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Estella Athena Knight. Always have been a special girl, she attracts the attention of the mafia king in a way that makes her blood boil.
August Nicolai DeLuca.
A simple game of cat and mouse, and a pool full of hatred and desire brought exciteme...
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I lifted my head from the pillow, I could smell the breakfast filling my nose making me sit fully up.
"You looked so peaceful,"
I jumped at the voice, my head turn towards my father sitting in the chair beside the bathroom door. Under his eyes were dark, like he hasn't been to sleep in days, good.
He was watching me sleep, I didn't want to sleep, I twisted, in turn, all night even being in my old room where I once felt safe, I needed to sleep, to build up my energy.
We were in these rooms for three days, it was easier to know with a clock.
I pushed back towards the headboard, pulling the covers with me covering my bare legs. The bruises slowly faded, I had the chance to shower and washed my hair and bring back my curls, I was doing what he wanted me to.
Everything was back to normal, that's why he cut spencer's hair, she always had her hair short throughout the years in his sick mind he wanted everything to be normal.
"Your mother is making breakfast," My brows furred, and my hands took a fist full of the sheets.
"What do you mean?"
He stood from the chair, I try to contain myself hoping and praying I didnt say anything wrong. Stopping beside me, he held his hand out for me to take, I stare at it and rolled to the other side of the bed putting distance between us.
"I could go down myself," I say, keeping my head up while I messed with the long sleeve shirt I had on.
"Very well," Papa walked towards the door, waiting for me, I blinked slowly trying to understand what was happening but I couldn't. I bit back a comment and followed him downstairs.
The familiar spiral staircase leads the way toward the kitchen. I watched papa's back fighting the urge to slit his throat.
I could smell bacon and pancakes, but beyond that, something else filled the air that made me sick to my stomach.
Coming closer to the kitchen, my eyes widen at the sight. Spencer sat stilled next to a figure. Just on the other side, I could see the other body, Olivias.
"Mama always makes the best eggs," Papa turns towards me, but my wide eyes stare at the dead figure sitting in the chair.
My mother's body slouched into the seat, flies surrounding her body decaying at every moment. I forced my feet to shuffle into the kitchen, I saw the tattoo on his hand and I knew it was grey.
"Grey," I whispered, his eyes shot up to mine, his hands were bound to the chair while Spencers were free, what the fuck was this?
"Stella," he muttered, he looked worse than anything, bruises all over his face, my father's bruised knuckles were enough to let me know he did that.
