In the entirety of my life, I rarely made a single decision on my own. My sister commanded almost every aspect of my existence. Who I saw and how I dressed. I had thoughts of my own, of course, but Vincenza was dictatorial. We didn’t conversate. She spoke at me. I was told what to do, and I did it. My opinion was inconsequential. She even convinced me of what I liked and disliked. I didn’t enjoy the way we lived, but, after what she’d been through, I didn’t have the strength to fight her.

She was all I knew.

So, I took what little I could and decided to head back home.

Vincenza would gloat, of course. She’d spin the narrative. That big, bad Ettore Scala, capo of the Malocchio syndicate, had been so frightened of his young wife that he had to drive her out, an hour away, and desert her like a dog on a desolate street corner for fear of what she would do to him next.

It didn’t matter what she said. I knew the truth.

Ettore wasn’t frightened at all. He was simply pissed the fuck off and making an example of me. It had nothing to do with our family history and had everything to do with me. But Vincenza would claim this victory as her own and I would let her because if I was anything, I was compliant.

I shouldn’t have felt so betrayed. I wasn’t sure why I did. I shot the man with intent to kill. Did I really think two days of sex would win him over? That he’d forgive me with an enthusiastic blowjob?

Lord.

My face screwed up and I threw things into the bag harder than intended.

I mean, just because I had a change of heart and did the stupidest, reckless thing someone in my position could do, he didn’t owe me anything. Just because I might have developed conflicting feelings for the monster, that didn’t mean he returned them.

Suddenly, I was shoving things into the bag with a roughly closed fist and harshly gritted teeth. And then, quite abruptly, something I hadn’t thought about weaseled its way into my mind and I stilled, unblinking.

My uncle had disowned me. Openly. Publicly.

The pressure in my head caused my temples to throb.

And that meant…

My stomach ached as I whispered the words out loud. “I no longer have a home.”

I don’t know how long I stood there, unmoving and barely breathing. But after the seriousness of my situation came to light, I found another emotion making the slow climb up my throat.