Queen of Thorns (Mice and Men #2) - Lana Sky Page 0,1
meet my gaze in the rearview mirror. Ironically, I look like hell. Bloodshot eyes. Hair mussed to shit and dripping with a substance that sure as hell ain’t water. One hard sniff and I can peg the acidic stench—lighter fluid.
That’s right. I doused myself in it.
Maybe I’m the devil in this tale?
If only reality were as neat as the Bible. I’d confess my sins and accept the punishment. God knows, I’ve been down this road before, and the good Donatello, the man I’ve strived to be… He would turn around. Do the noble thing and bend the knee to those who wronged him.
Fall on his sword like a repentant bastard.
I can’t say the idea isn’t tempting. I’m so damn tired. Breathing is a struggle, let alone driving. The car veers from lane to lane as the steering wheel bucks against my grip. My lungs ache with every breath I take, and even blinking hurts. I just want to sleep. I’m so weary of running, and scraping, and suffering. I’m so exhausted of hiding from the past.
From Safiya.
Why not surrender to both in one fell swoop? Let the past have my pathetic soul and allow Safiya Mangenello her pound of flesh. As it stands, I should have died seven years ago, anyway.
Or…
I could say “fuck that” to mercy. I tried the good boy routine once, and it cost me the only damn thing in the world I care about. The only person whose life truly mattered. Vincenzo…
Every time I think of him, it feels like I’m the one taking a bullet to the skull. Over and over again.
I see his face everywhere I look, hovering before me, my smiling boy—only he isn’t smiling now. His dark eyes blaze, his lips moving wordlessly, demanding an answer to just one question—how could you fail me, Don? How?
I swear I see him right now, standing in the middle of the road.
“Vin!” I wrench on the wheel just to avoid him, sending the car into an arc. Mud flies up, speckling the windshield as the tires squeal in protest. Deep down, I know I’m being insane, but the second the car screeches to a halt, I scan the landscape for any sign of life.
Predictably, he’s gone. In his place is just an endless fucking road and a swath of trees looming beyond.
I’m drunk. In my right mind, I’d never be driving, especially not here. It’s what the city natives deem the no-man’s-land—a swath of hills on the outskirts, hugging the bay. There are no guardrails this far out, and my heart races as I glance over to where the shoulder ends—at a cliff. Somehow, I’d managed to hit the brake without driving right off the edge. Though fuck, I should.
A sigh rips from my throat as my toes twitch over the pedal, easing up, bit by bit. Bouncing over the uneven terrain, the car lurches into motion, barreling toward the edge of the drop. Slowly. Faster. Faster…
Right when the momentum picks up, one thing has me slamming my foot on the brake again—self-pity.
A death dashed on the rocks below is too good for me. In my soul, I sense I’m destined for something far worse, an end worthy of a monster.
Giovanni Rossi met his via a heart attack on the eve of his daughter’s wedding. Imagine that. A week before, he pulled me aside, as if he’d seen it coming. In his typical gruff baritone, he imparted one last piece of advice to me, his heir primed to take over.
Life, for all its pretentious bullshit, is just a game, sonny, he said. You can be a coward and cringe from battle. Or you declare fucking checkmate. At all costs, you go for the checkmate. You pound your fist on the damn game board if you have to. Don’t you ever give up. The second you do, someone’s already beaten you. It’s game over.
To him, everything was just a round in an unending game with every player fighting his way to the top.
Thanks to Mischa Stepanov, my time playing is nearing its end. Giving up now would be forfeiting everything to him, the ultimate checkmate.
Though, what else could I do?
As if Giovanni himself sent me a reminder from the grave, I sense something around my right hand and hold it up to the light. It takes several blinks before I can focus on it—delicate strands of golden hair looped around my fingers. I bring them beneath my nose, inhaling the scent I swear they still carry.