Author’s Note
While Ricochet isn’t the darkest book ever written, it still is a dark romance and I would like to ask you to proceed with caution.
If the themes such as abuse, torture, rape, suicidal thoughts and/or attempted suicide, as well as substance abuse are something that triggers you, I need you to be aware that all of these are mentioned throughout the book.
It is not recommended for readers under eighteen.
While it has been dubbed as Mafia Romance, I would like to mention that the Mafia part of the book is not the main focus.
This is not a fairytale.
It is a love story, but it might not be the one you are expecting to get.
“The monsters in my head always knew that I would lose you in the end.”
David Jones
“Where the fuck am I?” I mumbled. A sudden movement on my right side sent a jolt of fear mixed with excitement through me, making me realize I was not as alone as I thought I was.
“Hello.” The chilling feeling in my bones had nothing to do with the actual temperature of the house anymore, but everything to do with my emotions skyrocketing. “Is anybody here?”
A million and one thoughts about human trafficking and horrors I could be facing ran through my head. I expected shit to happen, but I preferred to know what I was getting myself into.
“Please,” I whispered. Nothing brings men down to their knees like a damsel in distress. “What is this place?”
Was I hallucinating? No, I saw somebody, I was sure of it.
I stepped inside the room the shadow disappeared into, and gawked at the sight in front of me. This whole place should’ve been on a magazine cover or something. The whole design looked like something my mother would’ve used in her house. The white curtains were linen—the kind of white devoid of dust or any kind of human touch. The room reminded me of a hotel foyer with its size and artwork. Two beige couches stood on the opposite sides of each other, right in front of the fireplace, accompanied by a sofa chair of the same color.
What had me excited, however, wasn’t the size of this room nor its brilliant setup. I didn’t give a fuck about the architectural beauty or the interior design. I inched closer to the fireplace, tipping my head to look at the picture above. They say snakes won’t attack unless provoked. I knew some that would.
The Nightingale emblem stood there in all of its glory. An imposing snake wrapped around the gleaming sword, looking ready to attack. I didn’t have to be a genius to figure out who owned this house.
And who brought me here.
This was no coincidence, and that little voice in my head told me Theo had his hands in this. Just how I suspected, just what I wanted. He thought I was heading into the trap. Poor little toad. After all these years, he should’ve known that nothing and nobody could surprise me anymore, especially not him.
Okay, alright, it was showtime. I just wondered why they didn’t lock me up like they did before? Had they grown a conscience somewhere along the way? How fucking sweet of them for not chaining me to the fucking wall this time around.
I took a few steps back as deep laughter resonated somewhere behind me. The usual reaction I would have to that sound, to those voices, couldn’t be used right now. Oh no, they had to think they had me.
My hands started shaking, the keys dropping to the ground.
You can run, but you can never hide, little bird.
The threatening words he repeated so many times resurfaced again. I didn’t want to turn around. I didn’t want to face them.
I didn’t want to face them because I knew I would want to kill them, one by one—claw their fucking eyes out, carve up their hearts, rip their throats out. I could be creative.
I’d been waiting for this moment for the last four years.
It kept me awake, it kept me moving, and it kept me motivated.
Keep your fucking cool, Ophelia. No messing around this time.
Helpless little lamb, that’s what you are.
Their steps echoed around the room, taunting me, closing in. There was nowhere to go now. My hands felt clammy, the urge to run overtaking my whole body. I just didn’t know if I wanted to run away, or run to them. I knew what was about to happen. My mouth was parched and my throat constricted. I hadn’t cried in so long, I forgot how it felt. My tears threatened to spill over my cheeks, and it wasn’t because the shithead I was related to betrayed me. I wanted to cry because I couldn’t kill them, right here and right now.
“Hello, birdy,” one of them marveled. The walls were closing in... tick tock. “You’re not going to greet us? Not that we mind the view from here.” Instinctively I grabbed the hem of my shirt, trying to pull it lower, remembering my lack of pants. Oh well, what the hell.
Taking a deep breath, I turned around, facing my demons head-on.
Kieran, Cillian and Tristan Nightingale.
The three brothers, the three musketeers, and my worst nightmare. Oh no, wait. I think it was the other way around.
I was their worst nightmare, they just didn’t know it yet.
They stood side by side, all three dressed in black. How fucking lovely—they were now wearing matching clothes. If I had my phone with me, I would’ve snapped a picture. While they were dressed for my funeral, I planned for theirs. Tristan and Cillian wore amused expressions on their faces, but I could see the darkness swirling behind their eyes. They were going to enjoy every second of this, whatever it was they had planned for me.
Kieran stood between the two of them, his dark hair disheveled, a few strands falling onto his forehead. Unlike the other two, he didn’t smile. His face was like a marble statue, devoid of any emotion. But I could see it.
His anger, his hatred, his pain. It was all there, showing through his obsidian eyes. He cocked his head, meeting my gaze head-on. I knew what that was.
A challenge.
An invitation.
He wanted me to fight this. To scream and shout, demand to be let out. He wanted me to entertain them, but I wasn’t going to do that. They thought they lost everything that night, but they weren’t the only ones.
The difference was, I knew the truth. They didn’t.
“Did you miss us, little bird?” Cillian took a step closer, while I took two back. He laughed, pushing me closer to the fireplace with every new step. “Because we sure as hell missed you.”
Seven Years Ago
“What do you mean, you’re breaking up with me?”
I stood in front of Ronan Carson, his voice grating on my nerves. Why did I ever think dating him would be a good idea?
“I just don’t think this is working out,” I told him. “And with summer break coming, I might be going out of the country.”
I glanced around the stadium, making sure we were still alone. The last thing I wanted to do was make this a public spectacle because his ego was hurt. Ronan didn’t love me. He was simply infatuated with me and everything I represented—status, money, fame in this little town. For most of my life, I was invisible to people like him, but without Theo and his friends at school scaring the ever-loving crap out of everybody, and Maya going away, I was the last Aster left to conquer.