Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 27333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
The lines between truth and fiction blurred, and people started forgetting who was the hero in the story.
Fewer and fewer remembered that Lorenzo was the reason a fourteen-year-old girl had not been raped and those whom his father once enslaved now knew the taste of freedom.
Numerous lives had been spared because of him, but these good deeds were no longer spoken of.
In the ten years Lorenzo spent in maximum security, his case file had mysteriously disappeared from public records. His infamy grew, and the Beast of New York became everyone's scapegoat. A smear campaign was launched against him, the truth deliberately buried in a distorted swarm of lies for the sake of local officials wanting to get re-elected.
Remember my name, they would shamelessly appeal. I am the one who put the Beast of New York behind bars!
Scrubbed from history were the years that the city government had failed its people, and New York had once been under the terrifying reign of a psychopath like Luchino Anghileri.
It would have stayed that way, too, if not for one teenager whose honor demanded he risk his sanity to save the majority.
I didn't want to kill my own father.
But because no one had the courage to help him—-
Lorenzo had done the unthinkable.
And in return, his city rewarded him with ten years of solitary confinement.
By the time he was pardoned and released, Lorenzo had been so successfully demonized that when people heard the following words—-
The Beast of New York was coming.
They ran from him instead of toward him.
Not realizing until it was too late that Lorenzo was their only hope—-
And they all paid the price of their foolishness with their lives.
Journal Entry
Day 29.
Search and rescue called off.
Moskran authorities declare the case closed.
Publicly state they will no longer entertain inquiries.
Privately inform us their hands are tied.
In short: they don't think we're worth helping.
We're on our own now.
IT'S THE HEIGHT OF summer, and everything around me is green and lush. Everything is full of life, and the very air I breathe sings with it.
Even the distant sounds from the nearby park are an ode to a joyful existence.
A child giggles as his parent pushes his swing from behind. Picnic goers banter with each other. Couples laugh and yell as they race down Charles River in their kayaks.
These sounds are supposed to heal me.
But all I can think of is how the whole world thinks my brother is...dead.
"So this is where you've been hiding."
The voice is wonderfully familiar, and the words are a distraction I'm grateful for. I know it's no coincidence that Sarica finds me at the exact moment fears and doubts have made another demonic attempt to poison my heart.
But just so we're clear—-
"I'm having my quiet time."
Which is completely different from hiding.
Sarica joins me on the balcony but walks past my table. A pair of stone gargoyles seemingly watch over her as she leans against the balustrade.I close my journal and get to my feet. A gentle breeze dances past, and the older girl impatiently tucks her bubblegum-colored locks behind her ear.
Sarica glances at my journal and wrinkles her nose.
"What?" I ask blankly.
"Exactly. What do you think will happen if your diary falls into the wrong person's hands?"
"Not possible," I answer promptly.
"Duh. Of course, it's—-"
"My journal may end up in someone else's hands," I clarify, "but who says they're the wrong pair?"
Words like this are usually enough to make Sarica roll her eyes. It's why I've said them. She's just so adorably easy to provoke, and teasing her has always been one of my favorite hobbies.
But instead of rising to the bait like she usually does, I'm stunned when Sarica only stares at me.
"I hate it," Sarica whispers.
The pain in her eyes says everything her words fail to get across, and all I can do is look at her.
"There's just so much of Giancarlo in you, Gaz. So, so much."
Because if I do anything else, it will break both of us.
"I hate it when you remind me of him. But I know I'll hate it even more if you don't."
Sarica's fists clench while she's speaking. She's always been the type to hate waiting. But there's nothing else she can do now. Nothing any of us can do but that.
We wait.
Despair swells up inside of me, and I turn my gaze desperately to the Common. Views of it from our estate are unparalleled throughout the city. It's a luxury that other famiglie have been known to secretly covet. Nowadays, however, our enemies have all come out of hiding, and they're acting like it's open season for my famiglia.
Because they think they smell blood.
And maybe it's true.
Maybe it's their souls warning them with an omen.
Because the blood that they're smelling?
It's not ours, but theirs.
And I pray they'll realize it's so...before anyone gets hurt.
"Do you know why I think he's still alive?"