Page 1 of Of Lies and Shadows

Prologue

Francesca

Ihate this life. I hate these rules. I hate everything about it.

People see the glitz, the money, the gold, the glamour, but they don’t see the cage we live in. I want out, always have.

Even as a teenager, I knew the price of luxury and comfort was too high. But there’s no way out of the mafia. Whether you're born into it or dragged in, your only escape is six feet under…

Unless,by some miracle, your family and the don agree to grant your freedom.

That will never happen. Not in my house. Not with a father so cruel and violent that he sees my mother as little more than a broodmare.

And me?

I’m just an asset. Something he can trade. Someone he hits when he feels the need, but never in the face though. We don’t show bruises in the Mori family.

I’ve made my peace with that… most of the time.

But some days, like today, it’s harder.

Today, I watched one of my friends, someone from outside the famiglia, get engaged to a man she actually loves.

And it hurts.

Because I know, with absolute certainty, that will never be my future.

Of course I’ve thought about running. Who wouldn’t? But I also know what happens when they find you. And that knowledge alone is enough to kill any lingering dreams of escape.

Even if this life is a slow, quiet death… at least there’s still the hope of getting out. At least it won’t end with hours of pain and suffering.

I smile.

No, actually, I am happy for Jane.

But I pretend I’m not suffocating.

I’ve gotten good at that.

I’m an expert at pretending. Sometimes, I even fool myself just long enough to forget that I was born into agilded prison.

So I dance. I laugh, cheer, and clap, all while knowing that soon I’ll return to that gloomy, suffocating mansion in the hills.

They drive past our estate with stars in their eyes, whispering, “If only…” They see a palace. I see a prison. I watch them from the window, wishing I could ride away in their beat-up car.

People don’t realize how priceless liberty is… until they no longer have that luxury.

When I get home, I pause just for a breath before opening the door. Because I swear, the moment I step into that hallway, it gets harder to breathe.

Today is no different, except this time, my mother is waiting.

She stands in the center of the hall, stiffer than usual, with her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

I glance at my watch, my heart thudding. Then the tension eases.

“I said I’d be back before eight. It’s only seven.”

Sad, isn’t it? Still having to defend myself like a teenager living under my parents’ curfew.

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