Heavy Crown (Brutal Birthright #6) - Sophie Lark Page 0,1
the most familiar sound was sneakers squeaking on hardwood.
It was the one true love of my life. The way I felt about that game was stronger than my interest in girls, or food, or entertainment, or anything else.
When the bodyguard’s boot came down on my knee, and I felt that blinding, sickening burst of pain, I knew my dream was over. Pros come back from injuries, but injured players don’t make pro.
For over a year, I was in denial. I did rehab every single day. I endured surgery, heat packs, cold packs, ultrasound therapy on the scar tissue, electro-stimulation of the surrounding muscles, and countless hours of tedious physiotherapy.
I went to the gym daily, making the rest of my body as strong as possible. Packing thirty pounds of muscle onto a formerly lean frame.
But it was all for nothing. I got rid of the limp, but the speed never came back. During the time I should have been getting faster and more accurate, I couldn’t even get back to where I used to be. I was swimming against the current, while slowly drifting downstream.
And now I live in this strange alternate reality where the Griffins are our closest allies. My sister Aida is married to the man who ordered his bodyguard to smash my knee.
The funny thing is, I don’t hate Callum. He’s been good to my sister. They’re wildly in love, and they have a little boy together—the heir to both our families, Miles Griffin. The Griffins have upheld their end of the marriage pact. They’ve been loyal partners.
But I’m still so fucking angry.
It’s this churning, boiling fury inside of me, every single day.
I’ve always known what my family did for a living. It’s as much a part of the Gallos as our blood and our bones. We’re mafiosos.
I never questioned it.
But I thought I had a choice.
I thought I could skirt around the edges of the business, while still unfettered, able to pursue anything else I wanted in life.
I didn’t realize how much that life had already wrapped its chains around me. There was never any choice. I was bound to be pulled into it one way or another.
Sure enough, after my knee was fucked and I lost my place on the team, my brothers started calling me more and more often for jobs.
When Nessa Griffin was kidnapped, we joined the Griffins in their vendetta against the Polish mafia. That night, I shot a man for the very first time.
I don’t know how to describe that moment. I had a gun in my hand, but I didn’t expect to actually use it. I thought I was there for backup. As a lookout at most. Then I saw one of the Polish soldiers pull his gun on my brother, and instinct took over. My hand floated up, the gun pointed right between the man’s eyes. I pulled the trigger without a thought.
He went tumbling backward. I expected to feel something: shock, horror, guilt.
Instead I felt . . . absolutely nothing. It seemed inevitable. Like I’d always been destined to kill someone. Like it had always been in my nature.
That’s when I realized that I’m not actually a good person.
I always assumed that I was. I think everyone does.
I thought, I’m warmer than my brother Dante. Less psychopathic than Nero. More responsible than Aida. I considered myself kind, hardworking, a good man.
In that moment I realized I have violence inside of me. And selfishness, too. I wasn’t going to sacrifice my brother for somebody else. And I certainly wouldn’t sacrifice myself. I was willing to hurt or to kill. Or a whole lot worse.
It’s a strange thing to learn about yourself.
I look around the table at my siblings. They all have blood on their hands, one way or another. Looking at them, you’d never guess it. Well, maybe you’d guess it with Dante—his hands look like scarred baseball mitts. They were made for tearing people apart. If he were a gladiator, the Romans would have to pair him up against a lion to make it a fair fight.
But they all look happier than I’ve seen them in years. Aida’s eyes are bright and cheerful, and she’s flushed from the wine. She hadn’t been able to drink the whole time she was nursing, so she’s thrilled to be able to get just a little bit tipsy again.
Dante has this look of contentment, like he’s already sitting at some outdoor cafe in Paris. Like he’s already starting the rest of his life.