” I whisper, gazing into her huge eyes. Lately, she seems to be fading away in front of me. “I worry that you’re getting sick.”
She squeezes my fingers. “Don’t worry about me. You’re seventeen today. It’s time you learned the truth about—”
The doorbell rings, interrupting her. Dad gives Mom a warning look, and she backs off.
“The truth about what?” I look between my parents, but Dad won’t answer, and Mom can’t. She’s always been in awe of Dad, but lately, she’s been downright afraid.
Dad inspects the table, and his face transforms in disgust. He strides over and, with one sharp tug, rips the baby blue birthday banner down and crumples it in his fists.
Mom whimpers, and tears fill her eyes. I grab her hand and hold it tightly, glaring at Dad’s back as he throws the banner into a side room. Now nothing in the dining room is ours. It’s all Dad’s.
I’ve seen him like this on the eve of an election or a big rally, feverish with the ambition to win at all costs. His charisma means that everyone around him is swept up in his determination. Mom and I become the perfect, smiling wife and daughter. Mom will give speeches and I’ll hold Dad’s hand and wave to the crowds. As the longest serving mayor of Coldlake, Dad knows just what to say, just how to smile to convince the people that he’s who they want. He’s who they need.
And he is good for Coldlake. The city is thriving and the people are prospering. You only have to attend the parades or stand on Main Street on a Saturday and see all the happy people shopping and eating to know that this city is something special. Dad’s something special.
But tonight, Dad’s brought his ambition to my birthday party. As he gazes at me, I feel the full weight of his expectation.
All the hairs stand up on the back of my neck as I hear footsteps coming down the hall toward us, heavy and masculine. Not one set of feet. Many feet.
Before I can take another breath, four men enter the room—big, dangerous-looking men with forceful gazes and intent focus. They line up in a silent row, their expressions hostile. And yet, their faces are familiar. I realize with a shock that I know them. They’re famous.
Or rather, infamous.
Standing on the left in a tuxedo like Dad’s is Salvatore Fiore, chin lifted with arrogance as he straightens his cuffs, diamond cufflinks gleaming. His rich brown hair is swept back, and his strong jaw is cleanshaven. He owns half a dozen casinos in the city. Those are the legit ones, anyway. I hear that there are a dozen more where bets are placed on more than just blackjack.
Next to him is Vinicius Angeli, hands casually in his pants pockets, but his clever eyes alight with interest. Angeli, like angel. He’s got a face like an angel, terrible in its golden beauty. He’s how I imagine the Archangel Gabriel would look if he appeared before me. Rumors of dirty money swirl around him in the news. Lots of dirty money.
The third man is all in black, his shirt tight across his prodigious chest. He wears his black beard short and painstakingly neat. He’s got better brows than I do. Black curls just touch the back of his collar, and his eyes are narrowed. Judgmental. His name comes to me after a moment. Cassius Ferragamo, nightclub owner. Strip club owner, too, it’s rumored, ones that are filled with the most corrupt people in the city, night after night.
Finally, standing a little apart from the others is a pale-eyed, blond man in a suit with a skinny black tie. He has the tousled hair and muscular body of an Australian surfer, but his gaze is so, so cold that I feel the blood in my veins turning to ice. I’d know him anywhere. Lorenzo Scava. No one knows what the hell he does, but it’s rumored to be brutal, dangerous, and highly illegal.
Everyone in Coldlake would recognize these men. Their pictures have all been in the news. They’re criminals. Extortionists. Mobsters.
Killers.
And they’ve all come to my birthday party.
Vinicius’ mouth quirks in a smile. “Hey, birthday girl,” he purrs in a voice like black velvet. Then he winks.
My face reacts on its own, heat stealing over my cheeks. I attend Coldlake Girl’s Catholic High School. The only males I come into contact with are family and the old priests. Now, four seethingly good-looking men are all eyeing me like they’re wondering how I taste. I feel like I’m completely naked in front of them.
Salvatore finishes straightening his cuffs and steps confidently forward. “Happy birthday, Miss Romano.”
As he places his hands on my shoulders, a hot spark that Vinicius kindled bursts into flame within my chest. Salvatore dips his head to kiss my cheeks, brisk at first, but after the first kiss, he slows right down. I’m out of my father’s view thanks to Salvatore’s massive back, and his fingers trail across my jaw as a devilish smile spreads over his face. My lips part in surprise, and his hand on my wrist suddenly tightens as his mouth descends on mine.
The seconds his lips are pressed against mine are eons long. Heat flows from him into me. Fire licks up my body. I shouldn’t allow this to happen. Before I can put my hand against his chest and push him away, he breaks the kiss. His mouth leaves mine, but I can still feel it.
His eyebrows rise, teasing me. “Pretty girls need a birthday kiss.”
“Fiore!” Dad barks.
But Salvatore doesn’t move. He stays right where he is, his face inches from mine, his goading expression daring me to call for help. I close my lips and turn my face away, my insides churning.
What the hell is going on?
Salvatore stays where he is a few seconds longer, proving to Dad that he follows no one’s orders, I suppose, and then steps aside.
I stay where I am as Dad greets the men, standing between them and me. For a moment, I wonder if he’s outraged on my behalf that one of his guests kissed me within seconds of meeting me. He only looks mollified when they all greet him respectfully as Mayor Romano and shake his hand.
It’s his reputation he’s worried about, not mine.
The men are formally introduced to Mom and me in turn. Only Vinicius smiles at me. Salvatore looks amused, but not in a friendly way. Cassius and Lorenzo both regard me with glacial silence, the former as if I’m massively disappointing him and he’s itching to correct me, and the latter like he’s wondering whether to sever my limbs above the joint or below. Instead of dousing the heat inside me, their attention makes it burn harder. Every sensibility is telling me to fear these men, and on many levels, I do. Something deeper inside me, something more primal, wants to draw closer.
Dad calls them all businessmen. Important friends and colleagues. I might not know much about people and the world, but I can read. I hear what people say. “I think there’s been some mistake.”
Dad slips his hands into his trouser pockets, and his hooded gaze flashes with warning. “There’s no mistake. They’re your dinner guests. Be nice to your guests, Chiara.”
“But they’re all criminals!” I burst out.
Dad’s jaw tightens. He exchanges glances with each of the four men, and then he smiles.
He smiles.
They smile too. Four treacherous smiles, all teeth and threat.
“And so?” Dad asks.
“And…we’re not.” My voice goes up at the end. We’re not? Are we? People whisper about the Romano family, that Dad’s got irons in many fires and fingers in many pies. Vague things. Nothing that makes the news. Not like these men who seem to be evading a new accusation every week.
There’s a dark chuckle from Salvatore. “She’s more innocent than I thought.” His eyes travel over my lips, my breasts, my hips, as if he’s dismantling my chiffon dress with his gaze. My lips are still burning from that kiss.
“Chiara, these are my dearest friends. Show some respect.”
Dearest friends? These men? I’ve heard the accusations about my father, that he’s got links to the underworld and friends in low places. Of course, I’ve had my suspicions…but Dad’s always denied the rumors and called them ridiculous. He’s my father, and I believe him. He’s not the loving, affectionate man that some fathers are, and he expects a lot of Mom and me, but I’ve always believed he’s an honest person. If you can’t trust your own father, who can you trust?
Across the room, four men in suits watch me like hungry wolves.
“Sit.” It’s an order for Mom and me. Mom has her eyes on the floor as she walks quickly toward her chair. I know what she’d tell me if she could find her voice.
Just obey, Chiara. You know it’s easier to do what he wants. It will all be over soon.
But I don’t dare take my seat. If I sit down, then I’m going to hear terrible things. I know I am. There can be no innocent reason that these four men—these four notorious, dangerous men—are in our house tonight. I look desperately at my father. Dad, what have you done?
What did you promise them?
What do these men want?
Mom and Dad are at either end of the oval dining table. The four men stand along one side, and my solitary setting is opposite. They wait behind their chairs for the birthday girl to take her seat.
“Eleonora,” Dad says lazily, not even looking at his wife. Mom hurries over to me and tries to push me into my chair, but I resist.
“Sit,” she breathes in my ear. “Please, darling. Just get through this night. You’re not of age, and nothing can happen to you.” Her final unspoken word hangs between us as our terrified gazes meet.
Yet.
But something will happen to me. Something to do with me and these men. Not tonight, but soon.
“You don’t need to be afraid. I’ll find a way to help you before it’s time, I promise,” she whispers.
My knees weaken, and Mom steers me into my seat before going back to hers. In front of me, the men all sit down. Salvatore. Vinicius. Cassius. Lorenzo. They stare back at me. I feel like I’m being interviewed for a dangerous job I don’t want.
Dad rings a bell, signaling the staff to come in with wine and starters. I sip from my sparkling water, trying to make sense of Mom’s cryptic words. I’ll find a way to help you before it’s time. Time for what?
Dad and the men talk as Mom and I pick at our smoked salmon slices. Real estate prices. The industrial developments down at the docks. The new nightclub that Cassius has opened. Dad congratulates them about their latest business ventures, and they smirk as they thank him for deals that have gone through. It sends a shiver down my spine to listen to them.
“Speaking of deals…” He glances at the four guests. “Which of you thinks you should be the one? We can discuss the details in private, but a lady likes to be courted.” Dad indicates me with his wine glass and takes a large mouthful.
“Of course she does,” Salvatore says, leaning back in his chair and regarding me. His arrogant smile snares my attention. “It should be me, obviously. I’m the richest—and the strongest.”
It should be him who gets what? And why does money and strength matter? Salvatore has an aura of impeccable grooming and wealth about him, but I don’t know if he means physically strongest or something else. Cassius, who looks like he could bench press a whole lot more, glances at Salvatore and makes a dismissive, “Tch,” sound.
“Obviously you? Obviously nothing,” cuts in Vinicius, and as he glances at me, I’m dazzled again by his good looks. “It will be me because I’m the handsomest and the cleverest.”
At the far end of the table, Lorenzo has produced a knife from somewhere and is twirling it in his fingers. The point is wickedly sharp. Mom, who’s closest to him, shrinks back in her seat, her shaking hand covering her throat.
I wish they’d all leave, but most of all, I wish Lorenzo Scava would disappear. His face doesn’t betray anything, but I have the impression he’s enjoying her fear.
“I’m the toughest. I’m unswerving in my duty to others, and the duty they have to me.” This is Cassius. His voice is accented as if he’s spent several years or more in Italy. He addresses Dad, but then his attention turns to me as he lets his final words hang ominously in the air. A shiver goes through me. I hope he never has any expectations of me.
Salvatore looks down the table. “And you, Lorenzo?”
Lorenzo Scava acts as if he hasn’t heard a word of what’s been going on. He’s still twisting that knife and flipping it across his knuckles while Mom looks more and more afraid.
My hands grip the napkin in my lap until I can’t take it anymore. “Stop that!”
Lorenzo snatches the knife out of the air and pins me with a predatory look. I’m trapped in that pale gaze, and I can’t move a muscle, even though every nerve is screaming at me, run. “It’s simple. If I’m not the one, then you’ll all regret it.”
“Cane pazzo,” Cassius mutters. Mad dog.
“The one what? What is going on?” I look desperately at Dad. If this is a business deal, then it’s the strangest one I’ve ever heard.
At the head of the table, Dad rests his fists on the wood and smiles broadly at me. Anyone would think it’s his birthday he’s beaming so much. “Chiara. Tonight, you’ll be promised to one of these men. On your eighteenth birthday, you’ll become engaged, and when you’re eighteen and one week, you’ll marry, and the Romanos will be joined with one of the most important families in Coldlake.”
Around the table, no one moves. Not even Mom. The room is so silent that I can hear the ticking of the clock. I’m the only one with her mouth open and her eyes wide. Everyone knew about this except me.
My four potential fiancés are drinking in my shock like it’s the finest wine. Dad’s put me on display before them and they’re delighted with the goods.
My palms turn clammy and my breathing quickens. This is the future Dad planned for me all along. He’s never been interested in discussing with me what I want because he’s been envisioning me as the bride of one of these vicious men. He’s always liked to brag that he makes the best business deals. Finds the best leverage. Dangles the juiciest incentives. Only this time, the deal isn’t for real estate, or a redevelopment, or a trade deal.
The deal is me.
Tick tock.