Page 54 of Psycho

Arching an eyebrow, I speak in an annoyed tone.

“Because you thought he killed your father?”

She nods and takes a sip of her drink, eyeing me warily.

“I didn’t have a choice. I knew I was a sitting duck staying put, and it was only a matter of time, before someone would come for both me and my mother.”

Rubbing at the ache in my chest, I wait for her to tell me what my father did. I’m annoyed that he didn’t tell me, as I wonder if Bones has this information, since he was made the head of the family. Surely he would have told me, after finding out that I took her.

“My family name is Amici. Your father got me a new identity. My name is not Anastasia Crowne. It’s Hadley Amici.”

All the air vanishes from my lungs, as I stare at her in shock, and I’m pulled into the memory of the first time I heard that name.

My mother scowls at me.

“Massimo, you will be nice to Hadley.”

She’s annoying, following me everywhere, looking up at me with those eyes that say I’m a hero. I know she’s just a little girl, but for a reason I cannot explain, I want to hurt her. I like making her cry.

“Why is she here?”

My mother glances at me with a soft smile, and she shakes her head, as if to say I’m being impossible.

“Her mother had somewhere to be, so she’s hanging out here because, as you know, the men are working.”

The men.

I clench my fists at my sides with her words, because, while I’ve proven I can handle enemies, I’m still not working with my father, because I’m only sixteen. My mother has urged me repeatedly to go to college, but it’s not what I want. I’ve known, since I was a young boy, that I want to work with the family. With my father.

“Behave,” she scolds me, and I nod with a groan.

“Massimoooo,” I hear from down the hall, and I bristle at the sound of her high-pitched voice. I bet I’d like it better if she were screaming.

My mother reminds me.

“She’s a little girl, figlio.”

“Massimo?” She speaks low, but loud enough to snap me out of my memory.

I gaze at her silently, as I attempt to make a connection between the gorgeous woman in front of me, and the annoying little girl, that liked to follow me around like a lost puppy. The same fair skin, slender neck, the lone freckle on her right cheekbone, and the fucking halo around her irises, that seems different now. More intense.

“I didn’t recognize you,” I say, as I scratch my head in confusion.

Giggling, she says, “I was a little girl. I would like to think I’ve changed.”

A million questions pop into my mind. Why didn’t my father tell me? Does my mother know? And who the fuck killed her father?

“Where did you get the information that my father was responsible for your father’s death?”

“Carlo,” she admits, after a hard swallow.

I stare at her incredulously.

“You’re fucking kidding me, right? That’s your source?”

“Yup,” she answers in a squeaky voice, telling me that she knows where she made a critical error.

She lets out a soft gasp when she catches my glare.

---