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All my life, I have been abused by my stepdad. I fall beside my mom, pain exploding through my ribs. I curl in on myself as his boots connect to my stomach again and again and again. My head spins. My ears ring. I taste blood. When I regained consciousness, the paramedics and police officers informed me that my mum had died and my stepfather had fled. My ears ring. My vision blurs. A social worker comes next. "We found something in your mother's records. Your biological family. Italian. The Russo family. You have seven brothers. They're asking for you." --- The door opens. He fills the doorway. My brother. He looks at the bruises on my arms. The bandage on my ribs. "You're hurt," he says. I look up at him, eyes burning. "I promise you," he continues, voice hardening. "No one will ever touch you again." ———————— The shouting starts before I even open my eyes. "You're a bimbo!" Leon shouts at mom. I lie in my bed, staring at the crack in the ceiling I've memorised over the years. If I don't move, sometimes it ends faster. if I don't breath too loud, maybe he won't remember I exist. But tonight is different. Tonight, My mom lets out a shrill scream that echos around the house. "Mum!" I bolt upright, my heart slamming so hard it hurts. Im out of bed before I can even think, bare feet hitting the cold floor as I run down the hallway. The light are on downstairs , too bright, too loud. I reach the bottom step just as I hear Leons voice - low, dangerous. "You think you can talk back to me?" He snarls. My Mum stands in the living room. Her hand are shaking, but she's standing in-between him and me. Like she always does. "Leon stop." She says. "Please. She's just a child." Thats when I see the gun. It's black, heavy. real. My stomach drops. "Leon," Mom whispers, her voice breaking. "Put it down." Everything happens so fast. There's a loud bang that fills the room, louder than any scream i've ever heard. My ears ring. My body freezes. Mom falls to the floor. "No - no, no, no!" I scream, running to her side. She's on the floor, her eyes wide, blood soaking into the carpet beneath her. There's so much blood. Too much of it. "Mom!" I press my hands ti her, shaking. "stay with me. Please. Please don't go." Her hand twitches, fingers weakly brushing mine. "Tatum....." She whisper, barely audible. "run" "stop it!" I scream at him. "stop! Stop! You're killing her!" Leon turns to me, his face twisted with something ugly. Something cold. He doesn't say a word. The first punch knocks the air from my lungs. I fall beside my mom, pain exploding through my ribs. I curl in on myself as his boots connect to my stomach again and again and again. My head spins My ears ring. I taste blood. "Worthless," he spits. Then - silence. I don't know how long I lie there. curled on the floor. crying. shaking. holding my mom's hand as it slowly goes cold. "Mum?" I whisper. "please." She doesn't answer. This night, everything I knew shattered. And I didn't know it yet - but this is the last night I would ever belong to this house. --- The sirens come too late. Red and blue lights flash through the windows, painting the walls in colours that don't belong here. Hands pull me away from my mum even though I'm screaming, begging, clawing at them not to take her from me. "She's my mum!" I cry. "Please-please help her!" Someone wraps a blanket around my shoulders. I don't remember when my clothes got soaked with blood. I don't remember letting go of her hand. The paramedics work fast. Too fast. Their faces are tight, serious. One of them shakes their head just slightly, and my chest caves in. No. No, no, no. I'm pushed onto a stretcher next to hers. The ceiling lights blur as they rush us outside. Cold air hits my face, but I can't stop shaking. I keep my eyes on her, terrified that if I look away, she'll disappear. "Mum?" I whisper. "I'm here." She doesn't move. At the hospital, everything smells like antiseptic and fear. Doctors and nurses swarm around her, pulling her away again. I try to follow, but someone stops me. "You need to be checked too," a nurse says gently. "I'm fine," I lie. "Please, my mum-" "She's in surgery," the nurse says softly. Surgery means hope. I cling to that word like it can save me. They clean the blood from my face. Check my ribs. Ask questions I don't know how to answer. A police officer sits across from me, notebook in hand, eyes careful. "Can you tell me what happened, Tatum?" I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. My body shakes harder than before, breaths coming too fast, too shallow. My chest feels tight, like there's a weight pressing down on it. "I-he-" My voice cracks. "He shot her." The officer's pen stills. "Leon?" he asks. I nod. "Did he leave after?" "Yes." My nails dig into my palms. "He hit me. Then he left." The officer's jaw tightens. Hours pass. Or minutes. Time doesn't make sense anymore. Finally, a doctor walks toward me. One look at his face and my hope dies. "I'm so sorry," he says. I don't hear the rest. The world goes quiet, like I'm underwater. My ears ring. My vision blurs. "No," I whisper. "No, she can't-she promised she wouldn't leave me." But she did. I don't cry. I don't scream. I just feel empty. A social worker comes next. Her voice is kind, but it doesn't matter. "Your stepfather has fled," she explains. "You won't be going back to that house." Good. "I don't have any other family," I say flatly. She hesitates. "Actually," she says, choosing her words carefully, "we found something in your mother's records." I look up for the first time. "There's a family listed. Your biological family. Italian. The Russo family. You have seven brothers." The name feels strange in my mouth. Heavy. Important. "They've been notified," she continues. "They're asking for you." I don't know whether to feel scared or relieved. All I know is this: My mum is gone. Leon is out there. And somewhere, a family I didn't know existed is coming for me. And nothing will ever be the same again. --- The man in the chair won't meet my eyes. Most of them don't. The basement smells like damp concrete and fear. The only light comes from a single bulb overhead, swinging slightly, casting shadows across the walls. I roll up my sleeves slowly, calmly. There's no rush. There never is. He talks eventually. They always do. I'm about to ask my next question when my phone vibrates in my pocket. Once. Then again. I freeze. No one calls me while I'm down here unless someone is dead-or about to be. I step back, motioning for my men to stay where they are. My face gives nothing away as I answer. "Cristiano Russo." "Mr Russo," a man says on the other end. His voice is official. Careful. "This is Detective Collins with Child Protective Services." CPS. That alone makes my jaw tighten. "There's been a homicide," he continues. "A woman named Amelia Russo." My heart stutters-just for a fraction of a second. Russo. "I don't know her," I say flatly. "She listed you as next of kin." Silence stretches between us. "That's impossible," I reply. "I don't have a sister." Another pause. "We took a DNA test, it has shows you are her brother. We can send through the results if needed." the detective says. The room feels colder. "She has a daughter," he adds. "Tatum Russo. Fifteen years old." Daughter. I have a sister. My grip tightens on the phone. "She witnessed the crime," the detective continues. "Her stepfather shot her mother. He's fled the scene. The girl was assaulted as well." Something dark coils in my chest. "Where is she?" I ask. "At the hospital. She has no legal guardian now. According to the records, you're her closest living relative." I glance back at the man in the chair. At the blood on the floor. At the work unfinished. My life-violence, power, death-has never hesitated before. Until now. "I'll be there," I say. "You understand," the detective adds carefully, "this would make you her guardian." Guardian. I hang up without responding. For a long moment, I just stand there, phone still in my hand. A sister. A child. Mine. I turn to my men. "Take care of him." They nod. They know better than to ask questions. As I head for the stairs, one thought repeats in my mind-cold, sharp, unforgiving. Whoever touched her Whoever hurt her will not live long enough to regret it. And for the first time in years, I'm not leaving the basement angry. I'm leaving it focused. --- Hospitals are too quiet. Even with the beeping machines and murmured voices, it feels like the world is holding its breath. Like if I move too much, something bad will happen again. I sit on the edge of the bed, knees pulled to my chest, arms wrapped tight around myself. The blanket they gave me smells like detergent and something sharp I can't name. My ribs ache every time I breathe, but I don't say anything. Pain is easier than the emptiness. The nurse said someone is coming for me. Family. I don't know what that word means anymore. A woman with kind eyes-my social worker-sits across from me. She keeps talking softly, like I might break if she speaks too loud. "You're very brave, Tatum," she says. I don't feel brave. I feel hollow. "Do you remember what we talked about earlier?" she asks. I nod, staring at the floor. "My biological family," I whisper. "The Russos." She nods. "Your brother is on his way." Brother. The word doesn't make sense. I've spent fifteen years being invisible, surviving day by day. Brothers are for girls who grow up safe. Loved. "I don't want to go back," I say suddenly, panic clawing at my chest. "I won't go back there. I can't." "You won't," she promises quickly. "Leon won't be anywhere near you again." My breathing speeds up anyway. My hands start to shake. I press my palms together, nails digging in. In. Out. In. Out. It doesn't help. "What if he finds me?" I whisper. "What if-" A knock sounds at the door. I flinch so hard my heart slams painfully against my ribs. The door opens. And everything changes. He fills the doorway. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dressed in black like the shadows follow him wherever he goes. His face is sharp, cold, unreadable. Dark eyes scan the room once before landing on me. They don't soften. But they don't look away either. "Tatum," the social worker says gently. "This is Cristiano Russo." My brother. He steps inside, the door closing quietly behind him. The room feels smaller now, heavier. I feel small. Fragile. Like glass. He looks at the bruises on my arms. The bandage on my ribs. The way I'm curled in on myself like I'm trying to disappear. Something shifts-just barely. "You're hurt," he says. His voice is low. Controlled. Not angry. Not gentle. Just... certain. I nod once. "I'm not going back," I blurt out, words spilling before I can stop them. "I'll be good. I won't cause trouble. Please don't send me back." Silence. He moves closer, stopping a few feet away. Close enough that I can see the faint scar along his knuckles. Close enough that I feel the weight of him. "No one is sending you back," he says. I look up at him, eyes burning. "I promise you," he continues, voice hardening. "No one will ever touch you again." Something in his tone makes my chest ache. Not comfort. Protection.

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I fall beside my mom, pain exploding through my ribs. I curl in on myself as his boots connect to my stomach again and again and again. My head spins. My ears ring. I taste blood.