Chapter 6
Stronzo! Asshole!
He left! He fucking left when he saw in what kind of hellhole this was.
My eyes burn from the endless tears I’ve shed throughout the night. My head is pounding, and it feels unbearable to lift.
I didn’t sleep. Not even for a second. My heart was racing to the point I thought it’d shatter into pieces. My ribs are killing me from the bullet.
I checked it out, though. It turns out it’s not nearly as bad as it feels, but it still hurts like hell.
I can’t even wrap my head around it. My own father shot me because he didn’t play the obedient little dog. His own daughter. All because he couldn’t handle hearing “no.”
And he … He just left! He watched everything go to absolute hell—a hell that he created—saw what he’d done, and still turned his back and walked away.
Ugh …
Who am I kidding? Why would he stay? He’s just a stranger that I tried to drag into my shit, wishing he’d be stupid enough to play the hero. Maybe all I wanted was company. Someone who would understand me. Perhaps I’m just a spoiled brat who wanted a new puppet to play with—like he said.
Perhaps I’m just losing my mind here. Dad never loved me; he never even tried to fake it.
The only things that ever mattered to him were money, power, and his own damn ego.
That’s it. He has no heart or soul. He’s just a cold-blooded bastard in a polished office who thinks everything—people, loyalty, even family—has a price tag.
And if you can’t be bought or sold, you’re useless.
I need to get up and take action. I need a damn painkiller, otherwise I’ll pass out from the headache.
After a lot of internal struggles, I get out of bed and head to the kitchen to find my longed-for pills.
The house, as always, is full of people doing their job, without lifting their heads to look around or even talk to me. It took me years to understand that, but they do it out of fear. Fear that they might speak wrongly and give my father one more excuse to kill them.
It’s bad enough that he practically abducted them from their families and hometown, forcing them to follow us to LA, but the fact that they’re slowly losing their voices over the years makes him look like the devil.
As I walk through the cavernous corridors, I see people I’ve never seen before in my life.
I know today is Maria’s turn to do the dusting, but instead, there’s some new lady quietly wiping down the empty glass vases.
And what a coincidence … She’s not smiling; she’s not even neutral. She’s sad as fuck.
But I, curious as always, want to go and talk to her.
As I walk towards her, she lifts her head and paces away from me as if she’s seen a ghost.
There’s no point in going after her. Obviously, she already knows the rules, and she’s understood her place too damn well.
I arrive at the kitchen, and, strangely, it’s completely deserted, but it looks like someone was just here. The oven’s still warm, and the air smells like roast.
I reach for the top cabinet, find the painkillers, and down two in one gulp without water.
“Rough night?”
I jump in surprise and turn around in a swift motion.
“Good morning to you too, Mother.”
With a cold and distant father like Fabio Calvano, you’d think my mom would be the saint in the story, or at least a decent human being. But obviously, things don’t exactly work out the way people expect around here.
Lorena Calvano is hands-down the cruelest, baddest bitch of them all.
And not in some secretly-soft-inside kind of way where she drops one kind word and suddenly, you’re supposed to forgive years of being ice cold.
No. She’s a drunk with a vicious streak, and I’m usually the one she unleashes her venom on.
She prowls closer, her cold brown gaze cutting right through me as her heels slowly clatter against the marble floor. All wealth, pearls, and rich perfume.
Sometimes I joke to myself that the devil’s actually a woman, and she came to earth reincarnated as my mother.
As I pour myself a glass of water, I feel her eyes on me, scanning and judging every move I make.
“Is there a particular reason that you look like shit?” she asks, the side of her upper lipstick-red lip hooking high.
Finally. She couldn’t hold it any longer. Such a sweetheart.
“Didn’t sleep well,” I reply apathetically, sipping my water.
She scoffs, fixing her voluminous black hair. “At least you’re consistent.”
This woman’s apathy is infuriating. “Dad shot me,” I spit out. “Thought you might care, but then again, why start now?”
She looks at her reflection on the silver fruit bowl and rubs her teeth clean from her red lipstick. “You probably did something to him.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
She drags her tongue over her teeth. “What else?”
My ears are ringing, and my heart is pounding. “My own father shot me—your only daughter—and you only have to say that I deserved it?”
She sets down the fruit bowl. “I didn’t say that; don’t twist my words.”
“You’re a horrible person.”
“Why so bitchy, Isi?”
“Don’t call me that.”
She checks at her fresh, fire-red manicure. “I heard you brought a pet with you last night.”
I cross my arms. “You’re mistaken; it wasn’t a pet.”
“Then what was it?”
I scoff, letting the bitterness drip from every word. “A man more capable than the pathetic yes-men Dad thinks he can leash with a fat check.”
Mother’s lips curl into a cold, bitter smile.
“Of course. Always so impressed by scraps that you defy your father like a dog that bites the hand, and suddenly you think it’s noble.
” She steps closer, crossing her arms. “You think you’ve found someone strong?
No, darling. You found someone just reckless enough to pander to your rebellion. ”
I don’t react; I merely stay there looking at her, trying to hold back the tears in my eyes. Besides, say what? He left, and I have nothing to prove or be proud of.
He did the right thing. I was the fool, thinking a stranger might play the hero or even protect me. But no one signs up to martyr themselves for a lost cause, especially not one cursed from the start. Not even God dares to touch what poisons the air in this place.
So why the hell would he?
She huffs out a satisfied giggle, like she won the world’s toughest argument, and proudly turns her back.
Sometimes I think she hates me. Actually hates me.
I’m guessing I remind her of my father and the life she’s trapped in, forced to fake a smile and pretend it’s something she didn’t grow to hate long ago.
I know she doesn’t like it here; I just don’t know how she ended up being one of my father’s puppets. It’s not difficult to guess, though.
They’re both incapable of loving anyone but themselves. It takes one to know one.
I don’t want to look at her face anymore, and I don’t want to give her the satisfaction that she’s broken me once again.
I can’t bring myself to admit it. Not even most days. But the truth is, the only thing I’ve ever wanted is the one thing I’ll never get. I want them to love me. Just love me, and not out of duty. Like I’m worth something.
But no. Even that is too much to ask. And the worst part is that, after everything, I still fucking want it.
I walk down the corridor, heading back to my room. All I want to do is lock myself in there and hide from the world.
As I pace, lost in my thoughts, I catch a glimpse of Wes heading toward my father’s office. Someone’s behind him.
It’s him.
Adam.
He’s walking behind him, screaming confidence in his leather jacket and perfectly styled hair. He glances at me with those piercing brown eyes, solemn and serious, like a soldier heading to his commander.
There’s a small wound on his cheekbone. He didn’t have that the night before.
My heart slams against my ribs, and a smile that I can’t hide crosses my lips.
Did he come back?