The Stand-In’s Stoke Back, Everyone Regretted It

I sat up and looked straight at him.

Luciano flinched, a flash of guilt behind his eyes, then steadied into irritation.

"Avery was raised with everything she ever wanted. She's the Don's real daughter. She can't handle hard things the way you can."

His tone got impatient. "Nina, you've been through the rough stuff with me. You know how hard I worked to get here. Just be smart about this. Don't make it harder than it has to be."

Be smart.

I had been smart for four winters. Hands cracking, healing, scarring over again and again. While he strategized indoors, I hauled freight, ran accounts, took insults, froze in the cold.

The third time he failed to move up and said he had no money for the next bribe, I knelt in front of that broker and sold myself. The day I signed, the broker grabbed my wrist like he was appraising merchandise.

He knew all of this. But all he ever said was: "Nina, once I make my position, I won't let you down."

He made his position. And what I got was be smart.

My eyes burned. I tilted my head up and stared at him.

"You should be grateful, Nina!"

He snapped to his feet, like my stare had embarrassed him into fury. "Avery is the Don's daughter — old money, real class. I'm about to run the north territory. We're a match. That's how it works."

His voice went up, contempt sliding into his eyes. "And you? A street girl. I'm offering to take care of you, and that's more than you deserve after four years."

A street girl.

I looked down at my hands and felt my heart being squeezed dry.

Four years ago, in that beat-up chapel, the weak candlelight played across his face. He'd smiled, nervous and earnest at once, and held my hands and said: "Nina, I'm honored you'd have me. When I've made something of myself, you'll be my wife. One life, one loyalty, I swear it."

I'd carried that for four years. Through winter chilblains. Through hauling cargo until my arms couldn't lift. Through being hit in the face with a stiletto heel by the Don's daughter at the Moretti mansion. I'd held on to that promise.

Turned out I was the only one who had.

I spoke, and my voice came out so flat it surprised me.

"You're right. I got ahead of myself."

He blinked. "Really?" His eyes were suspicious.

I pulled up a smile. "Really. I'm just a street girl, Luciano. That you took an interest in me was already more than I deserved."

He exhaled and launched into his monologue: "Once I'm settled I'll raise your status," "I'll never let you go short," "Avery may be the wife but you're first in my heart."

White noise. I didn't hear a word.

When he left, a draft crept through the door and knocked the candle stub off the table. It hit the floor and snapped in two.

I bent down and picked up the pieces, held them in my palm. Outside, the night was heavy. I went to stand in the doorway.

Three days earlier, Avery had decided my coffee wasn't hot enough and poured the entire pot over my arm. The burn still hadn't healed. Wind hit the wound, cold and painful, but my head finally cleared.

They wanted me dead. I wasn't going to die. They wanted me as a pawn. I was going to blow up the whole board.

I needed to find my brother. Find the Shadow King.