Hate Me, Love Me (Ongoing)

Chapter 2

One year later
Anastasia's POV
The Italians killed my parents. I was four when it happened. I knew that the things my parents were involved in were illegal. That in the eyes of society, they were considered to be dangerous criminals. Even so, they didn't deserve what happened to them.

I remember it like it was yesterday. We were sitting at the dinner table laughing about a joke Mama made.

Strangely enough, I remember everything but the joke. I remember my parents' laughter. I remember the meal we ate. I remember not understanding Mama's joke but laughing because her and Papa were laughing.

I remember how my four year old brain tried to process how, one minute, my parents were laughing, and the next, they were gone. Dead. No longer smiling. I remember the blood that stained my hands when I cried and tried to shake them awake. I remember how heavy they were as they lay there lifeless, never to laugh, smile, or hug me ever again.

I tried to forget. I really did. But even if I wanted to, how could I? Seeing someone you love be shot dead before your very eyes? And at the age of four? That memory never goes away.

Ever since that day, I've hated the Italians. They took away the only family I had left apart from my grandfather. I haven't spoken since that night. I couldn't. My desire and ability to speak died along with my parents.

I still don't understand why they left me alive. Why is it that I get to live but my parents don't? I may not have been involved in their activities, but I was very much a part of their family. After all, I am a Vasiliev.

Or at least I will be until the day I become Mrs. Anastasia Lucci.

"No!" I sign with my hands, using the only form of communication I have to express my displeasure.

"I'm not asking you," my grandfather signs and says at the same time. Although I can hear him, he taught himself sign language so he can interact with me. "You will marry him."

I shake my head, my anger expressed through my fast hand movements and facial expressions. "I will do no such thing! Aren't you forgetting that his people killed Mama and Papa?"

"The people who killed your parents are not related to him," he voiced and signed back.

"I don't care. Italian blood still courses through his veins. That makes him the enemy."

My grandfather, Yuri Vasiliev, slams his hand down on the desk he's seated behind. The vein bulging out of his head showcases his anger as he says, "Enemy or not, you are going to marry him!"

"But Grandpa-"

"You are dismissed."

In disbelief, I storm out of his office, frustrated and hating my grandfather for making such an outrageous deal with the Italians.

I have been unknowingly betrothed to the enemy since I was four years old. The arrangement was made just months after my parents' lives were taken. And I am just now finding out about all of this.

I have yet to meet the Italian mob boss. While I've seen his father once before, a long time ago, I doubt those good looks have transferred over to his son. Most of the Italians I've seen are short, round, and undesirable. Well, at least the ones I've seen on The Godfather.

When I reached my bedroom, I slammed the door closed and leaped backward onto my bed. Grabbing one of my pillows, I cover it over my face and let out of a scream of frustration.

My grandfather's not a terrible man. But he often forgets that I didn't choose to be in this life. And that if it was within my power, I'd stay as far away as  humanly possible.

I consider suffocating myself with my pillow and ending it all before I have to walk down the aisle and marry a stranger. Unfortunately, I value my life too much to do it.

So I lower my pillow. Snug against my chest, I raise my left hand and stare at my ringless hand. Marriage is something I've always wanted. A handsome prince would sweep me off my feet, we'd fall in love, marry, and live happily ever after with a couple of kids and a dog.

I guess that's why they call it a fairy tale because that's all it is. It was merely a dream, especially when it comes to a life like mine. I've never even been on a date because of who my family is.

Now I'm going from never having held hands with a guy to marrying one. I dropped my hand and groaned. This is not how I wanted to do things. I want love. I want a choice; a say in the matter. This isn't fair.

Later that same day, after sulking in my room for the past few hours, I decided to sneak out of the house to avoid another potential lecture from my grandfather.

I didn't feel like hearing how the fate of our family rested on my shoulders. We were fine without the Italians then, and we will be fine now.

I slipped past the guards stationed around the house, managing to avoid the cameras installed in and outside of the mansion.

I had my car keys in one hand and my other hand on the car's handle when I heard a familiar voice from behind me.

"Where do you think you're going, child?"

I froze. I was busted. I slowly turned to face Ingrid, the head maid of the house and my only friend. She's more of my babysitter than my maid. My grandfather pays her to keep the house clean and me out of trouble. She's been around for as long as I can remember.

Ingrid had her hand on her hip, the wrinkles on her face faint as she frowned at me with dark brown eyes.

"Uh, I was just going out," I sign.

"Where?"

I shrugged. "Anywhere but here." I needed some fresh air. I no longer wanted to be cooped up in a house with a man who thought selling me to the Italians would somehow resolve our fueled hatred towards them.

"I can't let you leave without notifying your grandfather, Ana. You know the rules. Besides, how else will we keep you safe?"

"Please don't tell him, Ingrid. Please."

Her gaze softened. I had no doubt in my mind that she knew about the arranged marriage. And maybe even as long as my grandfather did. I couldn't be mad at her for withholding information as big as that. She could have lost her job, had she told me before my grandfather did.

Which is probably why she gave in. She felt guilty. Like she knew my world was over, and she couldn't do anything to stop it. She let out a sigh. "Fine, but Rurik and Boris are coming with you."

My eyes rolled. Rurik and Boris were my assigned bodyguards. My grandfather doesn't let me go anywhere without them.

They can be such a pain in the ass sometimes. They draw too much attention to me. I draw enough attention to myself simply because I am the granddaughter of a Russian mob boss. It's not like it's a secret. Everyone knows who everyone is now a days.

I didn't want to bring Rurik and Boris. They are overly suspicious about everything. But because I knew that was the only way Ingrid was going to let me go, I agreed.

"Stay out of trouble, Ana. I mean it."

Her and my grandfather always act as though it's intentional. If I'm ever in trouble, it's because it always finds me. Not the other way around.