Broken Beginnings: A Dark Stalker Mafia Romance Read online

  The third and final image is further away. She is standing on her back porch, stretching her arms above her head like she just worked out. She is only wearing shorts and a tank top, her body lean, and her curves apparent in this outfit.

  I’m glad she’d never wear anything like this to school. She dresses modestly for her age, and I’m more than happy about that. It’s hard for me to see her as anything besides the little girl next door, but it gets hard to ignore her growing up.

  Soon the boys around her will notice too, and then I might have to rough up some sixteen-year-old guy for having indecent thoughts about Claire.

  Part of me knows I’m being overprotective. She is a teenager. She is growing up, and yes, eventually, she will date, but it’s hard to let that happen. She is like a sister to me, and I need to protect her, protect her innocence.

  Shaking the thought away of Claire with a boyfriend, I read the report.

  At first, I read nothing out of the ordinary, breakfast with her parents, lunch with her friend, Hope, a math test during third period. It’s not until the last paragraph that something catches my attention.

  Those girls have been messing with Claire for a while now, but today they have taken it too far. They got physical, and I will not stand for that.

  I type a quick message to Mike.

  Take care of those girls. I want them transferred to a different school.

  Not wanting to wait for an answer, I’m about to close out of my emails when a new one pops up.

  Unknown sender: We need to talk.

  I stare at the screen for a few moments before deciding to delete the email without responding. I have no idea how they even got this email, but frankly, I don’t care enough to find out.

  Just as I hit delete, another email pops up. This one has no text at all. It’s simply an image that has my blood running cold.

  Claire.

  A million thoughts and questions run rampant in my mind as I take in the picture. It’s Claire on the back porch, wearing the same clothes that she wore in the picture Mike sent me. This one was taken from a different angle, but they clearly took it today.

  How can this be possible? No one knows about her. I have kept my distance. I’ve been more than careful. I stayed away and only had Mike—someone I trust with my life—watch her.

  Fuck.

  I can’t let her get hurt. She’s an innocent. Hell, she’s as innocent now as the day I met her.

  Walking through the living room, I stop when I reach the back door. My fingers graze the cold copper doorknob as I look through the dirty glass. I’m not sure why, but I’m shocked to find a little girl sitting outside in the grass, her eyes glued on my door.

  The door creaks loudly as I open it, and the cool autumn breeze slaps me in the face. The little girl doesn’t even move or blink. She just remains sitting, staring at me with big green eyes as if she is in awe.

  As I step out onto the porch, I get a better look at her and find she can’t be much older than ten. Her hair is red, bright red, the kind that would get you made fun of in school. I’m tempted to walk across the grass to see her features but realize a moment later that would probably scare her.

  Still, my feet move without thought, and I stop just a few feet from her. She cranes her neck back to continue staring at me, and I notice the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheekbones. I can tell she is poor, just as most people in this neighborhood are. The purple sweater she is wearing is ripped at the cuff, and the colors on the printed butterfly on her chest are faded.

  She keeps staring at me, like she can’t believe I’m standing here.

  “My name’s Lucca, and what’s your name?” I pause for a fraction of a second, “Butterfly?” I point to her shirt and smile.

  She looks down at the butterfly on her shirt and then back up at me. Her gaze never wavers. In fact, the intensity of her stare grows, becoming two weights that press down on my shoulders.

  Even though she is a little girl, I can only imagine all that she’s been through in such a small amount of time. If she’s living here, she’s seen things, probably experienced things. There are far worse hardships in life than being poor.

  “Do you speak, butterfly?” I ask, even though I should turn around and walk my ass back inside.

  Her green eyes glisten like small emeralds in the afternoon sun. All she does is nod her head, no words passing her lips—annoyance tugs at me.

  Why hasn’t she spoken?

  Maybe because you’re a stranger, idiot?

  “I just moved in next door. I saw you through the window staring at me.” I sigh and scratch at the back of my head with one of my hands. “You know, this is a dangerous neighborhood. You shouldn’t be sitting outside by yourself.”

  It’s a statement, not a question.

  She shrugs, unfazed by my words. Obviously, she knows the type of people that lurk around these places. So why sit here? Does she not care? Or does she think no one will hurt her because she is a girl? Either way, I don’t feel comfortable leaving her out here alone.

  “Where are your parents?” Maybe if I give them a scolding and scare them a little, they won’t just let their daughter sit outside by herself.

  At the mere mention of her parents, fear flashes across her face, lighting up her features like a lightning bolt zinging across the stormy night sky. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. As soon as the look appears, it’s gone, and I wonder, for a millisecond, if I imagined seeing it.

  My lips part and the next question I plan to ask her is hanging on the tip of my tongue. It’s then that the loud creak of a door meets my ears, and I look up and over the girl’s head to find a large man about as tall as me, stepping out onto the porch. That must be her father.

  His gaze is murderous as it lands on me, and I can tell in an instant that there is something else about him, but I can’t put my finger on it.

  Butterfly turns and peers over her shoulder at him.

  “Get your little ass back in the house right now!” The man glowers at her, and like an obedient doll, butterfly pushes off the ground and strides through the grass.

  I clench my hands into tight fists, unsure why I feel a protective pull toward this girl. My eyes remain on her the entire time, and I catch the way her body stiffens just the slightest as she slips past the man and into the house.

  Something is off about him and about her, and I don’t like it. Not one bit. His gaze narrows, and he stares at me for another second, before walking into the house. The door closes with a creak, and then he is gone, right along with butterfly. I shake off the bad feeling and head back into my house, leaving the nameless girl in the back of my mind.

  Whoever this is, whatever they want, I can’t ignore it. I need to keep her safe, no matter the cost. I already failed her once. I won’t fail her again.

  3

  Claire

  The weekend passes way too quickly. Hope and I spend the entire time locked in my bedroom binge-watching Riverdale and talking about winter formal. I’m not going, not because I don’t have a date or a guy interested in me. It’s because anything with loud music, the dark, or crowds gives me anxiety.

  When I arrive at school, I climb the steps and find Hope is waiting for me at my locker. Her blonde hair is like a beacon of light. She smiles when she sees me, and I tighten my hold on my backpack.

  “Good morning. I feel like I just saw you.” Hope cocks her head to the side. A second passes, and we both break out into laughter.

  “It couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you literally saw me yesterday?”

  “Nah, definitely not that.” She shakes her head.

  I slip my backpack off my shoulder and get my books out, putting everything in its perfect spot inside my locker. My first class is English and one that I enjoy a lot, minus the wicked witches in the class.

  “I feel like I’m doing something wrong by not coming with you to English. We’ve been connected at the hip all weekend.” Hope
pouts as I grab my books and close my locker.

  “You’ll survive.” I smile.

  Together we walk to class, Hope waves goodbye when we part ways, and I slip into Mr. Daniels’ classroom. As soon as I step inside, I know something is wrong. The usual seats of the three wicked witches are empty. Nervous anxiety twists in my gut.

  With hesitant steps, I take my seat, but I’m unable to look away from their desks. It’s not likely that all three of them are sick. No, something else happened. More students trickle into the room, taking their time to reach their seats. Mr. Daniels sits in the room’s corner behind his desk, his face void of emotion as his eyes move over us. After a moment, Mr. Daniels stands and moves from behind his desk.

  “Take your seats. Your time to socialize ended the moment you walked through my classroom door.”

  A few students shake their heads, but after another minute, everyone’s in their seats and quiet. I open my book to the last chapter we read in class and prepare to take notes.

  “As you can see, there are three empty seats in the class today. To save you the trouble of figuring out what happened. I’m going to tell you myself.” There is a long pause, probably added for dramatics, and it makes the ache in my gut more profound. I already know something bad happened. “The girls have transferred to another school.”

  Transferred? Ha, no. This is something else. Anger replaces my previous emotions. Lucca had something to do with this. I know it. It isn’t the first time he’s meddled in my life, and I don’t like it. It makes me feel like I can’t fend for myself.

  Like I need him to protect me when I don’t.

  The rest of the students don’t even blink at what Mr. Daniels said, but I have to wonder if Lucca had them killed or taken somewhere. I’ve heard stories about him, about what he does and who he works for. The mob doesn’t just transfer people. They dispose of them, make them disappear.

  Would he kill three girls, who, yes, were mean bitches, but just kids? Yes, yes, he would. He killed my father, so he would kill anyone in my eyes. I find it hard to concentrate but force myself to. I can’t let Lucca ruin my day, can’t let him cloud my mind. I’ll never know the answers to the questions I have, so there isn’t any point in dwelling on them.

  Lucca will never show himself in my life again, and part of me is grateful for that, while another part of me is curious to see him again.

  Before I know it, lunch is here. Hope gets roped into helping a new student, so I grab my tray of food and head outside. I don’t have many friends, and I’m not going to subject myself to finding a table in this crowded lunchroom.

  Instead, I turn to the right and head out the doors that lead outside. There’s a tree a few yards away, and I choose to eat my lunch there. A soft breeze blows through my hair, and I sigh, leaning back against the bark while eating my apple.

  My phone buzzes in the pocket of my hoodie, and I half expect it to be Hope calling to yell at me for not being more ambitious and finding a spot in the lunchroom. Color me shocked to see that it isn’t her, but an unknown number.

  I stare at the screen, wondering if I should answer it. Something tells me to let it go to voicemail, but curiosity nags on me more. Against my better judgment, I hit the answer key. Holding my breath, I bring the phone to my good ear and listen intently.

  “Hello, butterfly.” The air in my lungs stills and my heart skips a beat. His voice is rich, gravely, and deeper. The maturity of it reminds me of how long it’s been since I’ve heard him.

  For a few seconds, I’m rendered speechless, and when I find my voice again, anger has replaced my shock about Lucca calling me. How dare he just call me out of the blue after six years.

  “Don’t call me that,” I growl, holding the phone a little tighter. I should just hang up. Yeah, hang up and never talk to him again.

  He breathes into the phone. “I’m sorry. I know you’re angry with me.”

  I snort, but nothing I’m about to say is funny. “Angry? No, I’m not angry. I want you to leave me alone. Don’t you think you’ve done enough? Caused me enough pain?”

  “My intentions weren’t to hurt you, and I know I did.” Why is he admitting these things? I toss my apple down onto the tray of half-eaten food.

  “Stop admitting your wrongs. Why did you call me? Why now? What do you want?” I hiss through my teeth. My cheeks feel hot, and I hate the way my stomach clenches every time he speaks. It reminds me of who he used to be, how much those moments with him meant to my young self. I should’ve known how dangerous he was then, but I didn’t. I just wanted a friend.

  “I’m only calling to check on you.”

  “You don’t need to check on me, and you’ve never called before.”

  “Don’t be like that, butterfly.”

  I grit my teeth to stop myself from lashing out. I hate that he still calls me by the name he called me when I was ten years old. Looking out into the courtyard, I let the silence between us drag on.

  “I’m only trying to protect you, Claire.” He shatters the silence.

  “How? By killing people? Did you kill those girls? They didn’t transfer, did they?” I accuse.

  Lucca chuckles. “I didn’t hurt them. I just made them leave. I’m not that heartless that I would kill three high school kids for bullying, but I made you a promise that day in the hospital, and I’m a man of my word. I’ll always protect you, even from a group of mean girls.”

  His words would be heartfelt if I didn’t hate him for ruining my life.

  “I don’t want your protection.” I shove a loose strand of bright red hair behind my ear. “Actually, I don’t need it. I’m fine. I want you to leave me alone.”

  “You don’t know what you need,” Lucca interjects, annoyance dripping from his voice.

  “I’m not a child. My childhood died the day my father did,” I bite out, knowing it’s a jab that will hit him right where it hurts. Plus, it’s a lie. My childhood died long before that day.

  When he doesn’t say anything right away, I add, “I’m not asking you to stop following me. I’m telling you.”

  “No.”

  “No?” I challenge.

  “No. I couldn’t stop, not even if I wanted to. Your protection is the most important thing to me. I’m not going anywhere, Claire, and nothing you say or do will change that.”

  The possessive tone of his voice makes me shiver, and I know he’s not lying, he’s never going to stop following me or protecting me.

  “What do you want from me?” Tears form in my eyes, and I blink them away. “I just want you to leave me alone, please,” I whisper the last part, trying to keep the emotions from bleeding into my voice.

  “I’m sorry, Claire. I can’t.” His voice is steel, an iron shackle around my ankle locking closed. “Eat your lunch and get inside. I don’t want you to get sick.”

  My jaw clenches, and I pull the phone away from my ear, angrily pressing the red end key. Looking around, I scan the area for him or someone else watching me. He has to be close, or he wouldn’t know what I’m doing. Of course, I don’t see anyone. I never do, but I know he is close.

  I hate him. I hate he saved me and that he still protects me. I hate that I ever said hi to him because maybe if I didn’t my father would still be here.

  I know it’s rude to watch people. To stare at them. I don’t like it when people stare at me, but I can’t help myself. Ever since he moved in a few weeks ago, I’m fascinated by the man that calls himself Lucca. I wonder if he would like to be my friend. I know he is older, but a friend can be anyone, and I want Lucca to be mine.

  A frown forms on my face at the reminder of my lack of friends. I have no one to talk to, no one that likes me. My father only lets me leave the house for school, and the kids at school all think I’m weird because my clothes are old and stained. I wouldn’t dare embarrass myself further by explaining to them that my mother left and that my father, even though he works, likes to drink most of our money away.

  “I don’t w
ant you outside. Stay in the house, Claire. If I come home and find out you’ve been outside, I’ll lock you up.” The vein on the side of his head bulges, and his fists tighten. My entire body tenses, and my heart thunders in my chest.

  Is he going to hit me again?

  The thought makes me sick to my stomach. I keep it a secret, mainly because no one would care anyway, and also because I’m more afraid of losing my father than I am of his fists.

  “I’ll stay inside. I promise.” I let the lie roll off my tongue. He has no way of knowing if I go out, I just have to be careful.

  The disapproving look he gives me tells me he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t say anything else. He simply heads for the door and walks out, slamming it closed behind him.

  I’m bouncing on the heels of my feet with excitement when I rush toward the back porch and press my face against the cold window to look outside. As soon as I spot Lucca sitting on his porch, I unlock the door and pull it open. Happiness bubbles up in my belly, and it feels like Christmas morning back when Momma and Daddy were both home, and Daddy wasn’t drinking or raising his fists to Momma or me.

  Taking a deep breath, I stare at the man. I should fear him. I don’t know him. He is a stranger to me, and yet he doesn’t seem like a stranger.

  The moment he hears the creak of the door, his gaze lifts, and our eyes collide. I’m suspended in time for a second, and my chest hurts, my heart galloping like a racehorse inside of it. I told myself that if I got the chance to talk to him this time, I would be better prepared, but it seems once again, I’m not.

  He has the ability to leave me speechless, and I don’t understand why. He makes me nervous, but not in a scary way.

  “Hey, butterfly.” He gives me a small wave.

  “Hi.”

  “She speaks!” His lips curl into a smile, and the tension eases from my stomach.