Dangerous Fate

Chapter 3: Chasing Time

But the transformation was not limited to the physical.

I also embraced my mother's Turkish roots, casting aside the stifling weight of my father's Sicilian heritage. This newfound connection allowed me to be more open with myself, no longer hiding my heritage to compensate for the Cosa Nostra's expectations and the prejudice I faced as a "dirty mixed" breed with a supposedly impure bloodline.

For so long, I had to overcompensate for my Italian identity, always acting more Italian than others to compensate for the disdain some of the Made Men held for a mixed-blood Made Woman. 

It is a reality that Aiyla knew all too well. She had seen the hardships I had endured because of our father's legacy. She knew it first-hand because she lived it too.

My eyebrow arches in response, anger simmering just below the surface. "I see you haven't lost your knack for backhanded compliments," I retort, my tone cool but laced with an underlying edge. "Or your talent for getting yourself involved in matters that do not concern you."

She shrugs nonchalantly, a faint smirk playing on her lips. "You know me, always looking out for the family," she replies, her words dripping with false sincerity. "Even when it goes unappreciated."

I take a step closer, the years of our strained relationship echoing in my mind. "It's not about looking out for the family," I shoot back, a touch of bitterness creeping into my voice. "It's about looking out for yourself and whatever serves your interests."

Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, I catch a hint of amusement flickering across her face. "You're hardly in a position to lecture me, hypocrite," she counters sharply. "Always running away from your responsibilities, leaving me to pick up the pieces."

Aiyla's words, dripping with the venom of our bitter history, act as the spark igniting a blazing inferno of rage deep within me. 

My patience wears thinner with each syllable she utters, and anger courses through my veins like molten lava. It is a searing fury, stoked by her audacious disregard that threatens to consume every ounce of restraint within me.

In a heartbeat, I am transformed from the composed woman standing before her into a tempest of fury. 

My hand darts forward with a speed that surprises even me, and it strikes Aiyla's cheek with a thunderous crack. The room reverberates with the force of the slap, and I can feel the shockwave of pain coursing from my palm to my arms.

In the wake of the slap, a charged silence blankets the room. Aiyla's eyes widen in disbelief, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of surprise and hurt. My own hand lingers in the air, still trembling from the force of the blow as if to grasp the enormity of what just transpired. 

The weight of the moment settles heavily upon us, and for a brief second, time seems to stand still, suspended in the air. The echo of the slap lingers like an unspoken question, a declaration of boundaries crossed and lines redrawn.

As the seconds tick by, the silence begins to crack, like a fragile façade giving way to raw emotions. Aiyla's expression morphs from disbelief to anger, and her eyes blaze with indignation. 

"Remember your place, Aiyla," I assert firmly, my voice unwavering and commanding. "We are family, but in this world, there are lines we cannot cross. As your Dona, I will not tolerate disrespect."  I make it very clear that despite Aiyla's position as my Capa, it doesn't excuse her insubordination. 

Aiyla sucks in a breath, her eyes momentarily avoiding mine, before attempting to brush off my warning, though I know it has hit its mark. "Glad to see you adapting back so soon, Dona." The way she accentuates "Dona" carries a subtle hiss intended to prick at me.