His Dove

1

*Spanish language is used but incorrectly I'm sure so any corrections are welcome.

Chapter One - Prison

Marcella Quintana's P.O.V.

The door opens with an echoing groan and I squint up at the man standing before me. His hazel eyes that I have also inherited find my exhausted body leaning against the wall. They regard me with a stony and emotionless stare before he steps inside.

He's dressed in an all-black outfit as usual with his black hair gelled back and tattoos covering his caramel brown skin. He's muscular and in shape for his age...but I suppose you must be with the job that he has.

"You know I don't like teaching you a lesson mija." He sighs as he gestures for me to stand up. [My daughter]

Lies.

I do so wordlessly and keep my eyes pinned to the floor. "I know."

"Then why do you constantly disobey me Marcella?!" He frowns angrily as he grips my chin to make me look up at him. "I've told you time and time again that this is our world! When will you understand?!"

I bite the inside of my cheek and force myself to keep my gaze pinned to the floor. When will you understand that I never wanted to be a part of it? I wonder to myself as he runs a hand through his hair in frustration. I feel him burning holes into the side of my head before he steps back.

"Go and get changed. We need to discuss your next assignment." He orders gruffly and I walk away mutely.

The guards don't dare to glance at me as I make my way out of the basement which serves as a prison. My father had thrown me in a dark cell to spend a week in isolation with as little food and water as possible. All because I helped a minor escape who was being forced into a sex trafficking ring...run by the man I call a father.

I feel my blood boil all over again as rage threatens to consume me. As I enter the main floor of the house my mother reaches out to hug me but freezes when I glare at her murderously. She's the opposite of my father appearance wise with her British roots, blonde hair and green eyes. I inherited her tall frame with the most delicate features to match. Sometimes I hate the features I got from her. They serve as a painful reminder of my past.

"Marcel –"

"Not now." I grit out as I step around her to go to my bedroom.

"But you're bleeding..." Her concern dies down when I turn towards her with a humorless laugh.

"How dare you act like you care." I narrow my eyes as I step closer to tower above her. "Need I remind you that you're dead to me mother?"

As always my harsh words sting and her eyes fill with tears. "I – Mar..."

"Save it." I roll my eyes as I start making my way to my room again. "I don't have time for your fake concern nor your sob stories."

My heart tugs painfully at her look of worry and when her face falls every time I act like she doesn't exist. Then I remember all that she's done to me and it's like the walls around my heart jump ten feet higher than before.

Abusing drugs, alcohol and me just because she was in a loveless marriage doesn't exactly make your child still love you. But the cherry on top was when I was kidnapped by one of dad's enemies at the age of twelve, because of her lack of attention, and she hung up with a disinterested "whatever," after the men threatened to rape me.