Inceptive

  Inceptive

  A novel by

  M.D. Melai & C.S. Leigh

  Disclaimer

  This book is a word of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by M.D. Melai & C.S. Leigh

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  The opinions of the characters do not reflect the opinions of the authors.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold

  or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person,

  please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did

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  work of these authors.

  Smashwords Edition

  Cover Design by Jessica DeLucio

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Authors

  “There will be a time when we must choose between what is easy and what is right.”

  —J.K. Rowling

  Inceptive

  Chapter 1

  My eyes were still locked on my mother’s when I felt the picture fall from my grasp. I caught a glimpse of it as it floated down to the bottom of the stairs. My cheeks started to burn with heat as sweat began to bead on my forehead. My breath became short, and my heart felt like it was about to pound out of my chest.

  My mother’s face fell as pure shock spread across it. She slowly stood up and clasped her hand over her mouth. Benito’s eyes darted back and forth between us as Violet made her way to the staircase.

  “Are you okay?” she asked confused, before she bent over and picked up the picture.

  Violet examined the photo, before flipping it over and reading the back. Her head snapped up quickly, distress written all over her face. She stood there speechless, looking from me, to the picture, to Benito, and back to me.

  Confused by what was going on, Benito quickly made his way over to Violet and took the photo from her. I watched as his face registered what he was looking at. A range of emotions flashed across this face—shock, sadness, love—before his head dropped.

  “Lily…,” he spoke softly as he exhaled instant shame. His head slowly lifted until our eyes met.

  I dropped the box of photos, and heard as it toppled down the stairs. Violet was able to catch it, but not before all the photos spilled out. In that moment, I didn’t care about any of those photos—only the innocent one that had made everything else irrelevant.

  My eyes, though, never wavered from Benito’s, and his never moved from mine. There were so many questions swirling around in my head, and I needed time to think. I rushed down the stairs, and as I started to pass Benito, his arm caught my hand. I refused to look back at him—all I wanted to do was run towards the front door and escape this nightmare.

  “Please stay,” Benito pleaded. “We need to talk about this.”

  “I…” I paused for a moment, trying to think of the right words to say. “I just need a minute. Can you give me that?” He slowly let go of my hand, silently giving me the okay.

  Without ever looking back at any of them, I made my way out the front door and down the steps. Panic instantly washed over me, and I bent over and closed my eyes to block out my surroundings.

  Please, don’t have a panic attack! Not right now!

  Taking in as deep of a breath as I could manage, I started to finally get a grip on my anxiety. The deeper the breaths, the better I felt. I couldn’t say the same for my thoughts, though.

  Once I felt like I could walk, I started down the long drive of my parents’ house. At first I was walking at a brisk pace, but the further down the driveway I got, the faster my pace picked up. And the faster my pace picked up, the faster my mind raced.

  What was going on?

  Benito was my father, and Adela was my mother.

  How could this be?

  Benito was twenty years older than me. I always thought that was a huge age difference between siblings, but it never occurred to me how unusual that was, because my parents had Dante just two years before me—or so I thought. And whenever I asked my mother why she had us so late, she would always respond by saying that we were her blessed accidents. Why hadn’t she told me the truth? She had plenty of opportunities. And not just her, why hadn’t Benito or my father said anything?

  Adela was a Heinrich, right? How could she be my mother? I didn’t know anything about this woman, other than a few things Stefani, her grandmother, had mentioned to me while I was over in Europe. I also knew she was dead—my birth mother was dead.

  How did she die? Did she die giving birth to me?

  My mind reeled as more questions started to consume me. Why had they passed me off as Benito’s sister? Was he ashamed to have me as his daughter? Was I a mistake? What happened that my grandparents had to raise me as their own? Why had no one told me?

  My entire life has been a lie. Everything.

  I was already at a slow jog by now, and without even consciously thinking, as soon as I hit the pavement outside my parents’ gate, I took off at a dead sprint towards my old house just down the street.

  When I reached my house moments later, I stopped running and just stood in the middle of the driveway. My eyes tried, but failed to focus on my surroundings as I thought about how much simpler everything was before my father…well, grandfather, forced me to move to New Jersey two years ago. My life was perfect then—I was happy. I would give anything to go back to that day.

  Since I didn’t have my keys with me, I walked up to the front door and quickly found the spare underneath our potted plant. The house was eerily empty as I opened the door and walked in. Violet and I had finished packing up what was left the day before. I still couldn’t believe we were putting our home up for sale.

  Maybe we shouldn’t do that now.

  Maybe I should keep my house and move back to Toronto. I didn’t have as many bad memories here as I did in New Jersey. This could be the place where I could start back over again. Some place that I was separated from all the lies, deceit, and heartbreak. I could even reopen my business—I was sure that our old clientele would be thrilled to know that I was back. They were all upset when Violet and I had closed down our office here.

  But the more I thought about it, the more I came to realize that wasn’t an option anymore. Previously, I had ran away from my problem instead of facing them, and that almost cost me Violet—it had cost me my father.

  Before I knew it, I had made my way up to my bedroom and over to my back window. When I lived here, I used to spend countless hours staring out this window, trying to
collect my thoughts—whether it was about work, my family, or my relationships.

  I took a few deep breaths and tried to clear my mind. Out of all the information I found out about my family in the past year, this was, by far, the most unexpected and biggest lie of them all.

  Over the past two years, I had learned my family was head of the Italian mafia, and that a rival family, the Heinrichs, was after me. With this new revelation, I now knew that same family’s blood runs through my veins.

  And on top of all of that, I’m still in the dark as to why the Heinrichs want me so bad. Whether my family knows that or not, they have neglected to tell me the truth.

  But, out of everything, this betrayal hurt the most.

  I had been deep in thought when a light knock on the door frame tore me from them. Benito was standing in the doorway as I turned around. His face was pale, and he looked ashamed. I dropped my eyes from his, before he took a few steps in my direction. He came close enough to put his warm hand on my shoulder—it was oddly comforting.

  “I’m so sorry,” he quietly said as his other hand reached up to my face and cupped my cheek. I was taken aback by his gesture. Benito was not one to show affection and, until recently, wasn’t very concerned about me. He quickly realized how unusual he was being toward me and dropped his hand to his side.

  “How could you not tell me?” I asked, meeting his eyes again.

  “I always planned on telling you, but I didn’t know how to.”

  I nodded, not really understanding. But, for once, I tried to keep my temper in check. “So you’re my…father?” Calling him that left a sour taste as the words passed over my lips.

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “I can only imagine how confusing and surprising this must be for you.”

  “You have no idea,” I replied as I shook my head.

  “I promise I will answer any questions you might have, but, for now, can we head back home? Mamma is worried about you.”

  “Sure, but can you give me just a few more minutes?” I asked.

  “Take as much time as you need,” he said, before patting me on the shoulder and walking out of my room.

  Benito said that he would answer any question I may have, but was I really ready for the answers? After everything I had been through, could I even handle it? I was still mourning the loss of my father… grandfather. How could I possibly comprehend the magnitude of this situation?

  I stood there and tried to wrap my head around this new revelation. I thought about my deceased father. Did he know? Is that why he was always so harsh to me? Because I wasn’t his? I thought about the possibilities long enough to watch the sunset before I decided it was time to head back. Taking a few deep breaths, I made my way out of my room, down the stairs, out the front door, and back towards my parents’ house.

  When I came through the door, Violet, Benito, and my mother were sitting on the couch. Their eyes flashed up and watched me as I closed the front door and walked across the room, taking a seat in the lounge chair opposite Benito.

  “I realize that you must be beyond confused,” my mother started. “And I’m sure you have many questions, so we are here to answer them whenever you are ready.”

  I nodded slowly, before looking at each one of them. Violet, like me, was still in shock, my mother’s behavior was very cautious, and Benito sat firmly, waiting for me to start. I sat there for a moment thinking of which question would be the right one to start off with.

  “I guess my first question is, after all these years, why haven’t you told me?” I asked.

  Benito sat there quietly, like he was thinking about the best way to answer my question. I gestured that he could take his time—I wanted his answer to be thorough and as well explained as he could make it.

  It didn’t take too long for him to straighten up and compose himself enough to answer. I sat there patiently and waited for him to start.

  “When Adela died, I lost myself,” Benito began. “While I do love Gabriella very much, Adela was special—she is the love of my life. I couldn’t handle things after she died, and I took off for a few years, leaving you with Mamma and Pops. I was full of resentment and it moved quickly into destruction. It wasn’t healthy for you to be around me. I went through every stage of grief and depression there is known to man. It took me a long time, but I slowly found myself again,” he said, a little ashamed of himself.

  I could understand depression, and the effects it had on people. Although I didn’t experience the pain Benito felt after Adela’s death, I could still remember how far and quickly I spiraled the first time Emilio left me.

  “When I returned,” Benito continued, “you were already five. You were so happy and settled. I was a stranger to you, so Mamma, Pops, and I came to an agreement that it would be in your best interest that they raise you as their own for the time being.”

  “What happened to Adela?” I asked. Benito’s face quickly drained of all color, and I immediately started to retract my question. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”

  “No, you have every right to know what happened to her,” he said.

  This was clearly painful for him, and I never would have asked if I had known that this was the reaction I was going to get.

  “She was murdered when you were two.” He choked up a little, before continuing. My heart broke for him instantly. “We had been home all day, and Adela insisted that evening that we needed to get out of the house, so we went and got ice cream.” He stopped and smiled at the memory. “Even though it was already dark, the ice cream parlor was only a few blocks away—at least that was Adela’s argument. So, I finally gave in and we headed out.

  “When we were on our way home, two people met us on the street. Adela immediately recognized them, and explained that they worked for her father. She wanted to talk to them, but you started to get tired. She handed you to me, and told me head back home, saying that she would meet us back at the house. I had a bad feeling, but she said she could handle it. I fought her over it, and even tried to hand you back to her, but she wouldn’t take you. All she said was that I was overreacting and she’d be home soon. She kissed me and you and told me she loved us and would see us in a minute. Your crying was getting louder and louder, and I could tell that you were past ready to go home. I needed to get you in bed and to sleep, so I left her. We made it all the way to the steps in front of our apartment building before I heard the gunshot in the distance. I knew it was her—there was no one else around.”

  “Wait! What? Her father’s men killed her?” I asked bewildered.

  He barely nodded and then hung his head.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “To this day, we still don’t know. I’m not sure if it was an accident or premeditated.”

  “What happened after you heard the gunshot?” I asked.

  “I had called Giorgio on our way back to the house. I had talked to him earlier that day, and knew he was close by at a friend’s house. He was less than a block away, and was going to watch you while I went back for Adela. He was running down the block when the gunshot went off. I remember the look in Giorgio’s eyes—he knew.

  “I ran as fast as I could back to her. No one was there by the time I reached the spot where I had left her. There was a puddle of blood, and then a small trail leading away, so I followed it to an alleyway two buildings down.”

  Benito stopped for a second as he braced himself. Tears were starting form in his eyes, and I could tell that they would escape soon. My mother moved and put her arms around him as I reached across and took his hand—squeezing it softly as he gave me a tight smile.

  He continued as soon as he gained some of his composure. “It was like everything went in slow motion after that as I watched them load her lifeless body into the back of their car. I started running toward them, screaming, but they jumped in and pulled away before I reached them.”

  Benito, who was so strong, was crumbling right in front of me—like this happened yesterday, and not
over twenty years ago.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, suddenly feeling the loss of someone I didn’t even know. For the first time, I felt like a part of me was missing.

  “It’s okay. Even after twenty years, it still hurts. She was beautiful—the love of my life, and she was taken way before her time.”

  “I think that’s enough questions for today,” my mother spoke up. She was clearly hurting with him. “How about I start on dinner? Violet, Lily, would you please help?”

  “It’s fine, Mamma. If Lily still has questions, then I can still answer them,” Benito retorted.

  “Honestly, I can’t think of anything else right now. I’m still trying to process everything.”

  And I was. My birth mother had been killed by her own family, who in turn had killed Roman, and my fath—grandfather.

  “I might randomly ask a question as I think of them, if that’s okay?” I asked Benito.

  “Of course, feel free… anytime.”

  “Thanks,” was all I said as I stood and headed towards the kitchen to help with dinner.

  There were plenty more questions that I wanted to ask, but seeing Benito in this state—I couldn’t do that to him. I had never seen him this vulnerable before—it scared me. I knew that he was strong enough to continue, but I wasn’t cruel enough to have him endure the retelling of such a horrible story.

  ***

  None of us spoke through dinner—I don’t think anyone knew what to say. The events of the afternoon had left us all in a daze. All I could think about was how I couldn’t wait to get through with dinner so Violet and I could talk about everything privately. I wanted her thoughts, and to hear her point of view on the situation. When Benito explained everything earlier, she had just sat there quietly, listening and taking everything in, just like me.