Papa has kept Guilia on a very tight leash. She has responsibilities I would never have.
I wonder if my other sister, who was taken by my mother’s people, the Bratva would be like Guillia, trapped.
Or as a half-blood like me, have the freedom I do, one of choice even if that choice is limited.
Guilia hardly got to talk to men. She came across as naïve when she did. Especially with ones as handsome as Ren.
I am not surprised that she dotes on every word Ren says. Nor am I shocked when her longing gaze stares at him without blinking either.
These moments, I am glad I am not a full-blooded Italian woman born into a powerful family. I am the half-breed.
Sometimes I question myself, if my father’s decision to send me away was based solely on my stepmother’s dislike toward me, or was it also the blood running through my veins.
Growing up, I hardly ever saw my family. I was in Chicago, attending school, trying to stay alive. When I was home during break, my Papa allowed me freedom my sisters never got. I always ended up spending it with Ren, Gabriel, Michel, and Mero. That list extended in the last few years to a few others.
Even now, Guilia and my younger sister, Serena spend most of their time with my stepmother taking up the house or attending Gala's and functions in New York. I hardly ever get to see them.
I feel sorry for my two sisters. They will never know the joys of walking with friends on Campus or attending Parties with football players. Small things which make life a bit better when you think back on it while living as a prisoner in your own home.
A bit of happiness to store for those days you turn a blind eye to your husband's infidelity.
But I ache for my other sister more, the sacrificial lamb given to my mother’s people.
The Bratva are dangerous even in the 5th State. They trained some of their women to be killers and do unspeakable things. The more I knew about them, the deeper that ache grew.
“Do you remember our first night in Chicago?” Ren asks me.
“We snuck up to the rooftop and Michel got drunk on cheap vodka,” I laugh, shaking my head.
When I was younger, Papa sent me to school in Chicago after he witnessed my stepmother’s deep hate for me. I was the reminder of my mother’s existence and my father's lack of one.
Leaving my stepmother would have made Papa look weak, so Chicago was his solution.
I knew Papa hit her, and I didn’t like it then or now.
But there are times when I secretly wish I could slice her throat myself.
I still begrudge her for all those years ago, when she pushed me down the stairs. It was a Friday evening, I was watching reruns of Friends and painting in my bedroom.
Guilia was making popcorn when it happened. She found me at the bottom of the staircase. It was the one time I saw my sister lose it.
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