{ZHARA}
Softly, I knock on the door.
No response.
I press my ear against the wood as I knock again.
I hear Zion's voice, but it's not directed toward me. He's on the phone.
I twist the knob as quietly as I can and poke my head through the opening I made.
He's sitting in a leather chair behind a large, organized desk. Many files are stacked in one corner, and a rifle is laid there across from them. His cell is pressed to his ear, and his free hand is twisting a small balisong knife around between his tattooed fingers.
The room smells of burnt sage and whiskey, which is no surprise to me. What catches my eye is an 18 karat gold crucifix hanging on the wall to the left.
My mind freezes.
"AJ! Where'd you go?" I shouted out as I hurried up the stairs. I giggled at the thought of him losing our game of hide and seek again. He always thought he was better at hiding than me.
Just because he was already eleven doesn't mean anything, my hide and seek skills were better.
"I'm gonna find you!" I call out, passing Mamá's window room. He always hid under the desk in my father's office.
I always have to beg him to play with me now in days, he thinks he's too grown up for me now.
My brothers rarely pay attention to me anyway, well, except Koven, but he's my twin. I feel like he only talks to me because of that reason.
I finally made it across the long hallway, but something stopped me right in front of the office door. The sound of my father yelling.
Oh no...Something must've gone wrong in his work again.
Where's Ajax then?
As I went to turn away, I heard another sound. My stomach dropped, and suddenly the sandwich I had for lunch felt like it was coming back up.
Where was Mamá?
I yanked the office door open, and deep down, I knew what that thud was. I had experienced it too many times before and witnessed all of my family go through it as well.
A strangled sob left my lips at the sight of my brother on the floor, holding his cheek. My father's eyes snapped to mine, and I knew what was coming next.
"Papa..." I started to cry, he hated when we cried, "we were just playing a game."
He grabbed me by my hair, forced me to the floor, and made me watch as he "taught AJ a lesson" like he always did.
"I made him play with me! It's not his fault!" I sobbed and screamed, but nothing would stop him. Minutes had passed.
"È ora di maturare, figliolo. Smetti di giocare!" my father shouted, shoving my brother towards me.
[T: Time to mature, son. Stop playing!]
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." I pleaded for forgiveness into Ajax's shirt but was ripped away from him by Papa. I thrashed in his hold when he lifted me off the ground, pulling my face close to his.
"Come on, figlia, gli hai fatto questo," he whispered, almost as if he was trying to comfort me.
[T: Daughter, you did this to him]
"I'm sorry!" I cried, "Mi spiace, Papa!"
[T: I'm sorry]
He pinched my jaw between his fingers, forcing me to look in my brother's direction.
"You are what hurts him. Paga i tuoi debiti a Dio," father held me close to him, angling my head towards the gold Jesus on the wall.
[T: Pay your dues to God]
Pay your dues.
Pay your dues.
Pay your dues.
Pay your dues.
My heart had practically skipped a beat, but I snapped back into it before stepping into Zion's office.
He was already looking at me when I glanced up, making me realize I had zoned out a little longer than I thought.
"Uccidili," he speaks into the phone before hanging up. My eyebrows rose at his words.
[T: Kill them]
I shut the door behind me, still leaning back against it as we kept eye contact. A chill bit at my skin under his cold gaze.
"You wanted to speak to me?"
He quirked his head slightly, a smirk growing on his lips.
"Come," he nodded his head down, motioning for me to sit in front of him. My eyes tried to wander back off to the cross, but I stopped myself before he noticed.
"They have found multiple routes to the warehouse your father is in."
I shivered visibly as he says those words. Zion stood suddenly, walking around the desk and towards me. My body turned in his direction, not prepared whatsoever as he lifted me onto the smooth wood. The sweatshirt I had on did little to conceal the goosebumps littering my skin.
I glanced up at him with parted lips.
"I'm going to kill him, Zhara. For my past, and yours," he whispers like the walls can hear him.
His eyes bore into mine, and I can't help but let my guard crumble. Around him, it's like my body isn't just mine anymore.
I knew this would happen eventually. I hate the man who raised me, but he is still my father. Biologically, I will always be connected with him. He will haunt me no matter what. No matter how many times Zion whispers assurances into my ears when I'm crying in my sleep. No matter what ways Zion tortures him. No matter how many bullets end up lodged in his skull. The lives he took and ruined are still tarnished, and no quantity of revenge can change that.
"I know," I lean my forehead against his chest, letting myself breathe for a second.
He lets me, shockingly, and stays still as we mourn.
Mourning is no good without reason, though.
I lifted myself off of him, knowing that I didn't need to lean on someone for this. It was my turn to support. Zion had lost people, too. The woman Inan had told me about during some of my first days with the Armani's.
"Who was the woman that Alphonzo killed?"
I know I shouldn't have, but I couldn't stop myself.
Zion immediately froze, and it wasn't like I had ever seen him before. His stance changed, and his eyes seemed to have lingered in one spot for too long. He didn't pull away from me...yet.
"I'm sorry, nevermi-"
"My mother."
My chest hollowed out, my eyes stung, and my ears rang.
Bile rose in my throat again, and it felt like someone had just shot me again.
Now I knew why he hated me so much. Why had he...Why did he kiss me? Why did he get close to me?
Was it fake? Was this all to get back at my father? Was he lying when he told me those things before?
"Zhara," he grabbed my chin, it reminded me of my father for a tiny regretful second. Fuck. I pulled his hand away from my face, his skin was cold.
"God, Zion..." I was breathless, remembering the description Inan gave me of what my father had done.
I shake my head, trying to clear my head of it. My hand tightened around his, and he embraced me, not letting me feel the guilt.
It sunk in as his body pressed to mine, pushing it farther, farther, farther.
It stopped at the pit of my stomach.
"I think I'm going to be sick."
His hand came to the back of my head, comforting me for something I should be sorry for.
"I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry, Mi spiace, I'm sorry."
You are what hurts him.
"Enough, Zhara," he hushed me, tugging on the last threads I was dangling from.
I can't believe it.
Yes, you can.
Yes, I can believe it.
"What was her name?"
Women were rarely known or presented in our lifestyle, and I felt even worse for not even knowing who she was.
I wrapped my arms around his neck.
"Analia Rosalina Versace," I could hear the admiration in his voice.
He pulled me with him as he moved back toward the chair. He sat down, letting me rest on him as he continued speaking.
"She was the daughter of a drug cartel kingpin from Saudi Arabia, Yazan Amir. Her mother took her away from the dangerous setting and she was chased for years because of it. They ended up in northern Italy, and her mother raised Rosalina to fifteen before she was killed by her husband's men. That's why she goes by her mother's name, Versace."
"How did she and your father meet?"
"Adriano was young for a Caporegime. My grandfather died early in his life, forcing him to step up at seventeen. It's one of the worst parts of being brought up in this world. Your childhood is stolen and your innocence is dulled. He was immediately coldhearted, finding every way to make a name for himself. Become a "made-man" they say. That included trafficking, which my mother was sold into. She said she expected it to be sex trafficking, but it was actually debt bondage. She was stolen by family associates running the streets, and happened to make it in the group under our name's title."
"At first, she was working as a laborer in the rings and businesses my father controlled. The captains of the area found her defending our family when she was held at gunpoint while working in one of the bars, and they brought her up to the higher levels because of her dedication, working directly under my father as his assistant. When he met her, he got attached, and she made him a better leader as well as a calmer and more collected man. He was obsessed with her, Zhara. He stepped down three months before she was killed. He wanted to retire with her and spend the rest of his life cherishing my mother. She was what he built his empire around. Everything you see in our possession has been edited and altered to remind him of her. And when she was gone, the empire would've collapsed if it wasn't for my father's mother pulling him out of his anger. She's still living in a protected home in Milan."
I watched him as he spoke. His eyes were bright with what I knew were the memories of his mother. I felt this pressure on my heart as he described such a wonderful person.
Now I understood why Adriano became such a feared leader even by his own family.
"My father was never a good person, but when she was around, he tried to be his best for her."
I had never heard Zion speak so much in one moment.
"I wish I could have met her," I said as he threaded his fingers through my hair.
"You're like her in so many ways, Zhara."
I furrowed my brows, making heavy eye contact with him. Was he being serious?
"I see her intelligence in you. You're devotion and love for your family, no matter the conditions," he said softly, "I think that's why I can't stop thinking about you."
My lips tremble as I sit up straighter, trying to believe he's saying this to me right now.
"You're so beautiful," he kisses my forehead, and my heart literally drops. The air is stolen from my lungs and my skin tingles with his touch.
I feel like I need to cry. Or scream. Or shriek like a little girl.
And when he kisses me hard, I know that he does care deep down. I know that whatever we have is real, and he's not pretending.
Because I'm not pretending either.