CHAPTER 21
HELL WOULD HAVE BEEN BETTER
ARELLA
I was ripped out of unconsciousness by panic, and for a second I thought, and hoped, it had all been just another nightmare, just another uncontrollable figment of my imagination, but when I opened my eyes and found myself surrounded by white walls with golden accents, I realized that this was reality.
I sat up, running my finger over the reddish sore spot on my neck, then winced when I felt the tender skin there and realized that they used a needle that was much too large, which was unnecessary, considering the place and purpose.
Uneducated monkeys.
I looked around my old room, noticing that everything was just as I left it ten years ago. They also kept it clean, or perhaps they just cleaned it recently because they were preparing to kidnap me and drag me back to this hell hole.
A bitter smile curled my lips as I looked at the big, mirrored doors of my closet, remembering how my father used to check it every time I told him that there were monsters in there, or under the bed.
He would kiss me on the forehead and tuck me in, telling me that the monsters couldn’t hurt me as long as he was there to protect me.
Little did I know that the monster was the one who read bedtime stories to me.
I slowly stood up and walked to the window, my eyes falling briefly on the nail polish heart on the carpet, which I drew there when I first painted my nails, at twelve years old.
It was almost dark outside, and the sun was coloring the sky in shades of pink and red while it slowly disappeared behind the hills.
My vision was rather blurry, and I rubbed the spot on my neck as I rolled my head around to try and wake up from the effect the drug had on me. I propped my hands on the wooden window seat when I felt my body growing heavy, overcome with dizziness, and I panted, wiping a hand over my forehead to brush off the beads of sweat that formed there only because I took a few steps.
I closed my eyes and counted to ten in my head, trying to steady my breathing before I opened them again and looked out the window.
The backyard was different from what I remembered. The swing set Julio and I used to play on was gone. Our tree house and the slide had also been taken down, and the willow in the corner looked even sadder than it did when I was little. Armed guards patrolled the yard, and I sighed audibly as I realized that my chances of escaping this place again were close to none, and tears ran silently down my face as I imagined how Grimm must have been feeling.
I was safe, but he had no way of knowing that, because I was too stubborn to tell him that the man coming after me was none other than my father.
If I told him, at least he would have known that I wasn’t hurt.
No matter how much I hated the man that helped give me life, how much I revolted against him or how many insults I spewed his way, I knew he would have locked me in a tower before physically harming me, which is why I was a little confused about his approach to getting me back here.
“I don’t know how or when, but I’ll come back to you,” I whispered as I looked at the sky, whimpering as I felt the ghostly touch of his lips over my skin.
A shiver ran down my spine just before my thoughts got interrupted by a knock on the door.
Shit.
I wiped away my tears and didn’t bother to answer, nor did I turn around to see who had just entered.
“I don’t want to hear it,” I tried to sound cold, tried to sound like her, but my voice came out like a screech, because I was no longer that person.
Get it together, Arella.
But Arella had no business in this place.
“I thought you were still asleep,” Julio’s voice made me turn around.
The tears suddenly stopped, and my eyes flashed with anger.
“I wasn’t asleep, asshole,” I countered. “You fucking drugged me.”
I threw the nearest object at his head, which happened to be an old porcelain doll that sat on my dresser, but the bastard easily dodged it and he started to laugh when the doll’s head knocked on the door and fell broken on the floor, the shards scattering on the carpet, but my tantrum didn’t stop there.
One by one, I threw all the dolls from the dresser right into his stupid face, as if they were knives.
I wished they were knives.
“You don’t want to throw that one,” he raised his eyes defensively, making me stop in mid-air with the doll in my hand. “That used to be your favorite,” his voice softened, then he took a step forward.
I looked at the doll with bitterness on my tongue, remembering it had been a gift from my mom for my tenth birthday. I didn’t notice when he came a little too close and gently grabbed my arm, because I was too busy fighting back the tears as nostalgia took over me, coldly hugging me as I stroked my fingers over the doll’s curly hair.
I turned away from him and sat the doll back on the dresser as memories came flooding back, spreading through my brain like a crawling plant. I remembered her smile, how she walked, how she read my bedtime stories in that sweet, soft tone of voice, and how no matter how angry she was, she never yelled at me or my brother.
“I don’t play with dolls anymore,” I mumbled.
“I know, you play with Russian gangsters now,” he said as I looked out the window, and I could hear the mockery in his voice.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” I rolled my eyes and looked at him in time to see him sitting two boxes and a bag on my bed.
It was hard to believe how close we’d been and how much of a stranger he was to me now. Julio was only two years older than me, the person I looked up to as a teenager, my protector and my best friend. He used to get me out of trouble and he was the one who made sure everyone in high school knew who I was, and knew not to mess with me.
We were inseparable from the moment I was born, and when mom died, our bond was torn, because she was the one who taught us to fight for each other, not against each other. She taught us how important blood was, and how, no matter what, family had to stick together.
We made a mockery of her teachings after her death.
“It’s not,” he returned my glare. “I don’t approve of your taste in men as it is questionable at best, but who you go to bed with at night doesn’t concern me,” he continued.
“Then why did you agree to his plan and kidnap me?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Because while I couldn’t give two flying fucks about your love life, I do care about you. I know it’s hard, but you have to forgive him, sis, it’s the only way you can let go of the past, and probably the only thing that could convince him to let you go back.”
As I took in his words, I sat down on the bed and hugged my knees to my chest, then looked at him for what felt like hours. I hated the fact that I’d missed him, and although he was now one of our father’s loyal pawns, he was still — somewhat — the same Julio.
We had both mourned our mother’s death in different ways.
My brother had been the quiet one, the one who brought flowers to her grave every day and only cried when no one was looking.
I was the exact opposite. Loud, destructive, aggressive and completely out of control, and since I had no one else to take my frustration and anger out on, I blamed my father for everything.
I wondered what Grimm would have thought of me if he met me then.
“She’s dead because of him,” I whispered as my eyes fell on the frame on the nightstand, our family photo.
“Fuck that. He’s not the one who pulled the trigger,” he tried to reason with me.
“It might as well have been him,” I shook my head.
“He didn’t choose this life, sis, and you know it. He was born amongst the bullets, just like us, and he…”
“Stop fucking making excuses for him, Julio. Are you seriously telling me that you have forgiven him?”
“I had nothing to forgive, crazy. It was an accident. You and mom shouldn’t have been there, but whatever, I’m not here to talk about Dad,” he said, and I could see the anger boiling up inside him.
“Then why are you here?” I rolled my eyes.
“He’s throwing you a welcome home party. A ball. Our family and closest friends will be in attendance, and he sent me to ask you to be on your best behavior?”
“No shit,” I laughed, but there was no amusement in it. “He has me kidnapped, drugs me, and smuggles me across the border. He doesn’t even have the balls to come in here and face me, and he actually expects me to be on my best behavior?” I mocked his words.
Julio grinned as if he expected nothing less than mayhem from me, and although I didn’t want to give him that satisfaction of seeing me as what I was before Arella Santino, I also didn’t want to be what my father wanted.
Being back in that house returned me to the skin of the teenager who lost her mom to the bullets, and I had to remind myself I wasn’t one anymore. I was an adult, and I had all the tools to turn my father’s welcome home party into a disaster without actually causing a disaster.
“I took the liberty of buying your outfit and any other girly shit you might need,” he said, pointing to the things he left on the bed, then turned and headed for the door. “Party starts in an hour, crazy. Don’t be late,” he said as he opened the door.
“Whatever,” I rolled my eyes. “Do you have any cigarettes?”
He arched an eyebrow, but then pulled his pack out of his back pocket and tossed it to me, doing the same with the lighter.
“When did you start smoking?” he shook his head as I shoved one between my lips and walked to the window.
I flipped him off, not answering his question as I lit it and took a long drag.
His sigh sent a shiver down my spine.
“Give them hell, sis,” was the last thing he said before the door clicked shut behind him.
Oh, that’s exactly what I was going to do.
I took the boxes off the bed and opened them, surprised that Julio didn’t choose a pink dress, or something overly feminine, as was customary for a ball.
I didn’t expect the black leather high-heeled boots, nor the long black satin dress with a slit so high that it would probably end just below the elastic of my underwear. It shocked me that my brother chose this outfit, but I didn’t question his choices, because I knew it would piss our father off to see me in something so inappropriate, so far from the imaginary lady he wanted me to be.
Julio was dressing me for war, and I was going to deliver.
“I wonder…” I muttered as I jumped in place, then opened the wooden chest at the foot of my bed with the cigarette between my teeth, grinning like a maniac when I saw that my knife collection was still intact.
I didn’t think I would find them just as I left them.
As members of the Snchez cartel, my brother and I were trained from a young age to defend ourselves in case we ever found ourselves in aggressive situations, but while Julio had no problems with firearms, as he was probably one of the best shots I ever saw, I didn’t like guns very much, even if I had a Glock at home.
Knives were my weapon of choice.
While they may not have been as effective as a bullet, if handled correctly, they could be just as lethal, not to mention silent.
I had put those days behind me, and I hated that, to an extent, I missed them.
I picked up one of the blades and carefully analyzed it, my brain actively trying to talk me out of it, but after throwing the blade directly at one of the picture frames on the wall, adrenaline surged through me and won, and my choice was made.
After I took out one of the holsters and a military knife with a black blade, I threw them on the bed and slammed the chest closed.
I knew that I was playing with fire, but I was burning brighter.
*
The woman in the mirror stared at me resolutely and defiantly. She seemed ready to take down the world and win or die trying.
I tied my hair in a low ponytail so that the puncture mark was visible, along with the love bites Grimm left all over my neck. The marks of the Russian gangster, as my brother called him, on his precious little girl. That ought to stir some reaction from him.
The knife was strapped to my right thigh, visible through the high slit of the satin dress that clung perfectly to my body, revealing my shoulders and the stars many Bratva members had tattooed.
I drew them with eyeliner, but they sent a clear message.
I kneel to no one.
That’s what they meant.
While I knew the stars would anger my father and probably most of his associates, I didn’t care.
I belonged to Grimm.
I belonged next to the Russian man, and everyone was going to find out just how far this apple had fallen from the tree.
After applying a coat of blood-red lipstick, I confidently walked out of the room.
Arella took a seat in the back of my mind, because she had no place in this house. She had to return to him untouched, carrying the same warmth he said she was full of.
Leaning over the banister of the double staircase, I lit a cigarette and took in the sight of the people in the room below me.
Classical music played as I blew out the smoke and analyzed the faces that had once been my family, who were now no more than mere strangers to me.
My father stood at the entrance, politely greeting his guests, dressed in a perfectly ironed all-black suit, his salt and pepper hair elegantly slicked back.
I thought seeing him again would anger me even more, but I felt nothing but indifference towards the man who had once been the light of my life. I rolled my eyes when I saw him lean down to kiss a brunette’s hand and almost gagged when he grabbed her waist and pulled her to his side.
I stubbed out the cigarette in the planter next to me, then began to slowly descend the stairs, avoiding looking directly at everyone in the room. I could feel every pair of eyes turning to me as my heels clicked against the marble.
Head held high, spine straight, defiance in my eyes.
After the last step, I glared at him for just a second, only to see how irritated he was by my attitude.
I didn’t smile, I didn’t smirk.
I didn’t allow him to see any emotion on my face other than absolute disinterest.
“
Reina
,” I heard one of the two voices that could soften the steel shell I put on.
Hearing him call me by my birth name didn’t have the effect I thought it would. I thought it would break me because it was her name too, but it made me feel stronger, and I needed that strength like I needed air, because I couldn’t be Arella here.
They didn’t have the right to know her.
I couldn’t be the person I worked so hard to become, who was the gentlest side of me, the real one. No. Here, I had to be the menace I was in the months before I left, and I was about to rain chaos down all of them.
“
Abuelito
[16]
,” I turned to him and gave him the first, but only genuine smile of the evening.
He wasted no time and pulled me into his arms, hugging me so tight that it seemed he was afraid that I was about to disappear. When he stepped away from me, he took my hands in his and shook his head, almost as if he couldn’t believe I was actually here.
I didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered over my neck and shoulders, over the bites and the stars.
“You sure know how to make an entrance, my dear,” he grinned, seemingly… proud?
“I have learned from the best,” I winked at him as I took a glass of champagne from the tray when a waiter stopped next to us and offered it.
My grandfather took one too, then clinked his glass to mine.
“To you, my dear.”
We both sipped it, then he hooked my arm around his and led me away when he saw my father trying to approach us.
“He doesn’t look happy,” he giggled like a teenager, and I laughed.
Sincerely, because I missed him more than anyone, but no more than I missed Grimm at that moment, and I wished the latter could have seen me.
Would you be proud of me, my love?
“Good thing I don’t give a shit about his happiness.”
My grandfather smiled as he took the empty glass out of my hand and sat them both on a bar cart next to us, leading me to the dance floor.
In true Snchez fashion, the evening simply had to open with a dance.
A tango, no less.
“I have to warn you, I’m a bit rusty,” I told him as we stopped to take our stances.
“Somehow I doubt that.” He bowed his head as it was customary, and I gracefully mirrored his action while the band began to play
Por Una Cabeza
.
Dancing with my grandfather made me feel like a little girl learning the tango for the first time. He taught me everything I knew about dancing, because my grandmother had been a professional. He knew the steps like the back of his hand, and he took the lead beautifully as he guided me through it.
“Relax, Reina,” he whispered before a shadow appeared next to us.
“May I cut in?” my father asked, gracefully holding out his hand while his partner, the brunette from earlier, eyed me reluctantly, but I only gave her a quick glance.
“If you must,” I mumbled, taking his hand as my grandfather continued the dance with whoever that woman was.
“You look good,” he said stiffly, his eyes wandering over the stars.
“I have a great trainer,” I smiled innocently. “He makes me sweat so fu…”
“Reina,” he reprimanded. “That’s no language for a lady,” he twirled me around as he gripped my hand tighter, almost as if he was sure I would try to get away from him.
“You don’t get to use that name,” my eyes stabbed into his. “Not when you’re staining my mother’s memory with that tramp on your arm.” I dug my nails into the back of his hand. “You also don’t get to scold me for my language when you kidnapped me. The lady died, father, the Russian man made sure of it.”
The music stopped and I stepped away from him, mocking the reverence I was supposed to show at the end of the dance. It was supposed to be a gesture of respect, sometimes even love, directed at the partner, and I had no such feelings for the man in front of me.
“
Mija
[17]
,” he began, taking a step closer to me.
“I’m not your daughter,” I interrupted him. “Your daughter died with her mother on that field.”
I turned my back on him and walked away, taking another glass of champagne from a tray in passing, all the while fighting the urge to throw the knife at his head.
I walked around the table, looking for my assigned seat, and was surprised to see that it was at the head of the long table, directly opposite my father. Uncustomary for a woman to sit there in our family, but I was, after all, the guest of honor.
As I sat down, I made a show of rolling my head and running my fingers over the marks on my neck. I also turned the act of crossing my legs into a spectacle, making sure the knife was in plain sight for everyone to see, along with my bare leg.
He didn’t sit down, but picked up a glass from the table and clinked a fork to it. That woman was sitting to his right, where my mother was supposed to be sitting, which only added fuel to the fire.
“If everyone would join me in a toast,” he said loudly and confidently, and everyone stood up with their glasses in hand.
Everyone except me.
I just propped my elbows on the table and rested my chin on the backs of my hands, smiling innocently as I saw Julio struggling to stifle a laugh.
My father cleared his throat, trying to distract everyone from me.
“Thank you all for being here on this very important day for me,” he began. “We are here to welcome my daughter home, Reina.”
There it was again.
My daughter.
Reina.
Anger bottled up inside me and I felt like a champagne bottle, agitated and ready to explode.
“She’s finally come back home…”
He didn’t have time to finish the sentence as I took the knife out of its holster and threw it at his head,
I missed my target on purpose but made sure it grazed the shell of his ear.
A drop of blood fell into his glass and mixed with the alcohol.
Gasps echoed in the room.
The band stopped playing.
Every head at the table turned towards me.
Julio laughed out loud.
My grandfather bowed his head and raised his glass to me.
I slowly stood up and casually fished for the cigarette and lighter I had stashed in my bra. I lit it and took a long drag, then downed the glass of champagne and leaned over the edge of the table to grab a bottle of the Tequila, making sure I gave everyone a prime view of my cleavage before straightening up.
“Fucking welcome home to me,” I raised the bottle at him, and I could have sworn that glass he was holding was about to break in his hand, while the vein in his temple seemed ready to burst.
With the cigarette in one hand and the bottle in the other, I gave everyone at the table a double middle finger, then kicked the chair aside and turned my back on them, slowly walking towards the stairs, taking a few healthy swigs of the burning alcohol as I climbed up.
You’re going to wish you left me in Chicago.
Because my heart was there.
My warmth was there, along with my entire future.