Chapter2

An inch or two closer, and I wouldn't have made it out of the car.

I slammed my foot on the gas. The sedan tried to cut me off, but I forced my way past it and kept driving.

It was dawn before I was sure I'd lost them.

I pulled over and sat with both hands locked around the steering wheel. Even with the engine off, I couldn't stop shaking. Every time I looked at the broken window, I thought of how close that bullet had come.

When I could trust my hands again, I drove to the nearest pawnshop. I put the necklace on the counter and took the cash the owner offered.

He turned the necklace over twice under his lamp and named a price I knew was too low. I didn't argue. I needed the money more than I needed to be right.

Some of it went toward repairing my phone. When the signal returned, I stared at the empty screen.

Marco and Bianca controlled most of the turf. I had to sell the last thing I owned just to get my phone working.

Back at the estate, I found Father at his desk with the butler. They were reviewing a list of protective equipment and bodyguards for my siblings.

Father saw me and slipped the list behind his back. He didn't ask about the cut on my face.

"The equipment comes in sets of two," he said. "One for each of them. Otherwise they'll start arguing again."

He glanced at the desk, then picked up a dagger the supplier had thrown in for free.

"Here. They don't need this. You can carry it for protection."

There was rust along the blade. I kept my hands at my sides.

"You forgot, Father."

He held it out farther, impatient for me to take it.

"Three years ago, I took a knife for you. Ever since then, my hands shake when I try to hold one."

I looked at the weapon between us.

"I can't use that."

For a moment, he went still. He looked from the dagger to me, and I thought he might remember the hospital, or ask whether it still hurt.

Then Bianca called down from the second floor, complaining about something.

Father set the dagger down and went to her. He was already reassuring her before he'd passed me.

I stayed beside his desk for another moment. There was nothing left to say.

In my room, I dragged the old suitcase from under the bed and packed the few clothes I wanted to keep.

I had just closed it when Bianca's voice rose in the hall.

"Why does Marco get one more bodyguard than I do?"

Through the crack in my door, I saw her standing over the butler, jabbing a finger at him.

"Miss, there have been several attacks in the territory your brother oversees. The risk is greater, so—"

"I don't care. We agreed on equal treatment. I don't get one less."

Father came down with his coat over his shoulders. He listened to her, then bent toward her with a soothing smile.

"That's Daddy's mistake. I'm sorry, sweetheart. We'll fix it."

He turned to the butler.

"Claire still has a bodyguard, doesn't she? Assign him to Bianca. She spends all her time here anyway. There's nothing to protect."

Bianca stopped complaining. She smiled and went upstairs, her heels clicking on the steps.

Father and the butler exchanged a small, indulgent smile before leaving the hall.

I stepped back from the door.

Nothing to protect.

I'd nearly been killed doing Marco's work just hours earlier. Father hadn't even noticed the blood on my cheek, and now he'd taken away the last person assigned to keep me safe.

I knew why he found it so easy to overlook me. I'd known for years.

When I was little, he would hold Marco and Bianca in his arms. If I reached for his hand, he'd pull away. I used to follow him around, wondering what I'd done wrong.

The butler eventually told me that my mother had died giving birth to me. Father had never remarried.

I reminded him of what he'd lost. Nothing I did could change that.

I'd tried being quiet. Helpful. The child who never asked for anything. I'd even put myself between him and a knife.

He still couldn't look at me without seeing her death.

I pushed the suitcase back under the bed and took a slow breath.

Maya would be waiting on the day we'd agreed on. I only had to hold on until then.

Later that morning, hurried footsteps brought me to my door.