Dying Unloved: My Cold Family's Bitter Regret

n my tenth birthday, an

y brother to co

their grief in me. Eight years of kneeling in freezing rain. Eigh

iversary of his dea

ld have saved me won't

pte

afi

fore I died,

online. The quiet kind. The kind that sneaks up on you when you're sitting on a rooftop

third floor of my dorm. She handed me one, the aluminum sweating in the

her tab. "We've been friends for six years, and you

It was too sweet, the w

hing inside

olor of strong tea-dark and warm and sharp all at once. "You grew up there. The

nker. The locked door. The window

here is bet

y a housing algorithm that didn't know either of our names. Within a week, she'd figured out that I flinched at loud noises and never talked

ss them, and I'm going to get into the academy, and I'm going to become the kind of agent who actually helps people instead of-" she

nd who takes bribe

That was another thing about Aria. She n

said, "I'll be standing outside the gates. Big

d hooked her pi

omi

omi

and the streetlamps flickered on below us. I didn't know it wa

t I had

-

uca's death always s

a

s and lower their heads. The violent kind. The kind that fell in sheets so thick you couldn't see three feet in fro

hat mud for three hour

t was three wor

rder. A summons from the Capo to the daught

and rainwater dripped from the ends of my hair down the back of my neck. I'd stopped

had stopped sending protection with me years ago. What was there t

rough the g

s before. Narrow. Dark. The kind of alley that existed in every mafia-controlled neighborhoo

en the hand closed aroun

agged burst. The alley stank of rotting garbage and iron-old bloo

sluiced down his face, catching in the ridges of old tissue. In the dim orange glow of a distant

e Mo

from a rival bloodline-a man who'd been hunting

ational. "Did you know that, little canary? Vincenzo put a bullet in M

smelled the sour w

t years to return that

m to move. Slow. Steady. The taser was tucked inside my co

m-engraved. High-voltage. He'd pressed it into my palms

n't hesitate. You're

time to react. He'd called me his little canary back then-a nickname that had nothing to do with singing and eve

grief curdled into hatred. Before I b

fingers aro

lanced down-half a second

nto his chest and p

ic

mechanic

d of my

sed against his sternum. The corner of hi

orable," h

from its handle-a tiny gold canary my father had soldered onto the weapon

free and shoved it

into a dumpster wit

aughed, low and rough. "I watched you tase one of

my throat. Not squeez

this for a very lo

om the guards, away from the mausoleum where at least someone might have seen me. He'd summ

wn. He couldn

ause he'd made sure

ed me out o

-

windows blacked out with spray paint and rotting plywoo

smell that clung to the back of your throat and refused to let go. A single bare

dark with stains I couldn't identify. On a metal tray beside it, tools were arranged with t

ween my teeth. The taste of iron

tripod. The little red recording light blinked to life. "Y

pair of heavy

d snapped with a sound like a

hot. It was white. Complete. It swallowed my vision and filled my ears wi

oise that came out was barely human-a we

peeled skin away from muscle with a precision that spoke of practice. Every time I started to l

ky promise on the rooftop. About th

ought. I'm not

ne-the call I'd made when Dante first grabbe

e-there's a man-

sound of wine being

nce," my mother had said to someone in the room.

ne wen

on my bag three weeks ago-enraged that I'd been studying instead of prepari

't a te

ea

or just thought it. The word repea

. Please co

my bones as my heartbeat slowed, as the pool of blo

ce, calm and satisfied, framed by t

ght was: I never got

ss rose up and

-