Eva
Five years later…
“I swear that isn’t me,” I say, standing in front of my father, who is holding a photo of someone who looks remarkably like me kissing the high school janitor. “Someone must have photoshopped it.”
For a start, I don’t think I’ve ever even spoken to the high school janitor in my life. As I stare at the photo, the sight of him churns my stomach. Not that I’m vain, but he’s certainly not a man I’d be attracted to, weighing probably a hundred pounds more than he should and less hair on his head than I have on my legs.
Second, I’ve never kissed a boy in my life, let alone some random, balding, middle-aged man. It’s hard to believe they think that’s me.
“Eva Carmichael. You almost brought utter ruin on our family,” my mother chides, shaking her head in the corner. “Don’t think we’re stupid enough to believe that isn’t you.” She steps forward and glares at me with her hard, stony expression. “How long has it been going on?”
I stare at my mother, dumbfounded, wondering if she believes I’d be in a relationship with the high school janitor. “I don’t even know the guy.” My parents are pathetic, as I don’t have time for men.
I focus all my energy on my schoolwork, as I need to get into the best school I can to become a vet, much to their disgust. Even though they insist that will never happen, as my destiny is to inherit the family business, I plan to escape their grasp and follow my dreams.
My father slams a hand down on the desk. “Eva, don’t lie to us,” he roars. The look in his eyes is vicious. “You’re eighteen years old. It’s about time you took responsibility for your actions.”
I swallow hard, trying to force the lump in my throat away. I hate that both my parents think I’m guilty of this.
“Did you sleep with him?” my mother asks, making heat spread over every inch of my skin.
“No,” I cry, shaking my head. “I didn’t even fucking kiss him.”
“Language, Eva,” my father quips. “I’m fed up with this.” He glances at my mother. “I think you’re right. We have no choice.”
I glance between my mother and father, wondering what he means. “What are you talking about?”
My mom shakes her head. “It will be brutal, but I think she needs to learn a brutal lesson.”
I swallow hard. “Would you stop talking about me as if I’m not even here?”
My father meets my gaze. “We’re sending you to The Syndicate Academy in Maine,” he deadpans.
It feels like my parents rip the ground from under my feet. “That’s a thousand miles from here. From my friends,” I protest, even though I don’t have many friends here in Atlanta. “What the hell?”
My father stands, towering over me in all his height and grandeur. “You will go without another word. You’re a Carmichael, and it’s about time you learn what that means.” He glances at my mother. “The only way for you to learn is to attend school with people like you.”
I clench my fists by my side. “You mean the offspring of other criminals?” I shake my head. “I want nothing to do with your disgusting business.”
My mother steps toward me and grabs my wrist forcefully. “Watch what you say, Eva. I can cut you off faster than you can walk out of this room.”
I narrow my eyes at her. That’s what I count on. My only crime is that I’ve been taking the blood money my parents give me monthly and saving all of it in a bank account they have no access to, which will be my college tuition. However, I’m not ready to draw that card yet.
I know their plan for me. My parents want me to marry a mob boss and allow another criminal to take over the family business, starting the cycle again. It’s never-ending. There’s no way I will continue it and force my future children into such a terrible existence.
Someone has to break the cycle, and I intend to be the one to end the tyranny finally.