Burning The Syndicate For My Broken Girl

ya

ed me in c

e but couldn't hide the way my shoulders hunched inward to protect my shattered ribs. The dress was backless-they'd cho

orn skin. Every heartbeat pulsed against the swelling. The blood h

ep up the marble stairs sent a hot needle through my spine. One step. Breathe. Two steps. Don't fal

rom where she'd grabbed me at dinner. The pressure was precise, de

h was hot and smelled of gin. "Cry in ther

how to smile anymore. My face h

ing room swal

rew fractured light across the crowd. Aunts dripped with heavy jewels. Cousins sipped champagne from flutes so thin the glass was nearly i

agged me int

then the men, then even the servers frozen in place with their silver trays. Every

this li

r commanding her stage. She pressed a manicured hand to he

ing into a grimace of disbelief. "A worthless, diseased stray animal. We give her everything-money, protecti

Not sympathy. Just the low, satisfied hum of

rmchair. His cigar burned, a single red eye in the dim li

too old for these c

ess," my fa

room parted for him-bodies shifting aside, creating a path, beca

No ice. His knuckles were still red and raw

upid for finance." He took a long swallow, his throat working. "And

ght

sins whispered behind their crystal glasses, their eyes glittering with amusement. My aunts

braided my hair at my First Communion. Cousin Marco, who had taught me to climb tree

in my chest was heavy

didn't applaud when a father beat his daughter. Family didn't s

not s

gh the murmuring, the clinking glasses, the low pulse

er eyes narrowed, the pupils contra

cross my shoulder blades. But I held her gaze. For the first time in my life

e louder now, steadier. "I'm

hat followed

urned forgotten in an ashtray. One of my younger cousins-twelve years old, wide

a Capo in public wasn't an

ur blood-soaked, abusiv

ther's jaw tighten, a muscle jumping beneath his e

My voice shook now, a tremor I couldn't control. "

t the marble flo

like ice under the chandelier light. A dark flush crept up his neck, st

lun

I didn't duck. I didn't even close my eyes. I just stood there, my battered body braced, my weight settled,

my house

eed for a man his size, and his hand clamped around my father's forearm. The two men lo

on my floo

back again. His fist trembled in the air, still raised, still ready. I could see the war behind hi

moment, he lo

s came out wet, flecks of spit landing

opped away, and underneath it was something colder, sharper-the true face

oor. Her finger, wrapped in a

is family name. You'll have nothing. You'll be nothing. The stree

d into

d have been. She looked at me the way a gambler looks at a losing hand-with irritation, not grief.

ones with the weight of a s

thing to them. I

ned a

ifting aside, eyes down, breaths held. But this parting was different. This was the

e first coat my fingers found-a thick wool overcoat, black, three sizes too big. Men's. It smelled o

en. The cold hit m

deadbolt slide home w

eest sound I'

was just another word for