Dreams of the Vengeful: A Massacred Dreams Prologue
Dreams of the Vengeful
A Massacred Dreams Prologue
Adelaide Forrest
Copyright © 2021 by Adelaide Forrest
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design by Adelaide Forrest
Proofreading by Light Hand Editing
Created with Vellum
Contents
About Dreams of the Vengeful
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Part II
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Also by Adelaide Forrest
About Dreams of the Vengeful
Our love was written in blood, but our dream was born from death.
Once upon a time, I had it all.
Born heir apparent to one of the Six Families,
I was destined for greatness.
Wealth and power were in my blood, and
sweet Thalia was one more means to an end.
Until they banished me from the watchful city,
stripping me of everything I possessed,
my name, my home, all I’d come to hold dear,
including the girl who was to be my wife.
Now the day has come to take back what’s mine.
The girl is no longer a promise I need to protect,
but a woman who I plan to devour.
Wealth and power are in my blood, and
sweet Thalia may very well be my end.
Dreams of the Vengeful is the prologue to the Massacred Dreams series and is a dark mafia romance that ends with a cliffhanger. It contains elements that may be triggering to some readers, including depictions of violence, situations involving dubious consent, graphic language, and references to child abuse.
Part I
Before
1
Calix
Twenty years prior.
The air inside the Karras home turned suffocating as soon as I scrawled my signature on the page, on the contract that bound me to a future no boy would choose for himself. Just like my father, Origen Karras built his empire on lies and suffering, on business arrangements and on the arrogance of the figurehead who sat behind a desk, striving to unite the six families for his own selfish greed.
Anyone could see it if they merely looked hard enough, seeing past the proper veneer of the image he tried to present. Glimpsing the monster residing beneath his skin.
I stumbled out the back door of the house, my lungs heaving with the ridiculousness of it all. The arranged marriage that loomed on the distant horizon, to a tiny slip of a girl I'd only seen in passing, sent me spiraling out of the stuffy estate and seeking fresh air.
The girl was five years old, far too young to already contemplate which monster would share her bed when she was old enough to breed, and yet that was precisely what a group of grown men had chosen to do on a sunny Spring afternoon.
At thirteen, I'd already lost my virginity and appreciated what girls my own age could do with their changing bodies. The thought of that with a girl less than half my age made my skin crawl.
I leaned against the railing at the edge of the elaborate wood deck, my eyes catching on the bright green blades of grass that had only sprouted from the frozen ground weeks prior. As my gaze dragged up to the expanse of yard at the back of the estate, my focus narrowed on the form of a young girl twirling between the gardens of narcissus that her mother must have been fond of to have so much growing on the property.
She looked at me, a smile on her heart-shaped face as she spun and completely oblivious to the contract that had been signed only moments before. The ink of my name probably hadn't even dried on the page as of yet, as our fathers and her brother toasted to the agreement.
To cementing the alliance between our families despite her mother's obvious desire to stall it. But there was no stopping tradition and there would be nothing to save little Thalia from becoming mine after she became a woman.
As a kindness to her mother, they’d agreed Thalia didn't need to know until she was old enough to understand. She could have her childhood and enjoy the promise of freedom when she would come of age.
Even if it was a lie.
My legs guided me toward her, closing the distance between us even though I knew I should stay away. To get close to her and never tell her the truth of what was to come felt like a cruelty she didn't deserve, and nothing about the five-year-old girl would last until our marriage. She'd be a new person by the time she became mine.
Our lives dictated that.
She continued spinning until dizziness consumed her, falling to her back in the grass and staining her yellow sundress. My mother would have disapproved greatly, because young ladies should always present themselves properly. Not be stained with grass after rolling in the dirt.
She stared up at the sky, the sun sparkling off the unique amber of her eyes—completely oblivious to my approach. "Shouldn't you be inside?" I asked, stuffing my hands into the pockets of the suit pants my father made me wear.
Already a man ready to take the city by storm in his mind, I was no longer a boy.
She startled, pressing a hand to her chest as she flung up to sit and that distinctive stare landed on mine. She squinted at me, fixating on something on my face as she tilted her head to the side. "Why?" She rolled her eyes and shrugged, dropping back to the grass as if she couldn’t be bothered to concern herself with what the adults might be doing inside.
Despite my better instincts, I moved closer and risked my mother's wrath to sit on the ground next to her. Kicking my legs out in front of me and feeling strangely awkward, I picked at the blades of grass beneath my hands. "That's a good question," I admitted and huffed a laugh.
"Being inside is so boring. Out here, I don't have to be so quiet." Her face pinched together, not quite pretty enough to be adorable. Her eyes were too big for her face, her lips puffy, and her ears had an odd sort of point at the top like she was something straight from a fantasy book. Her face was intriguing, her features bright as she turned a smile my way, but between her odd face and the tiny frame that looked far too young for a five-year-old, no one would ever call Thalia Karras pretty.
Perhaps that would change by the time we married.
I swallowed back the despair that tried to settle over me, knowing that the future waiting for us wasn't one either of us would have chosen for ourselves, yet still trapped by the forces working to drive us together.
"What do you like to do?" I asked, thinking maybe I could send her gifts. Get to know her a little, bit by bit, without ever truly being a part of her life. Just enough so it wouldn't seem so agonizingly painful when the contract came due and her life became mine.
"Draw, but Daddy doesn’t like it. I like to draw flowers, but the colors are always wrong, and—" She cut off suddenly as if she’d realized she'd said something she shouldn't.
With a swallow, she sat up, curling her arms around herself protectively. "You're five. Flowers can be any color you want," I said in an attempt to comfort whatever nervousness had settled over her.
"Can they be black and white?" she asked, her eyes turning hopeful as she leveled me with that wide-eyed stare.
"Wouldn't you rather they be pink?" I asked, furrowing my brow. What little girl painted black flowers?
The hope faded from her eyes as she pushed herself to standing once more, leaving me staring after her from the ground. "I have to go."
I moved to follow, taking up a slow walk at her side as her little legs worked to make her way back to the house. She was so painfully thin that it seemed as if each step required too much energy. Still, there was a stern determination on her face that didn't belong on anyone her age.
As if she had to do it for herself, or the consequences would be dire. "What color flowers do you like best?" I asked, resolving to send her some that she could draw.
She paused, her steps halting as she hit me with a concerned stare. "I'm not supposed to talk about it," she said, biting that too-large bottom lip and staring nervously toward the house. Her eyes darted from window to window, swallowing when she found no one watching us.
"About your favorite color flower?" I asked, grinning down at her in my confusion. She was such an odd child, and if her parents truly forbid her from talking about the flowers, then I couldn’t imagine what kind of life she had with them.
"I don't know," she answered. "I can't see them." She picked up her steps, quickening her pace as her lungs heaved with exertion. I was half tempted to lift her into my arms, knowing her tiny frame couldn't weigh much.
"Flowers?" I asked, laughing at the ridiculousness of the notion. I’d only just seen her twirling in the fields surrounded by narcissus and never harming a single flower.
"Colors," she whispered as she reached the back door, taking the handle in her grip. She turned b
ack to me, her eyes silently pleading to keep her secret. Whatever she saw on my face must have reassured her, because she nodded once and pursed her lips thoughtfully.
Looking far too old for her body and for her age, she turned the handle and swept into the house. She was gone by the time I followed, disappearing like a ghost in the wind.
Like she'd never been meant to exist at all.
2
Thalia
Ten months later.
The knuckles of my left hand ached as I washed the blood away. My split skin moved as I flexed my fingers, watching the dark stained water swirl down the drain. My mother hovered in the doorway, her face pinched as she watched me. "You must remember to use your right hand, Thalia."
"I know, Mommy," I said, turning to stare up at her face. It had been almost a year since I'd made the silly mistake of telling the boy I didn't know my secret.
I hadn't made that mistake twice. Even though he hadn't told on me, nobody else made me want to trust them as much as the boy who'd sat with me in the grass and didn't look at me like I was a broken doll.
Mommy's light hair gleamed in the overhead light as she stepped in to help me clean the sink basin. It was far easier for her to spot the red stains than it was for me to tell them apart from the dark spots of the marble.
Daddy hated when I used my left hand, because “proper girls” were right-handed. Proper girls didn't stop to think about which hand they should grab their fork with at the dinner table. Even a moment of hesitation meant Daddy reached across and struck my left hand that he sat next to at the table for dinner every night.
"These will scar," Mommy said, grasping my hand in her grip and studying the wounds that never healed. Every strike, every lesson, reopened the injury until my left hand always hurt.
I thought that was the point. In his words, Daddy would beat me into being right-handed if he had to.
"Miss Thalia, Calix Regas is asking after you," one of the housekeepers said as she poked her head into the open bathroom door. Her eyes narrowed in on the injury I tucked behind my back in shame, a scowl pinching her lips together. The shadows under her eyes grew worse by the day, as if she couldn't stomach working for our family.
I knew it would only be a short while before she too left.
They always did.
"Who?" I asked, turning my eyes to my mother who set to straightening my dress. To studying the fabric and checking for bloodstains. It wouldn't be the first time that I'd wiped my injury onto my dress, but I did my best not to.
Daddy didn’t like it.
"He's the heir to one of the six families," my mother answered, fluffing up my wavy hair. She took my right hand in her grip, tugging me out of the bathroom and pasting that fast, easy smile that came so naturally to her on her face. I envied her ability to smile even when she wasn’t happy. She said I'd learn in time.
We stepped out into the dining room where my father stood beside the already cleared table, his eyes angry when he turned his attention to us. I swallowed back my nerves, letting my mother lead me to the boy standing beside him.
The same boy who'd sat in the field with me and kept my secret. The same one who I knew I shouldn't trust, but something in his eyes made me wish I could.
"Calix," my mother said as he leaned forward and kissed her cheek. He was just a boy, years older than me for sure, but he couldn't have been old enough to be as tall as he already was.
"Mrs. Karras," he said politely. He nodded to my father, who bit his cheek in displeasure but stepped over to my mother and took her hand. He guided her out of the room, leaving me alone with the boy when I knew it couldn't be what my father wanted.
I wasn't supposed to be alone with boys.
"I brought you something," he said, squatting down so that he was my height. He held out a single light rose, and I took the stem in hand, noting that he'd trimmed the thorns off. I drew it to my nose, inhaling the uniquely sweet smell as I bit my lip.
"Why are you here?" I asked, wincing as I thought of how my father would scold me for being so rude. It wasn't normal for a teenage boy to want to spend time with a child.
"A little birdy told me that tomorrow is your birthday," he said, standing and reaching into his back pocket. The box was small enough that he had tucked it away, but curiosity got the best of me as I reached out to take it from him.
"What is it?" I asked as I pulled the lid off. Inside the heart-shaped box were six little plastic pockets, each with a rounded ball nestled inside.
His, Calix's, eyes narrowed as he watched me lift one into my hand. "It's chocolate, Little One," he said, grinning at the flush that warmed my cheeks. Nobody ever called me anything aside from my name.
Not even my mother.
"Have you never had chocolate?" he asked, taking the one from my hand and holding it out for me to take a bite out of. I hesitated, staring at him for a moment before I leaned forward and bit into the soft chocolate. My eyes widened as the sweetness of it exploded over my tongue, forcing myself to chew politely even though I wanted to snatch the other half out of his hand.
"No," I said softly before I leaned in to eat the other half. He chuckled as he drew his hand away and wiped the excess chocolate from his skin onto a napkin from the table. "It's yummy."
"I'll bring you more the next time I come to see you. Would you like that?" he asked. I tilted my head to the side, still wondering what could possess him to want to spend time with me and why my father would allow it.
Even the girls at school didn't want to be around me.
"Okay," I said warily as I put the lid on the chocolates and placed them on the table delicately. Without knowing how long it would be before his next visit, I felt the need to make them last.
To save them for the bad days.
I drew the rose to my nose once more, inhaling to fill the quiet that claimed the room after my admission. He didn't seem to know what to say, which I guessed was normal considering our age difference. He pushed to his feet, towering over me once more as he glanced to the door. "Do you like it?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders as if he couldn't decide why he cared.
"It's pretty, and it smells nice. Thank you," I said.
"It's pink," he answered, as if that meant anything to me. I'd never seen the color pink. There was nothing to connect to that word. "I thought it would be nice to have something different than all the narcissus flowers in the yard."
"I like the narcissus," I said defensively. "They're mostly white. I don't—" I paused, sinking my teeth into the corner of my mouth on the inside.
"You don't what?" he asked, leaning forward to tuck my hair behind my ear. His fingers hovered at the odd point at the tip, but where others made fun of me and called me names, he gave a slight smile.
As if maybe they were cute and not freakish.
"I don't feel like I'm missing out. Narcissus is pretty even though it's just white. I don't need to see color to love them," I said.
He froze solid, staring at the rose in my hand and gave me a kind smile. "I'll bring you a white rose next time, λουλούδι μου," he said. "How does that sound?"
"It sounds perfect," I said, smiling up at him. He nodded once, turning for the door without so much as a goodbye and leaving me to stare after him as he stepped out into the night.
Grabbing the box of chocolates off the table, I tucked it under my arm and made my way for the stairs to go up to my room. My father stepped out of my parents' bedroom, eyeing the rose and the chocolates in my grip with distaste. A scowl transformed his face, the only warning before he reached forward and snatched the rose from my hand. Throwing it to the floor, he crushed it with his foot while I pursed my lips to keep from crying.