Page 1 of Savage Poet

1

PALERMO 1999

“Why do I have to go?” I pouted, not wanting to dress up and attend a funeral. I hate funerals. The endless line of black cars. The weeping nonna’s burying their grandsons. Some of them so young they never married.

My father pinched me on the arm. High enough that my sleeve would cover the bruise. I stopped protesting. I was expected to fall in line. I was a disappointment to him since birth when my mother delivered a girl instead of the son he craved.

“Chin up. You’re a Fiorelli. You don’t cry, ever cower and I expect you to stare down men. Look everyone in the eye. Understood?”

“Yes, Papa.”

But I didn’t understand. Not at all. All I knew was my family was powerful and corrupt. That Papa was a bad man and expected me to understand why any of it was important.

Our guards followed us. I hated them all. They were loyal to Papa of course and witnessed how mean he was to me and never helped. Besides, I knew what they did—kill people. Papa and the Salvatore’s were in a fight for Palermo. Guards followed us everywhere; lived with us, ate with us. Papa said he had better connections than “that imposter outfit.” But I was afraid. Papa was getting older, bolder and more reckless. Dragging me to a funeral for a man he “offed” under the ruse of paying respect was out there even for him. But I had no choice. I was Papa’s heir. Girl or not and expected to toe the family line.

As soon as we entered the building, the stench of fragrant flowers started to make me feel sick. Funeral flowers. They masked the scent of death with the perfume from their powerful petals.

“How dare you?” A woman pointed at Papa.

Guns were drawn.

More death was coming. I felt it in the air.

I slowly backed up, keeping my back pressed against a wall until I noticed a door from the corner of my eyes.

Pop. Pop. Pop.

My hands flew up, covering my ears.

I ducked low and ran, opened the door and hid behind long coats.

Screams and shouting. It felt like it went on forever, much like death. Then the quiet came with new smells. Burning metal, blood, and gun smoke. I knew Papa was gone. I just did.

He terrified me but he was also my father. My mother was killed years earlier by them and now I feared Papa walked straight into the same fate. He was too arrogant to think it wouldn’t ever happen to him.

A shadow moved under the door. I held my breath.

“Where did she go? Fiorelli’s brat must die with him. We’ll bury them both right next to his wife. Their reign is over and ours will begin. But his line must end with the girl.”

“Check out back. She couldn’t have gone far.”

I waited until the footsteps went away then slowly creaked the coat closet door open. I knew if I stayed, I’d die. They’d find me. It’s what families like mine were good at—the killing—the death.

I crept out from the shadows and toward the carnage. I saw Papa. He was lying in a pool of his own blood. His eyes widened with shock.

Men were everywhere. Out front. Out back. There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide.

I backed up, hitting something. Jerking around, my gaze met his. I did what Papa told me. I kept my chin up. I looked him in the eyes. I never showed him my fear.

He stared down at me as if I was dung. Because, to him, I was.

“Do it.” I challenged him. I’d rather this boy with his sea green-bluish gaze and perfectly shaped lips take my life instead of the monsters who’d do much worse to me before taking it.

A lock of his hair fell across his forehead. My eyes never left it. That one single, perfect ebony curl.

He was perfect.

The most perfect monster dressed to the nines with a body transforming from a boy to a man’s.

---