Most kids get a security blanket.
I got security guards.
Most kids are warned about monsters under the bed.
My brother is the monster... and he makes sure all the other monsters pay rent on time.
They tell me his hands are stained with blood and his soul is forged in violence. They whisper his name in fear, a warning to their children.
But they didn't see him last night.
They didn't see the most powerful man in the city on his hands and knees, searching under my bed for the very same kind of monsters they warn people about.
"Are you sure he's gone, Ijah?" I'd whispered, my small voice swallowed by the darkness.
"Positive, mi sol," he'd murmured, his voice a low, steady rumble that made the shadows feel less scary. "I made a deal with them all. They don't get to scare you." A rare, soft smile touched his lips. "Only I get to do that."
He'd said it so seriously I'd giggled, and the sound made the hard lines of his face soften into something warm and human. Just my big brother.
He tucked the blankets around me, building a fortress against the night. "Sleep now. The monsters are all gone."
He kissed my forehead and walked out, closing the door softly behind him. I heard his footsteps fade down the hall, each step a promise of safety.
And then I heard it. The distant, sharp sound of a gunshot.
It was a sound I knew too well. The sound of my brother at work.
The monster and the protector. They were the same man.
This is my family. We're... complicated.
lf you think this is a fairy tale, you're wrong.
This is a guide on how to survive being raised by wolves in designer clothing.
Consider this your disclaimer: mafia themes, grief and loss, violence and a crash course in loving someone who can hurt the world—these pages contain them.
Read at your own risk.