I could tell myself all I wanted to that it was to make sure she didn’t wake up, but I knew it was a lie. In a way, I felt something for her that I hadn’t for any of the other unfortunate girls who’d lain in this same bed. I could usually put a wall up between myself and the job—whatever or whoever that job was. With her, though, I couldn’t put my finger on any particular reason why that wall wasn’t staying up. It had for all of five minutes when I’d entered this room the first time. Maybe it was the physical attraction, the pull I felt toward her. Maybe it was the mark on her hip. Maybe I subconsciously knew already, had felt already, that this was different. I didn’t know. I just knew I needed to get on with it and see the damn thing once and for all.

After hanging both the washcloth and towel to dry in the bathroom, I went back into the bedroom and turned her onto her side, eyeing the scab that covered the healing brand. My heart pounded. I touched the rough skin. It had already begun to peel away at the edges, revealing pink skin beneath, a circle to contain the crest. Using my fingernail, I scratched away rough skin, exposing more and more, recognizing the ornamental F of Famiglia. Because to the Benedetti, family came first.

Fucking joke.

The scab became harder to peel away once the edges were gone, but I didn’t need to go too much further. I saw what I needed to see. The ornamental B of Benedetti, the tips of the spears crossing at the top, protecting the famiglia beneath. I didn’t need to see the face of the lion at the center of the crest. His mane took shape around the edges, and I had no doubt once the scar had fully healed, I would see the Benedetti crest branded into her skin.

I stood quickly, looking down at the girl. I squatted down again until my face was an inch from hers. I pushed the hair back from her cheek, tucked it behind her ear, and looked at her. At the pretty, unconscious woman lying in the filthy bed, eyes closed, lips parted, her breath shallow. I tried to remember the little girl from the party, but the only image my mind had held onto was those eyes. Gia had looked at me like that once, her glare from beneath her dark hair burning a hole into me.