Page 8 of Savage Enemy

I’d fed Stefano lie after lie. Told him I grew up as an orphan, no siblings, weaving stories about the girl I wanted to be into a fictional tale that gave me a new life.

I wanted to end the whole charade, to tell him the awful truth right there in that stupid fucking rose-scented bathroom.

“What the hell is he talking about, Valerie?” Stefano demanded.

“Please, just get rid of them,” I pleaded. “Then I can explain it all. I’ll tell you everything.”

He grabbed my chin and tilted it up, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes. I wouldn’t have been able to see through the sudden blur of tears anyway.

“When I get back,” he said, “you and Enzo will be here. You are mine. That boy is mine. And after I handle the situation, you will explain every-fucking-thing. Understand?”

He brushed the backs of his fingers over my wet cheeks, his gentle touch in stark contrast to his harsh tone.

I didn’t want to lie anymore. I didn’t want to run anymore.

But what choice did I have if I wanted him to live?

“I promise,” I said.

Another lie—burning me up from the inside out.

Stefano didn’t know what he would be dealing with when it came to my family. He had no idea how disgustingly savage my father could be. I wouldn’t let that come down on him. I wouldn’t let the cruelty and my family’s sins come down on my son either. They deserved better.

Stefano pressed a hard kiss on my lips, one that almost broke me, almost made me confess everything and beg for his forgiveness.

Instead, I swallowed the lump in my throat as he warned me one last time before he walked out, still in his plush robe, the master of his house.

The second he was out of sight, I rushed to Enzo’s room.

I hated what I was about to do, taking Enzo away from his father. But I had to do it. It was our only chance.

“Gentlemen, what’s the issue?” I heard Stefano ask, his tone smooth with confidence and authority.

When I opened Enzo’s bedroom door, expecting to see him alone at the foot of his bed, playing the video games his father had bought him, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Two men sat there— one on either side of him.

Saul Moscatelli.

A depraved mafia monster from Chicago.

My father.

On the right side of Enzo’s bed, with one hand on my son’s shoulder and his other pressing a gun into my son’s ribs, sat the vilest man in existence. Worse than my father even.

The demon who had tortured me throughout my childhood, who took infinite pleasure in the suffering of others, and who coveted my older brother’s inheritance.

Aris Moscatelli.

My twin brother.

He wore the same wicked grin he’d had as a child.

“Hello, sister.”

My breath caught in my throat.

I gripped the doorframe to keep myself upright.

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