Their Little Princess

Chapter Forty-Six

For a moment, I can't breathe. Just for a moment.

Every part of me feels heavy. They're all talking about it. This is something that they all know. Something that they all know and kept from me.

They hid the fact that they...They kill people. The mafia. Of course I've heard of the mafia. It was always something I thought was too terrible to actually exist. But once I fit in such a vital puzzle piece, the entire picture starts to come together. The cars always outside the school, the fact that there are bodyguards everywhere. Mr. Carson working at the school and then suddenly my brothers know everything about me and Logan.

The rules, the lies, the strictness, it was all a part of some lie? My vision is spotting so badly, it gets impossible to even see what's going on. My head is pounding and I squeeze my eyes shut, putting my fists on my eyes, it doesn't help ease the tension. 

"Maddie," Elijah says carefully, he stands up and takes a step toward me. It's as if in this moment, my body decides to take over for me, I take an instinctive step back, my vision is doubling now from pushing on my eyes so hard, I shake my head, "No."

Carlo and Emilio walk into the hallway, "Maddie? You look pale as a ghost." He walks forward. I shake my head, "No." That seems to be the only word I can manage right now. Emilio tries, "No. Stop," I plead. I can feel sweat dripping down my face, but when I put my hand to my head, it's completely dry. It's as if everyone is frozen. Carlo and Emilio are confused, everyone in Sandro's office is silent and still, frozen in time. Not knowing what to do. 

I'm gonna vomit.

Sandro stands up immediately, and before I know it, he has the trash can from beside his desk under my chin as I vomit into the trash can. I feel even worse, but it seemed to help clear me out. "Carlo, go get her a cup of water," Sandro demands.

"But—"

"Now."

He hurries away, Sandro stands me up. I move away from him, swallowing the lump in my throat, "I'm tired," I say.

"Madison—" Francesco begins.

"I said I'm tired," I say, my voice is shaking beyond my control and I don't know what to do, I don't even know where to begin with everything I'm feeling right now. They let me turn and walk away. I'm scared. I don't know what to do. I slide my pajamas on and sit down on my bed in my dimly lit room, illuminated by my simple lamp. 

They've lied to me, the entire time I've been here. They've been telling me how important trust is in our family, when all this time, they've been abusing mine. I trusted that they would do what was best for me. I thought that all this time, I'd finally gotten a real home, one where everything was perfect.

I've been talking to Mateo and Giovanni all week, Zio Dante, Zio Alessio, Zia Cecilia, and they all knew. I stand up. I grab Millie and hold her tightly to my chest. Chase's sweatshirt. I just need to feel closer to home right now. My home in Seattle was terrible, but at least it was sure. 

I walk over to the small second closet and kneel down, grabbing my bookbag. I reach inside to grab the hoodie, but I feel something unfamiliar. It feels like 2 pieces of paper. That's weird. I was just in this bag the other day and the sweatshirt was the only thing left.

I cautiously pull the 2 pieces of paper out. It's 2 photos. My heart drops to my feet and all I hear is my own scream, "Sandro!"

.   .   .

Not even 10 seconds later, he rushes into my room, all my brothers following around him. And I might be alarmed at the gun in his hand if I wasn't completely glued to the photos in mine. I stay right where I was in front of the closet door, unable to move. My chest feels so constricted, it's nearly impossible to breathe, my breathing is shallow. I feel like I'm going to throw up again except any reaction seems to have left me.

2 pictures.

2 life-altering moments.

On the first picture is a perfect picture of mom and Daniel. The picture I've been trying so hard to erase from my mind, the knife lodged into Daniel's stomach, the bullet in my mother's eye. A picture that's haunted every nightmare, every moment I've closed my eyes, every silent second.

Except there's another picture.

A picture of a man with a bullet clear through his chest. He's bleeding out, white shirt soaked with blood. The strangled sob only escapes when I see the face in the photo.

Dad.