Page 16 of Blood Queen

I hold my breath, scared. The skinny one takes a step toward the barn door, and I scurry farther back behind the hay bale.

Papa’s eyes glaze over as if he’s completely detached from, well, everything. He looks like he’s full of rage but also like he’s about to give up. Why isn’t he fighting? Why is he just standing there? Why does he look so resigned and not surprised?

“The girl is gone,” he says in a growl.

Those four words freeze my heart. Ice-cold blood runs through my veins. I stop breathing.

That’s the phrase.

Our phrase.

The one that is never uttered unless Papa means it. All those drills. Those are to practice for this moment. But, I’m rooted in my spot. Mind racing, heart stuttering.No, Papa. No. I’m not ready. What is going on?

“I don’t believe you,” Sal says.

“And I don’t care,” Papa retorts. A gun cocks. The sound echoes around us. “Go ahead, Sal. Shoot me. Mama would be soproud of you.” The words are not true. I can see it in his glare. Papa doesn’t mean them, but that man Sal only laughs.

“You wouldn’t know since you abandoned her when you disappeared.” I poke my head around the hay bale. “She died you know, a slow painful death.” Sal lifts his pistol and takes aim.

Papa stands tall. His free hand hanging at his side, the hand facing me, is curled into the ‘I love yousign’ against his thigh. His middle and ring fingers curled in. His index, thumb and pinky straight.

I love you too Papa, I think.

Fight, I think.

Do something, anything. I don’t know if I’m willing Papa or myself. I have clear directives.

He said,the girl is gone. I know exactly what I must do but I can’t leave him alone.

Sal pulls the trigger. The crack of the shot splices the thick air. It bounces off the trees and barn and cabin and my brain. I don’t move or blink or breathe or scream.

Time stands still.

Papa, my father, my only family, drops to his knees. In the presence of death, everything seems to move slower. Thoughts, movements, speech…it all moves slower when death is involved.

Red runs down his forehead and drips off his chin. His body goes slack and he hits the earth with a dull thump.

I think, maybe, my entire world has stopped. Or perhaps, the entire world—not just mine.

There is no sound. No birds, no leaves rustling, the chickens are silent and the goats too. My thoughts click through like a combination lock being cracked by a thief, slow, careful, meticulous.

“Find the goddamned girl, now,” Sal commands.

I snap out of my frozen moment and crawl behind the hay bales to the opposite side of the barn, I grab the backpack, push through the Kid-sized doggy door and sprint into the woods.

I forget the rifle.

11

Present

The Scarfo-Falcone wedding is a spectacle of wealth. The reception takes place in a sprawling villa on the cliffs, the Mediterranean glittering dark and endless beyond the terrace. The guest list is a who’s who of the underworld—bosses, heirs, and enforcers draped in silk and armed to the teeth beneath their suits. It’s a show of unity, but the air is thick with tension.

Because this marriage isn’t about love. It’s about power.

Lucia Scarfo, the precious daughter of Sal Scarfo, has been bound to Rocco Falcone, the hot-tempered heir to the Falcone empire. And their union could tip the balance between the four families. At my table, Uncle Leo sits at the head, flanked by his most trusted men, his salt-and-pepper hair sleek, his suit crisp. He’s sipping whiskey, eyes sharp as he watches Sal and his wife toast their son and daughter-in-law.

“Enjoying yourself, mia nipote?” he asks without looking at me.

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