THE HIDDEN RIVAL

blouse, my voice trembling. I wasn't stupid. I knew if she crossed that door tonight, she wouldn'

, then turned to me. Her eyes were wide, terrified .... not the usual cool, composed woman who used to take me on private jets to Milan or gave me strict etiquette l

into my eyes. "Baby, listen to me," she whispered, her voice cracking. "No matt

issed my forehead.. soft, lingering, then gave me the light pat on my head

the wardrobe door, c

s, trying to hold in my breathing. The silence outside wasn't comfor

AN

hrough the air like it h

fro

no,

er. My parents were deep in the mafia. That's why we were filthy rich. That's why we had bod

k

hat the gunshot meant somethin

s heavy boots stomped across the marble floor. T

ng rival is still here. Maybe th

craping on pavement. I memorized it. Etched it int

y stopped. My lungs were burning, but I didn't dare e

, the footsteps retreat

wai

. My bare feet made no sound on the polished floor as I tiptoed thr

living room a

lood was spreading across the pristine white tiles. My mom's hand wa

idn'

reaming or practically Ripping so

ing, and yanked up the city surveillanc

ere the

bas

ir f

car, every tattoo, every smug, car

a just let thi

me for them. Every

y will I kil

ill meet in hell