phin

ft glow a familiar comfort against the darkness. For ten years, i

nto an oppressive blackness, so thick I felt like I was suffocating.

d the ghosts of my life with Dante. The small, silver locket with the Moretti crest he'd given me for my fifteenth birthday. The bottle o

o the bag. Relics

my fingers tracing the frantic, girlish script. It was a pathetic history of my devotion

om school. Dante had dealt with them. I never saw them again. That night, he'd found my diary open on my desk. He didn't say

i property. Tou

per

Not even a person. I was a thing. An asset to be protected, like his cars or his col

the pages from the diary. I tore through every cherished memory, every secret hope,

ng Dante's. My room. The one I used to have before I was move

ire family-Dante's capos, his lieutenants-wa

ng, placid expression. "Seraph

was a thick, gaudy band of some cheap, dark metal, studded with glittering sto

. He'd once thrown away a bracelet a school friend had given me, h

ding with my eyes. *D

He met my gaze, his dark eyes cold

ke

front of everyone, he was showing them my new

abella's fingers brushed against mine as she fast

d enough for everyone to hear.

re, my head bowed, as the metal began to warm against my skin. The familiar, bur

and let it burn, branding me with the truth. I was pro