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And there WILL be a sequel!

MY NAME IS CADENZA CONTI.

I'm twenty-two. I'm an art student at Santa Lucia university. I major in painting. I'm in love with a Mafia boss.

This is what I think, over and over, my eyes closed, as I come to consciousness. The fog of the chloroform invades my mind, making me feel blurry, and this is what keeps me tethered to reality. My name is Cadenza Conti. I'm twenty-two. I'm an art student . . .

I need to stay awake. I need to remain conscious.

Fear plunges through me, wrapping me in an icy grip. What does the Reaper want me for? I'm nobody. I'm nothing. How does he even know my name?

But either way, the stories I've heard . . . they're not good. They're nothing less than terrible.

Rape, torture . . . will I become a slave? Something used, discarded, broken?

And above all, the thought of Angel's betrayal is what hurts the most. Because she let this happen to me. She gave me up. She bargained me away, and she let the Reaper's men take me.

Now, I hear voices talking. Two men, whispering low. Their voices are gruff, and they speak in harsh Italian. I can barely follow.

All I know is that they're talking about the Falcones. Angel―it must be about her. They want to . . . shit. They want to backstab her.

That's all I can make out before a gravelly voice says, "Cadenza, you can stop pretending to be asleep."

Terror is cold in my stomach. I open my eyes.

I need to warn Angel.

No―she gave me up. I don't need to tell her anything.

Frustration wars within me. But I still care about Dominic and even Maria. If I know the Reaper is planning something against him . . .

The matter is settled when I think of the fact that Dominic saved my life.

But hopelessness drags me down. How do I warn them when I'm trapped here? I blink away a light gloss of tears, trying not cry. No weakness, I think.

My hands start to shake. I don't lift my head, so all I can see is the ceiling as I hear the man approach. His raspy voice grates the air, as though his throat is scarred and burned from within.

"Cadenza . . ."

I don't answer. Instead, I go rigid in the bed. I can't feel any part of my body but my face. Am I paralyzed? Don't panic, don't panic.

I can never forgive Angel.

"I'd like to speak with you."

I am still silent. I do not know how to reason with a monster. Anything I say will really just hurt my dignity. I am above begging; I am above pleading. He will never let me free, and the overwhelming inevitability of it crushes me like a weight.

Suddenly, the Reaper's face is above me, and it is not what I imagined.

I thought the Reaper would be a grisly, scarred old man, with lines gouged deep into his face, wrinkles pockmarking his skin. Instead, instead . . .

He's handsome, I can see that. His jaw is sharp, and there are barely any creases on his face. I thought he would be close to eighty, but he must be in his fifties. His hair isn't white, but there are slivers of gray at his temples. His skin is the clean colour of someone who hasn't ventured out into sunlight recently.

And his eyes―they're blue. A very soft, summery blue. It's almost familiar . . .

"Why me?" is all I can think to say.

"Yes . . . that's a good question," the Reaper says thoughtfully, touching chin chin. His fingers are heavily bejeweled, and there are words on his hands, a letter for each knuckle. I try to make it out―all I get is a C and an I on his right hand, but other than that, I don't know.

I slowly sit up, scrambling upwards. When I gained consciousness, I hadn't registered my surroundings, but now I do.

Like before, when I was kidnapped, I'm not in a cell and it surprises me. Maybe the Mafia don't keep dungeons anymore. Maybe they just keep their prisoners inside of clean white bedrooms with luxurious sheets and artistic decor.

I'm not in shackles, and I notice something strange. There is no lock on the door. There are no bars on the window.

This . . . this really seems like a guest room.

Unless they're betting that I won't run away.

In which case, they're fucking stupid.

"I brought you here because I wanted to see you," the Reaper says simply. This doesn't make any sense to me, and I say so. Why would he want to see me?

"How do you even know who I am?" I ask.

On his right knuckles, I make out an O. So far, I've collected an I, a C, and an O. What does it spell? Two more letters . . .

"I've known you for a long time," the Reaper says, his voice kind, his blue eyes warm. Those blue eyes―I can't shake the thought that they remind me of something.

"Is this some kind of mind game?" I spit out. "Are you just trying to mess with me, old man?"

Old man is by far a very tame insult, but the Reaper's face hardens. Suddenly, I am struck with my own stupidity: I shouldn't be throwing insults around at the man who is keeping me prisoner. Not if I ever want to be free.

The Reaper moves closer to the bed, and a thought occurs to me. What if he wants to force me, right now, right on the bed? My breathing becomes a notch higher.

I won't let it happen. I'll scream. I'll fight. But I know, outside the door, there must be his men waiting. I sag back into the bed sheets. Who am I kidding? If he wants to force me, there is nothing I can do to stop him and he knows it.

"No, Cadenza," the Reaper says softly. "I have missed you."

This is becoming steadily crazier. "Are you kidding me?" I can't help but burst. Then I lower my voice, remembering that I can't make him mad. "I've never―we've never met."

The Reaper turns away, his gaze turning forlorn. Wistful. It looks like a memory is pulling at him, sinking him into its depths.

Could I escape while he's distracted? I look around for a weapon, but all that's within reach is soft bedcovers. I'm still in the black dress. Since the curtains are closed, I can't tell what time it is. How long ago was I taken?

Then, on the nightstand, I see a gun. It must be his.

Come on, Cade, come on! My heart pounds wildly. I need a weapon, but is he really so deep in the memory that he won't notice me stealing his gun? His back is turned right now, and I think like Angel would―she wouldn't hesitate.

I reach for the gun and bury it under the covers with me. Blindly, I fumble for the safety and put my finger on the trigger. The gun is still hidden beneath the covers. I need him to come closer, closer―if I miss, that'll be it. I have one shot, and I need to make sure it's a good one.

Are you really ready to kill, Cade? asks a voice deep inside of me. I answer yes fiercely, but something nags at me. I was ready to kill for Angel, so where is that same instinct now?

A familiar longing swells up in me at the thought of Angel, but I push it away. She gave me up. She's the reason I'm here, trapped, with a gun under the bedsheets. She's the reason I'm going to kill the Reaper.

He turns around, his face warm under the glow of the light above us.

He looks at me like I'm some kind of misplaced possession, and my stomach turns. This can't be good. He doesn't even know me.

"I have missed you, don't doubt that, my Cadenza," the Reaper says.

Shit. Shit. This is making me nauseous. Why does he think he knows me? Who does he think I am?

A voice whispers in me, pulls at me, some deep long-forgotten core memory . . .

"To see you here, at last?" He pats the bed and sits. "It's a beautiful day. A glorious day. It's been too long."

He's crazy. He's insane. He's―

Right, a voice answers.

The voice is so sudden and ridiculous I almost laugh out loud. I don't know this man. I have never met him before. It's impossible. It's crazy, it's ludicrous, it just can't be true.

I tighten my finger on the trigger. He needs to move a little closer, and then I'll shoot.

What's your plan after that, huh, Cade? It sounds strangely like Angel's voice, berating me for my foolishness. Are you just gonna walk out of here, nice and dandy, and everyone will leave you alone?

But I don't have time to think. To question myself. I just need to do it, consequences be damned.

"Do you remember me, my Maria?" he says thoughtfully.

My hand is moving, I'm prepared to take out the gun, and then I hear this.

I freeze.

My blood stops cold.

That's my middle name.

That's my middle name, and nobody knows it except my mother. Not even the university has that on their application.

How does he know the word Maria?

How does he know me?

He seems completely unaware of me as he says, "No, I don't suppose you would remember me, hmm . . . you were too young, and then you were ripped away from me. I wanted to raise you, you know."

I can't breathe; I can't think; I can't move.

Just like that, I know.

I know, and I pull out the gun and put it to his temple. "Don't you dare say another word," I grit out, a hiss. But it's empty, because I know what he'll say next. I know.

I know because at last I see the letters on his knuckles. An O, a C, an N, a T, an I.

In order, they spell out something very familiar.

C O N T I

And on on his left hand, I finally make out what I have been blind to.

M A R I A

My name. It is my name.

The most feared Mafia boss in the city has my name tattooed on his knuckles.

Before he even says, "I'm your grandfather, Cadenza Maria," I know.

Because at last, I remember.

The Grim Reaper gives me a slow, sad smile.

My fingertip trembles on the trigger.

>>>

ALRIGHT. YOUR BIG REVEAL.

I don't know if you were expecting that plot twist, but things are about to fall into place.

From the moon and back,
Sarai