Sixteen years earlier, Gainesville, Florida, 2007…
I walked down the long, dark hallway, following the noise that had dragged me out of my wonderful sleep. It wasn't far, it was coming from the room a few doors down from mine. The new girl's room.
I grimaced as another sob echoed through the empty corridor. If she kept this up, she'd wake the entire orphanage.
I knocked softly on the door, just enough to make her understand she was pissing everyone off—but no answer came. Then again, I doubted she had even heard me, judging by how her sobs kept growing louder.
Oh, for fuck's sake.
I finally pushed the door open and stepped into a room even darker than the hallway. I closed the door behind me, squinting as I searched for the source of the noise. It didn't take long. My eyes landed on the bed, on a trembling shape beneath the covers that wouldn't stop crying.
I rolled my eyes and flipped the switch near the door. The room flooded with light, and the figure froze under the blanket as another movement caught my attention.
The girl's roommate stirred, woken by the light. It was a miracle she hadn't already woken up with all that noise. Then I saw who it was.
Sloan. The orphanage bully. Half deaf.
"Fuck, I told you not to turn on—" she started to growl as she sat up, then froze when she saw me. "Sanaa." She recognized me instantly, frowning as I raised a brow.
Sloan was taller than me. She was almost ten, while I had just turned eight. But everyone knew their place here. That was how things stayed peaceful.
One of the few things my… progenitor had taught me. Don't hesitate to hammer people back into place if they dare step out of line.
"I can't sleep," I said flatly, crossing my arms. Sloan looked confused for a second before her gaze shifted to the silhouette under the covers. She groaned, throwing off her blanket and stumbling half-asleep toward the second bed. She yanked the covers off in one sharp motion.
My eyes fell on the frail body beneath. Blonde hair spilled over the edge of the bed as she curled into herself, sniffling.
"Hey! Stop making noise, idiot," Sloan snapped, shaking her. It did absolutely nothing. I sighed and stepped closer.
"Leave us alone."
Sloan grumbled but obeyed, muttering something about going to the bathroom.
I climbed onto the edge of the bed, my back turned to the girl, who sniffled loudly.
"How did they die?" I asked, swinging my legs idly. Silence. Then, finally—
"Their plane crashed," she whispered. I frowned.
"A plane crash? Seriously?" I asked, skeptical. "How many people died?" I was genuinely curious. I had never met anyone who had been through that.
"Just them. In their private jet."
I blinked and turned toward her, eyes widening.
"Private jet?" I repeated. "Your parents were rich?" She looked at me with her blue eyes, wiping her nose with her sleeve.
"I… I think so."
I pulled my legs onto the bed and crossed them.
"You don't know if you're rich?" I asked, confused. She stared at me, just as puzzled.
"How do you know if you're rich?"
That made me think.
"Did you live in an apartment?" I asked, scratching my chin.
"No. In a house. With a garden and a pool." I let out a short laugh, shaking my head.
"Only rich people have pools." She went quiet for a second.
"So I'm rich," she murmured, resting her chin on her knees. Her white nightgown made her pale skin look even paler. "And you? Are you rich?" she asked. I burst out laughing, throwing my head back.
"As rich as Ruth, the lunch lady." She stared at me, her tears now gone.
"So you're poor, and I'm rich… but we're dressed the same," she said, pointing at my white dress. "We're going to sleep in the same place… after eating the same food." She smiled softly as I looked at her, surprised. Then a slow smile spread across my lips.
"Sanaa," I said, holding out my hand. She hesitated for a second before taking it, her cold skin against mine.
"Alma," she replied, her blue eyes locking with my dark ones, her pale skin sharply contrasting with my deep brown.
"I have a feeling we're going to get along just fine, Blondie."
Present
"So what's stopping you from sleeping at…" I glanced at my watch, "four in the morning? Is New York too noisy?" I wedged my phone between my shoulder and ear as I cracked open my can of beer. Silence answered me. That wasn't like Alma. She was a burst of sunshine wrapped in softness.
"Alma?" I called, frowning as worry crept in.
"I need to tell you something," she whispered and I froze, the can hovering near my lips.
"I'm listening," I said softly, a thousand bad possibilities flashing through my mind. She worked as a bartender in an upscale club in New York, the kind of place only the rich could enter. Had something gone wrong tonight?
Alma and I were like sisters. We had no one else. We were family.
"Sanaa… I'm pregnant."
My gaze dropped into the void. Pregnant? As in… a baby growing inside her?
Holy shit.
"Oh," I said, setting my beer down on the plastic table we had dragged into the front of the garage. "And… uh… is this a good thing, or are we… I don't know… panicking?" I asked, completely lost, pulling the clip from my dark half-bun and tossing it onto the table.
"I'm not sure," she murmured. I heard her shift in her bed. "I don't feel sad… or panicked. I think… I'm happy, Sanaa." The smile in her voice eased something inside me. She was happy. And scared. I knew her by heart.
"Then congratulations, Blondie. I'm happy for you," I said, a smile tugging at my lips despite myself. If there was one thing Alma had always wanted, it was a family.
"So… who's the lucky guy? The future Blondie's father?" I asked, dropping into one of the plastic chairs, running a hand through my wild curls.
Untamable.
Free.
That's how my mother used to describe them. Just like me.
"That's… the complicated part," Alma said and I straightened immediately. That didn't sound good.
"Complicated like he's an asshole who doesn't want the baby, or complicated like you don't know who he is?" I asked, even though I knew her list of lovers barely reached three. So yeah. Definitely the first option. Which probably meant I'd have to fly to New York and beat the shit out of some guy with a wrench.
"Complicated like… six-foot-five, built like a mountain… and heir to an Italian mafia boss." I shot to my feet so fast the chair toppled behind me. I opened and closed my mouth several times, no words coming out.
"Breathe, Sanaa, and talk without yell—"
"Breathe?! Are you serious, Alma?!" I snapped, dragging a hand over my face. "You slept with an Italian mobster?! When? Where?"
I started pacing. Great. Just what we needed. The Italian mafia.
"You remember that guy I told you about? The one who was tall, built like a—"
"Jesus fucking Christ, Alma, yes! The guy you hooked up with almost two months ago!" I cut her off. "But you didn't tell me he was a fucking Italian mobster!" I exhaled sharply, closing my eyes.
"Sanaa… calm down. Let's focus on what matters, please." Her voice trembled and that stopped me. "Please, Sanaa. I need your help."
"Anything you want, Blondie."