Chapter 3

3.

I was twelve when Mom married Salvatore Falcone.

Julian was fifteen. The look in his eyes when he stared at us was chilling. Primal hate. We were not welcome.

Mom gave me a look. I was so nervous I was twisting the hem of my dress. I forced myself to speak. In English, just like she'd taught me.

"Julian."

He looked at me. A cold, dismissive sneer.

"Don't try to act like family in this house."

"Especially not the daughter of a whore."

Those words pinned me to the spot. I felt the sting of tears, hot and sharp. I wanted to scream that my mother wasn't the other woman. She'd only gotten together with Salvatore after Julian's biological mother died of an illness.

But Julian didn't believe it. Salvatore's anger didn't change anything. Julian's cruelty was a constant. To protect my mom, I just stayed out of his way.

I was sure we were fated to be bitter enemies until death.

Then I turned seventeen.

I was walking home in Brooklyn late one night. I'd just left the American Ballet Theatre's rehearsal space. A strung-out street thug cornered me at the mouth of a dark alley. He was closing in, muttering filth.

I hugged my bag to my chest, my throat too tight to scream. The street was empty.

A filthy hand was inches from my skin when a powerful arm yanked me back.

A sickening crunch of bone. The thug slammed into the brick wall and crumpled.

I stood there, frozen. Staring at the broad back shielding me. It was Julian. The boy who loathed me.

He flexed his bloodied knuckles with a grunt of irritation. When he turned, his eyes were still vicious. But I caught it. A flicker of raw panic behind the anger.

"The family has armored cars and drivers for a reason! You trying to get yourself killed? You want people to think the Falcone family is abusing you?"

Salvatore had assigned security to us. I never used it. I didn't want to give Julian another reason to hate me.

Our eyes met. I looked away fast. Terrified.

Julian cursed under his breath. "Shit." He grabbed my wrist and shoved me into a black Cadillac Escalade.

The rest of that night is a blur. But I'll never forget the sound of his heart hammering against his ribs as he stood in front of me. A war drum.

My whole life, I'd swallowed every hurt in silence.

That was the first moment I ever felt what it was like to be protected by a strong man.

I fell for him. Hard. Hopelessly. Irreversibly.

I thought I hid it well.

The night I turned eighteen, a kiss that tasted of whiskey dragged every secret I had into the light.