Are you ready for Part 2?

HUNTER

Twelve Years Ago

"Happy birthday! Happy, happy birthday!"

The chorus fades, the echo of the song swirling into the air like the smoke from the candles.

I turn eight years old today.

Around me, my family is gathered. My mom, before she left us for Italy. My dad, before he came a rich businessman on Wall Street. My sister, before she became the ruthless boss of a crime organization. And my brother . . . still almost the same.

"What did you wish for?" Tommy asks.

Anise elbows him. "You can't ask that."

The cake is in front of me, pink lacy icing and all, and the wax drips slowly down to the top. Happy 8th Birthday, Hunter! it says.

My mom tucks a knife into my hand, and my fingers shake around the handle.

I've never used one this big before. Even Anise, who is secretly teaching me knife-throwing lessons, hasn't given me a knife this size.

My father whistles, "Cut it!"

Tommy's words ring in my ears. What did you wish for?

I wished . . . I wished my best friend could be here.

She was the only one who wasn't.

I wasn't sure why, except for what I had heard my mother and father talking about last night. Mary says there's going to be a surprise attack.

They won't dare. There's nothing to worry about.

I miss her, though. She was the only person I really wanted to see today.

But later, I know she'll sneak in through my window.

The knife slices down through the pink surface of the cake, deepening between the soft layers of vanilla and cream.

"Who wants the first slice?" my father called out.

It was the last thing he said before the world went to shit.

That was how my mom described it, later. The world went to shit.

I'd always remember that.

A single gunshot pierced the music and the song and the concentration of my cutting. There was a paper plate hovering in front of me, and my tongue peeked out between my teeth as I tried to remove the slice of cake.

One gunshot. That was all it took.

The screaming erupted, and my father roars, "Get down!"

I knew he was the Alpha. I just didn't know what that meant.

But there is a suddenly a gun in his own hand, and as the children are shielded by their parents, cowering on the ground, he aims it towards the street.

I can see a car. A shiny silver car, and a man. He has a gun, too.

Another chorus of bullets fires out from the backseat.

"A drive-by," my mother murmurs. "Mary was right."

Mary, my best friend's mom.

Right about what? I want to ask, but Anise is shoving me roughly to the ground.

"Are you stupid?" she says, clutching both me and Tommy by the back of our necks. "Do you want to get shot?"

"N-no . . ." Tommy says.

"That was a rhetorical question," Anise growls. She is fourteen. I've heard my parents call her a hormonal teenager, and I have no idea what that means.

Tommy is about to ask what a rhetorical question is, but the car slams on the brakes, squealing down the street with a shrill whine.

But the sound of gunshots don't fade.

"Oh, my God," my mother says, her face going pale.

I recognize her expression from the time when there was a phone call for my dad. As he stood there, talking on the phone, his face becoming grim, she whispered those same words. Oh, my God. My confident, self-assured mom, who all the other moms looked up to, looking as though she was looking straight into a pit of snakes.

Finally, the sound of the gunshots faded. The car had accelerated away, its humming engine vanishing along with the smoke and burn of the bullets.

"Is everyone okay?" asks my mother.

The parents seem shaken. Trembling. But none of them are hurt, and neither are my classmates.

A small mercy. I knew none of them would be returning for a birthday party anytime soon.

As Sylvie, one of my friends who shared her snack me everyday, was dragged towards the front of the house, I heard something that my blood chill.

"We never should have come to the house of a Mafia boss," her mother mutters.

"But, Mom," Sylvie whines. She looks back at me pleadingly, and I know we are still friends. Neither of us really understand what is going on.

And I don't know it yet, but this is the last time she'll ever look at me like that.

After today, none of the other kids are allowed to speak to me.

"We need to go check on Mary," my father commands, once all of the parents and children are gone.

My pink birthday cake is still on the table. Uneaten. Marred by a single slice.

"She was right," my mother repeats. "She was right . . . oh, God."

A tap, tap on the window.

Instantly, I am up in bed. I've been waiting for this.

My birthday cake━pink and covered in frosting with the letters now smeared━is sitting on my nightstand. I managed to smuggle it up into my room, although Tommy saw me, his eyes round.

Why does she get to have a whole cake? Tommy asked Anise, who was deliberately looking away.

Mind your own business, Anise said. Sometimes I really love her.

There are also two flashlights, and I made a pillow fort in advance.

So when she knocks on the window, a light tap of her knuckles, I am already there. Pulling up the glass with a creak.

Instead of excitement, a little bit of worry dances over her small features.

But she doesn't say why, and I think I know. Her brother was shot today.

Once the car with the guns didn't hit anyone at my party, they moved on to her house. And then Jeremy was shot.

I might have a little crush on him.

But it's her I worry about now. She climbs in through the window, and there is fierceness in her, especially when she smiles.

When she loves, she loves hard. I've known her almost my whole life.

"Happy birthday, Hunter," she finally whispers. Her eyes slide to the cake, brightening. "Is that for us?"

I can't help grinning. "Yes. And guess what? Let's watch an R-Rated movie."

"My mom said Legally Blonde is an R-Rated movie, and I should never, ever watch it under any circumstances. She said it's scarier than Texas Chainsaw. Or The Shining."

I have no idea what Legally Blonde is. "Okay," I agree excitedly. "Let's watch it."

When she climbs into my bed, fitting herself against my body, I turn on the movie. Her head is nestled on my shoulder, and warmth prickles me. Twice, I have to make sure she is still awake. But each time, she only looks at me with that bright, sarcastic smile.

"Thanks," I say softly.

"For what?" she says sleepily.

"For coming tonight."

"Why wouldn't I?" she says, yawning.

I think of the parents at the party, who muttered darkly and anxiously among each other. I know enough about living with the Mafia to realize I probably won't have any friends at school anymore.

"Just . . . thanks."

"Hunter?"

"Yeah, Jude?"

"I'm tired."

I smile to myself. She is already curled against me, her head face buried in my shoulder. It's almost seven in the morning, and we have officially pulled our first all-nighter.

"Goodnight, then, Jude," I whisper.

"Goodnight, Hunter."

>>>

Did anyone guess this one? Is it clicking?

From the moon and back,
Sarai