FARRAH "I'm so sorry, Thomas." My bodyguard is a lone figure at the grave of his wife. "Me too." He says softly with his head bowed. "I was so busy with..." He doesn't complete the sentence, so I take his hand in mine and squeeze his. "It's okay to say it." "I was so busy protecting others, I didn't take care of my own family." He completes the sentence on a sob. "You know that's not true." I tell him. "You were looking after all of us. You just didn't think her past would catch up to you." "But I should have!" He turns guilty eyes to mine where I'm sitting in a wheelchair next to him. "That's what I was trained to do, and I failed my own wife." He's going to feel guilty for a while, probably forever, so I don't say a word. Alma's killer was from a religious society who has been following her and Thomas's lives for a while now. They believe that she betrayed her country and her religion. She would have been stoned to death if she was in her own country. The government has tak
I look down at my three babies, where they're all bundled in the same incubator. They were born on thirty-three weeks, but none of them had to be incubated. I'm so proud of them, all of them able to breathe on their own. I was so worried, but they did it. I've never cried so much as I've been crying in the last week. The pediatrician said they should stay in the incubator for at least two weeks, and they were each placed in their own one. But the nurses said when they're apart, they cry, and when they're together, they don't. It's the cutest thing ever. Alessandro can't tell them apart because they look exactly alike. I don't know how, but I know who is who. Their father proudly named them, and right now, Arcangelo's mouth cutely yawns, even though they're sleeping. One week until we can take them home. Right now, they've wearing onesies courtesy of their aunt saying Thing One, Thing Two, and Thing Three. I miss Phoebe in the house, but she has to follow her own path, and she
"Shot, shot, shot, shot, shot!" I throw back my third shot of burning, cheap tequila, and grunt. I can already feel the buzz of the alcohol rushing through my system, making me lightheaded and having me stumbling on the ridiculously high heels my sister is making me wear. "Easy tiger!" The culprit laughs and grabs my arm to steady me. "When did you become such a lightweight, sissy?" "Since I've been studying and working twenty-four seven!" I wipe my mouth and remember too late that I'm wearing a scandalous shade of red lipstick. Luckily, my sister is a genius when it comes to the art of make-up because the back of my hand comes back clean. "You are so beautiful." Sammy gushes at my sister, her eyes shiny behind her glasses from only one shot of tequila. Most people are enamored by my sister when they first meet her. She's beautiful with a raucous personality, making her noticeable wherever she goes. She enjoys the attention, too, soaking up everything thrown her way. "You guys ar
I love my sister with all that I am, and if she'd ask me to help bury a body, I would do it without blinking. We've done it before. But I hate the attention she generates wherever she goes. I always knew she wasn't meant to be stuck in the small town we come from. She's too vivacious, meant for much bigger things than that shithole. What I hate about her, though? The attention, I despise the attention. With attention comes grave diggers. And we have skeletons in our closet that I would like to stay buried. So I'm slightly pissed off as Sammy and I follow her behind a bouncer that came to escort us to the VIP section. She could have declined. This is supposed to be my party, after all. Aren't I the one who should make the decisions? I have to admit the VIP area is nice, though. The volume of the music isn't so loud up here, even though you can still look down and see the whole club underneath. The couches look plump and welcoming, and oh my gosh, is that a celebrity? "Oh my god!"
I'm speechless as brown eyes hold me captive. This never happens. Not to me. I'm not this girl. I'm smart and educated. I've made the Dean's list every single year, and I'm almost a microbiologist. I don't gawk at guys because I think they're cute. But there's something different about this one. I don't know if it's in the way he's looking at me without blinking or the way my body is clearly responding to him. I don't get attracted to men, or women, or anyone. Once upon a time, I thought there might be something wrong with me. But right now, I'm buzzing, electricity pumping through every vein in my body. This man has me completely mesmerized. Like the tornado she is, my sister storms towards the table, a wide-eyed Sammy close on her heels, breaking the eye contact I had with the very fine specimen. "Sissy!"She squeals, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the booth. Mister tall. dark and handsome's eyes drop to where her hand is on my arm, and I can see the displeasure flas
He's following me. I don't dare say anything to Sammy in case she freaks out again like she did last night in the club. Does it scare me that a potentially dangerous man is showing some sort of interest in me? Not one bit. I should be very scared, but the only feeling I'm experiencing is one of excitement. I'm embracing it, too. Because not once in my entire twenty-one years of life have I felt what I'm feeling right now. Not even when I got a full ride to a prestigious university. I'm even scared to admit the feeling to myself. I've heard my mother utter the word countless times before when she meets a new guy who she thinks will change her life forever. I vowed as a little girl that I would never be like her. I will never define myself by a man. But damn, it, I'm feeling all sorts of things as Sammy and I sit in a diner, and I look out the window every five seconds to the car that followed us here. It's parked across the street again. I know what that means. As soon as we fi
He knows my name. Alessandro Moretti knows my name. The Prince of the Underworld knows my name. It's been a week since he cornered me in the diner's bathroom, and he's all I can think about. I imagine seeing a black sports car on my way to school every day, but it's all in my imagination. I haven't seen his car following me again. I don't know if I should be relieved, but in reality, I'm just disappointed. I don't know what the hell I was expecting, that he would follow me every day? That he will push me into a wall and do what? Kiss me senseless? The thought alone has my blood boiling, and I want to slap the image of him out of my brain. The number of times I had to remind myself that I'm not that girl is completely laughable. You see all those giggling females I thought were complete idiots wearing short skirts and tight shirts just to impress a boy? Those girls whom I, Farrah Simpson, thought had the brain cells of a cauliflower? I completely fucking understand now. Thos
I look up at the club's sign. It looks less glamorous in broad daylight. I'm taking a big, fat guess coming here. How do you get a hold of someone you've only met twice, and whose number you clearly don't have? The only thing I could think of was coming to The Phoenix. I know he owns the club and he was probably the reason why we were invited to the VIP area. And I know for a fact he's interested in me. Not the way I'm interested in him, I'm sure, but interested nonetheless. He wouldn't have followed me if he wasn't. I'm skipping my shift at work to come here, I lied to Sammy and told her I had an appointment with my academic advisor. I really hate that I had to lie to her. There's soft music playing inside the club and it seems like the staff are busy preparing for an undoubtedly busy evening. The floors are being wiped and people are walking around with crates of alcohol. I spot the bartender who served us the first night polishing glasses and decide to approach him. "