Chapter 1
Margot's POV
My best friend Tiffany was obsessed with those novels where a mafia don spoils his woman rotten.
She was convinced she was the type of girl who could make a ruthless boss go soft, so she went after Vincent, the heir of a crime family, and got him.
His bodyguards, his dirty money, even the way he told her not to ask questions and just sit tight. She read all of it as devotion. And of course she had to drag me into it too, always with the same excuse: it was for my own good.
Last time around, her mess got me killed. Vincent's enemies mistook me for one of his people, and I died in a shootout that had nothing to do with me.
The second the blade opened my throat, all I could think about was her holding up a bloody knife, grinning, showing it off to me like a trophy.
"Margot, look. He gave me this. It means we're official now."
I remember feeling disgusted. I never thought that same knife would end up slitting my throat.
Blood pooled across the street while she hid in Vincent's arms, screaming, hands over her eyes. Later I heard her crying to someone, saying it wasn't her fault, that I just had bad luck.
I died inside her little romance fantasy. A nobody side character, wiped off the page without a second thought.
Then I opened my eyes, and I was back. Back to the afternoon it all started.
"Margot, you have no idea how much Vincent loves me. Last night at the bar, some guy looked at me a second too long and Vincent smashed a bottle over his head. The way he got all possessive, God, it was so hot."
I open my eyes to that voice, sharp and giddy, and my hand goes straight to my throat.
No blood. Just cold sweat.
So I really came back. A month before the night I died.
Tiffany sits across from me, a knife still stained dark red pressed to her chest, eyes shining.
"This is how it goes in all the romance novels. The don is ruthless to everyone else, but a total softie for his girl. His enemies came after him a few days ago and he took a hit protecting me. He gave me the knife he took off them. Said it's ours now, like a symbol." Her face flushes, dreamy. "Margot, this is what it means to be soulmates. Someone like you, who just clocks in every day and calls it a life, wouldn't get it."
Watching her drown in her own fantasy, my stomach turns.
Last time, this exact fantasy cost me my life.
After she landed Vincent, she cast herself as the don's woman and figured I should get a piece of it too, whether I wanted one or not.
Back then I still cared about years of friendship, so I begged her to go to the police, to stay away from him. She took it as jealousy and ran straight to Vincent, telling him I looked down on them.
Then his enemies came looking for him, and to save herself, she pointed at me and told them I was the sister he cared about most.
That rainy night, the knife opened my throat and I went down in the mud, and she screamed for Vincent to get her out of there, that it was too scary.
I gave her every ounce of goodwill I had. She used my life to pay for a romance that was never real.
"Margot, what's with the staring?" Tiffany pouts, reaching for my hand. "Oh, Vincent's throwing something together tonight, all the guys who've been with him through thick and thin. I already told him I'm bringing you. He's got a friend, Eddie, scar on his face, real loyal type. I think you two would actually be cute together."
I raise my hand and knock hers away before she can touch me.
The slap rings out clean through the living room. Tiffany freezes, a red mark blooming across the back of her hand.
"Why would you hit me?" Her eyes go wide, welling up fast.
I stand up, my voice flat. "Tiffany, what is wrong with you? A guy looks at you funny and your boyfriend cracks his skull open. That's assault. That's prison time. And you're calling that possessive?"
"You don't get it! That's just how he protects me!" Tiffany's voice climbs into a shriek. "People like you have no idea how brutal his world is. If he's not ruthless, how's he supposed to keep his guys in line?"
"You're right, I don't get the criminal underworld." I give a cold laugh. "But get this straight. If you want to play mob wife, if you want your taste of danger, that's on you. Leave me out of it."
"Margot, what is your problem? I'm trying to help you!" Tiffany shoots up from the couch, finger jabbing toward me. "You work yourself into the ground nine to five and for what? Eddie could set you up for life without even trying. I'm handing you a good thing here and you're throwing it back in my face?"
"A good thing? Handing me over to a crime family like I'm some kind of prize? That's rich." I stare at her, and for a second the whole thing is almost funny.
"Vincent's not in a gang. He's—"
"I don't care what garbage line you picked up from your novels." I cut her off and turn toward the door. "Go to your dinner alone tonight. And from now on, whatever happens in your life has nothing to do with me."
"Margot, you're going to regret this! You're just jealous I found someone as good as Vincent!" Tiffany screams after me, coming apart at the seams.
"Think whatever you want."
I slam the door shut behind me and walk straight into the cold without looking back.
