Guilty | ✓

III | Guilty

CHAPTER THREE | CHILD'S PLAY

______

THE LONDON BREEZE WHISTLED making a harmony with the bustling sounds of heavy traffic and the thumping footsteps of strangers walking past. The ring of inanimate laughter echoed in Elias' ears, he observed as children strode with their parents eating sugary treats and joking around.

He also noticed how different London is from Manhattan.

They were both architecturally the same, glass skyscrapers, big houses and adorning historical features, but to him London seemed wrong. Not in a gut-feeling way, but in the way that his life didn't belong there.

Elias knew he never belonged anywhere else but New York, the cobbled stone streets, the chiming of the clock tower, the deep foreign British accents, it wasn't the most appealing either.

Genevieve, also, wasn't one to be attracted to these types of lands, New York, to her, was like getting home after a stressful cold day, building a fire in the chimney, then enjoying a brewed coffee with pizzelles.

Exactly. Perfection.

The frown etched on her face deepened as she looked at the crowds. Although Manhattan had its fair share of crowds and busy traffic, it was different. She liked the feeling of walking around and not feeling special.

If you bump into someone in New York, they'd give you an earful and not recognize you or treat you any differently because of who you are or who you're related to.

Now, Europe was a different story. If someone knew about the underworld Italian capos, you'd know about the Romano's, and if you'd know them, you'd know who Genevieve was.

The baby, the innocent, fragile, youngest, most harmless child the mafia has ever seen. It made her blood boil just to think of it, the cussing, the shouts, the whips, the hits, the teasing, the simple physical and mental abuse she suffered. The scars she models, the ones on her back and arms, where each and every one were carefully drawn on her with pain. The smell of the cold, metallic sour smell of blood always either on her, or surrounding her, was always native towards her senses.

And the most painful, the neglect.

She shook her head, removing the thoughts that swarmed her mind about her dreadful childhood. Chills spread through her body as she felt out of a sudden warm hand grasp her shoulder. In an instant reflex, Genevieve clenched her fist, turning around, she quickly drew back her hand and slammed her fist against the person's jaw.

The sound of a familiar groan ringed in her ears, bringing Genevieve's attention to her accidental victim.

Hunched over, stood Elias, his hand grabbing his jaw firmly, pain engraved in his features, the dirty look was sent towards her. Genevieve's only response? A sheepish smile.

"Ah fucking shit. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! What the hell was that for?!" He yelled, causing people to look their way, only to look away instantly at the sight of the Romano child.

Genevieve gave a shy glance, silently, her hands pryed his away form his throbbing jaw. His stubble pricking her palms, she used her, momentarily, icy cold hands to soothe the pain.

"I'm sorry. It was an instant ref—" she started, a familiar female cutting her off.

"My, oh, my. If it isn't Hades herself?" Turning around both, Elias and Genevieve, turned to look at the advancing figure.