Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
A heavy one.
We both freeze.
It isn’t polite or rhythmic. It’s deliberate. The kind of knock that means business. The violent kind.
My mother drops the knife, the clang echoing through the kitchen.
She hurries down the hall to peer out the nearest window. The rest of the staff follow.
Hell, I follow.
From the window, I see the SUV. Black. Expensive. Tinted windows.
Three men get out.
One stands by the car. One heads toward the front door. The third is older. He looks mean with cold eyes.
He looks like me.
My mother does something I never expected and walks to the door and opens it. Her face drains of color.
The older man smiles faintly at her. “It’s time, Angela.”
Her throat works. Her hands tremble. “I knew it would be you.”
I step out from behind her. “What the hell is going on?”
My mom turns slowly, like she’s about to confess a crime.
“Lorenzo . . .” Her voice shakes. “This is your uncle.”
I blink. “What?”
The man steps forward, hands clasped behind his back. “Your father’s brother.”
The world tilts. My ears ring.
My mother turns to me, eyes wet—not with soft tears but terrified ones.
“Your father . . .” she breathes, “he was part of a powerful family. After he died, I ran. And then ran some more. I didn’t want that life for you.”
“What life?”
“A criminal one,” she whispers. “Your father was in deep. But then, when he was gone, I knew they’d come for you eventually. I ran, and we’ve been running ever since.”
My blood goes ice cold.
“You lied to me.”
“I protected you.”
“No,” I choke out. “You hid me. You made me feel like nothing, when I was something all along.”
The back door of the SUV opens.
A young man around my age steps out. Tall. Sharp. Familiar.
The moment I see him, something inside me cracks open. A memory crashes in—a backyard, dirt bikes, a boy shouting, Come on, Lorenzo!
“You’re him,” I breathe.
He grins. “You remember.”
He strides toward me and pulls me into a hug.
“Matteo,” he says. “Your cousin. Brother, really. We’ve been searching for you for years.”
I stagger back, staring.
I turn to my mother, betrayal scorching under my skin.
“You said I didn’t have any family,” I whisper.
Her face crumples. “I was trying to protect you.”
“All this time—”
“I thought I could keep you safe!”
My uncle steps forward. “Your boss made it easy. He ran a background check. DNA. Everything. Once he realized you were going to be a problem, he called us.”
A sick twist hits my gut.
Of course he did.
My uncle extends his hand. “It’s time you came with us, Lorenzo. Where you belong.”
My chest twists.
I look at my mother. She shakes her head, desperate. “Please. Don’t go. We can run again. We’ll figure it out.”
Run again? Hide again? Pretend again?
No.
I look at Matteo. He watches me with real hope.
“There’s nothing left for me here,” I say quietly.
“Lorenzo, please—”
But I’m already moving.
Toward the car. Toward the truth. Toward an unknown future.
I don’t look back.
Because if I do, I might not be able to leave.
21
Lorenzo
The car ride stretches on. A strange silence sits between us. It hovers, filling the air. It’s heavy but not unwelcome.
I sit in the back seat, boxed in by the two people who just turned my entire life inside out.
My cousin, Matteo, grins. And my uncle is stone-faced.
I lean my head back against the seat, fingers drumming against my thigh.
She’s gone. Victoria.
Gone.
And maybe I should be crushed, but I’m not.
All I feel right now is numb.
Fuck that . . .
I feel angry.
The fucking bitch left me.
She didn’t give a fuck about me.
I gave her everything. And she shits on me.
Left like I was nothing because, as it turns out, to her, I was.
It was all a lie.
A painful truth I should have seen, but I was pussy-whipped and blind.
Now I’m not.
But I won’t mourn. Not now. Not ever.
Especially with my new family watching me like I’m a puzzle piece they’ve finally snapped into place.
“We looked everywhere for you,” Matteo says, his voice cutting through my thoughts.
I glance over. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, watching me like he still can’t believe I’m real and that this is happening.
“You were like a brother to me,” he says, his grin softening. “My mom said we were inseparable. Then you were just . . . gone.”
I nod slowly, a memory surfacing. “You had the red bike.”
His eyes widen. “You remember that?”
“Yeah.” I shift in my seat. “You always wiped out trying to do wheelies.”
Matteo laughs. “God, I did. I have this scar right here”—he jabs at his elbow—“from that one summer we built a ramp out of plywood. You dared me to jump the fountain.”
“That was your idea.”
“You dared me.”
I almost smile. Almost.
It feels unfamiliar but not unwelcome.
“You were my best friend,” Matteo says, quieter now. Something raw flickers in his voice. “And then . . .” He shakes his head. “It’s fine, you’re here now.”