The Runaway Sister

nineteen | sunny beaches

Christmas was only yesterday, but the decorations have already been taken down. Alexander said, and I quote, "The holiday is over, Evelyn. I don't like dwelling on the past." 

These things make me miss Mum so much. 

Such little details cause such a massive ache in my heart. 

Mum was a fanatic for Christmas. She'd only take down our decorations on New Year's Day, if then. Some years we had decorations up until April. 

"So when is it?" I ask Zachary, settling into a seat at the counter. He's flipping eggs, but they smell burned. He won't admit this, though. 

"New Year's Eve, going into New Year's," He explains, his nose crinkling up in disgust as he stares into the pan. 

"One week." 

"Good job, Ev. You can read a calendar." 

"Are you sure I have to go? Spending my holiday with a bunch of criminals doesn't sound too enticing." 

"Yes, you, in fact, need to go. The Americans need to show off their new princess." 

"But it'll put a target on my back." 

"I mean, sure. I guess. But all of us are targeted. It's part of the job. You can't leave this life once you're born into it. Besides, it'll make us look stronger if you're there." 

Sometimes I wish I was never born. Or, at least, not born into this family. Sure, I might love my brothers— if I can go that far so soon— but I most definitely don't love our source of income. 

Zachary places a white plate in front of me. Charred eggs rest on it. I wrinkle my nose up in disgust, glancing up at him. 

"Um... Zach... what is that?"  I point to the repulsive dish. 

He grins proudly. "Breakfast." 

"I'd rather starve." 

He frowns. "Wow, Ev. Way to push me when I'm down." 

"Are you blind? Do you not have eyes? Are you looking at this thing?" 

He glances down, grimaces, then meets my eyes again. "Well, we don't waste food around here. So, eat up. Bone apple tea!" 

As I open my mouth again, Alexander strolls inside, Sullivan and Cassian following suit. "What is that horrid stench?" Alexander asks, glaring Zachary's way. 

"Why does no one like my cooking?" He asks, fake hurt in his tone.  

"Because it literally sucks," Logan says. When did he get here? Luke stands right next to him. It's like they're conjoined. 

Alexander sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. "Anyway, right now is as good a time as any to tell you this: we're going to Spain." 

"Spain?!" I ask in disbelief. I've never been to Spain. I've seen it on the internet and in newspapers. It looks so warm and vibrant. Nothing like this grey desolate town. 

Luke raises an eyebrow. "Why? What do the Spaniards want?" 

Oh. 

Of course. 

This is about the mafia. 

Sullivan throws a harsh look Luke's way, silently gesturing to me. I purse my lips in annoyance. They treat me like an incompetent toddler. 

I need to know what their business is about. 

Maybe if I knew about it, I could be talked off the path of running. Finish the job my uncle couldn't.