Darkest Sins (Perfectly Imperfect #9)

“Hey, do you remember when we were in school, and the teacher wanted us to sing a Christmas song for all the parents?” Dania asks.

“You mean when she got so emotional she teared up at the end of the performance?” I say.

“Um, I don’t think that was the reason, Nera. I’m pretty sure it was your singing.”

“Oh, don’t be so mean! I was eight!” I pinch her arm. “And I wasn’t that awful.”

“If you say so.”

Dania goes up on stage next, picking an eighties rock song. She’s dressed in a pretty pink top with spaghetti straps and jeans, as suitable for a casual evening in a karaoke bar as could be. I, on the other hand, am decked out in a designer-label pencil dress and wearing high heels that are hurting my feet. Zara is similarly attired, only her outfit has long sleeves and is ankle-length. There are certain unwritten rules when your father is the leader of the Cosa Nostra Family. One of these is that you can’t be seen in casual clothes in public. Upholding a certain image is imperative, after all.

I’ve never truly understood the impact my father had on every element of my life until I moved out. Sometimes, I wish I had never left home. I know that one day soon I’ll have to go back to that existence, and it might have been easier if I didn’t get to know the other side of life. The alternate reality. The normal side—where you don’t need to pretend to be someone else in order to be accepted.

But for now, I’m determined not to think of what will come. About a random man who’ll never know the real me, but who will marry me only because the don decrees it. One who’s going to buy me diamond necklaces and take me to expensive restaurants, but won’t actually care about how I feel. Someone who’ll likely bring me huge bouquets of flowers, despite me telling him numerous times that they make my sinuses irritated and inflamed.

“Louder! We can’t hear you!” I shout as Dania starts the song’s refrain, then lean closer to Zara. “Maybe, next time, you could sing one, too?”

“Maybe . . .”

I drop a light peck on my sister’s cheek, then wrap my arm around her shoulders and turn my attention back to our friend on the stage. It’s strange how two people born of the same flesh and blood, can wish for absolutely different things. My quiet sister, always wanting to be invisible. And me, wishing for someone to finally see me for who I truly am, not as whose daughter I am.

I keep my focus on the stage, while the tingling sensation keeps feathering my spine, and, for some reason, it doesn’t feel unpleasant anymore.

Shrieks of laughter and cheer rise all around me as I lurk in the shadows, concealed by a wooden column near the entrance to the kitchen area. Waiters move past while they go in and out, some of them glaring at me for blocking their way. Typically, I’d do something about those looks, but I can’t be bothered right now to pay attention to anything other than my tiger cub sitting at a corner table across the room.

As I watch, she leans in and kisses the cheek of the girl sitting on her left. This girl’s hair is darker, but she and my cub look quite a bit alike. Cousins? Or maybe sisters? I tilt my head, and my gaze follows my cub’s hand as it comes to rest on the other girl’s back. I’m trying to figure out this gesture. Human interactions, especially between people with familialconnections, have always fascinated me. Probably because I’ve never understood them that well. This move, for example. Is it an unconscious action or a deliberate one? Is she offering comfort, reassurance? And if so, what’s necessitating the need? The other girl seems fine to me.

And the whole setting here, with random people taking that damn mic, wailing into it just so the rest of them can laugh? What a fucked-up way to pass the time. My cub seems to be enjoying it, though.

I heard the amusement in her voice while she sang her song. Though, I’m not sure it could actually be called singing. Whatever was coming out of her mouth sounded more like a banshee’s cry. It was awful, and slightly painful to listen to, but the corners of my lips tilted up regardless. She’s gutsy. It takes someone with a lot of confidence to purposefully make a joke of yourself in front of a room full of people.

My eyes slide down her body, taking in every single detail. The way her hair is twisted into some complicated knot at her neck. The classy dress, one that makes her look somehow different from the girl wearing pants and a blouse that I followed home two weeks ago. The heels—the sky-high heels that match the color of her dress.

I watch her for over an hour, soaking up every single movement she makes. The way she laughs, with her eyes creasing in the corners. How she tends to fidget with her glass, rotating it in her hand. She goes up on the stage one more time. I don’t know the song, but I’m fairly certain it’s not supposed to sound likethat. She’s so bad at singing, that it’s just damn cute. When she messes up the chorus for the second time, I find myself laughing with the rest of the crowd. It feels strange, probably because I can’t remember the last time I laughed.When she heads to the bathroom, I follow her at a distance, and then again when she returns to her table.

Eventually, the three girls have a brief discussion before taking their purses off their chairs and heading toward the exit. As they walk by one of the back tables, a man occupying it follows them with his gaze. Late fifties, much older than the rest of the patrons in this place. He continues to ogle my cub as he lowers his hand below the table to his crotch, rubbing and squeezing the bulge between his legs. Once the girls reach the door, he gets up and trails in their wake. I step away from the column and head after the perv.

The guy steps through the door, then pauses on the sidewalk, looking left and right. I halt behind him and press the tip of my knife between the ribs at his back.

“Not a word,” I say next to his ear. “Walk.”

He must hear in my tone of voice that I’m not fucking around because he does as I command. I usher him down the street, in the opposite direction from where the girls are headed, then slip us into the entrance recess of a residential building.

“I have money,” he chokes out. “You can take it. Please, just . . .”

“Turn around.”

“Of course. Here, I’ll give you my wallet,” the man mumbles as he faces me. “There isn’t . . .”

Grabbing his throat, I shove him against the brick wall and throw a quick look down the street, catching my cub and the girls getting into a black sedan. When they’re safely away, I return my focus to the scumbag before me, getting right into his face, searching his distraught eyes. Just as animals in the wild can sniff out other members of their species from miles away,human predators recognize their kind. And I can see it as clear as day—this man was going to hurt my girl.

The asshole’s pupils dilate as he returns my stare, and panic seeps into his features. Without a word, he starts clawing my arm. He must have got a whiff of my intentions.

With one quick move, I bury my knife in his neck.

Chapter 5

A crisp late summer breeze blows into my face as I step out and approach the rooftop guardrail. The rusty old metal is cold under my palms, so I lean my forearms on it and gaze at the building across the street. The penthouse boasts floor-to-ceiling windows, allowing me a glimpse into a spacious living room full of modern white furniture.