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“Now, Isabella. This man here stole from me. What do you think I should do to him?” my father asks, crossing the room to sit behind his desk.
He leaves me standing there, in front of the bloodied man. He looks at me, pain in his expression and I stare back. I can’t show any emotion, I can’t show empathy. I want to cry but crying never got me anywhere. I know what I have to do. I’ve had to do it a lot of times. It doesn’t make it any easier, though.
His eyes are brown. I always remember the color of their eyes. That’s the only thing I know about them.
I muster the courage to say the words I don’t mean. Words I wish I never had to say again. I lift my head, feigning confidence as I pronounce the brown-eyed man’s sentence.
“Kill him, Papa.”
That’s the only answer I’m allowed to give. The only acceptable pronouncement. The first time I was brought here, when I was nine years old, I started to cry and I begged my papa not to kill the man. That earned me two nights locked up in my room and a stern lecture about what was expected of me. It was hard to learn, but I eventually figured out what I had to do.
It doesn’t make it any less painful, though.
The man’s expression crumbles and he starts to beg and cry. My gaze goes up to my father. He smiles and offers me a nod. This is the only time my father ever smiles at me. When I ask him to kill people.
“Take her to her room,” he orders one of his men.
I’m glad. He never makes me watch him kill anyone. At least I don’t have to see it. It’s where he draws the line. Me watching a murder wouldn’t be acceptable. But it doesn’t make it easier.
I’m led out of the room and I fight the urge to turn back. My eyes well up with tears that I can’t let fall.
My father is a monster. And I’m a monster’s only child.
My eyes flutter open and heaviness settles over me. My heart aches as the pain of my childhood momentarily renders me heartbroken. I was so young back then. No ten-year-old should have to go through that. For the first few years of my life, my father mostly ignored me. Then, when he believed I was mature enough, he began to teach me the ways of the world. Or at least the ways according to him.
I always knew he hated me. After all, I was responsible for killing the only person he ever truly loved, my mother. But living with him was hell on earth. I had to survive through that hell for most of my life.
It’s already six a.m. when I finally rise from my bed. I bury the memory and the heartache, shoving it all deep within me. If I don’t think about my trauma then it doesn’t exist.
My steps are light against the heated floors of my bedroom as I head for the bathroom. I might as well get in an early start to the day. It’s Sunday and I have a few hours before it’s time to go to church. I’ll wake the twins up in two hours so they can get ready. Then I’ll see if either Enzo or Rosa is interested in joining us. Enzo doesn’t care much for church and Rosa attends her family’s church whenever she goes.
I’m brushing my teeth when I get a text from Graham. Tingles roll through me at the sight of his name flashing across my screen but I ignore them.
Graham: Hey, Sunshine. Are you awake?
I arch an eyebrow before replying.
Me: Yes, I’m awake. But the real question is, why are you awake? Didn’t you go to bed really late because you were working on that proposal?
He and I parted ways after dinner yesterday. He told me he had some work to catch up on and ignoring it was making him feel like he was about to break out in hives. I told him that was ridiculous and he works too much. He ignored me. I think he’s still trying to prove himself. But from what I can tell, he’s not the same person he was before. And anyone who can’t see that is a dumbass.
Instead of a response to my text, my phone starts to ring with an incoming call. After spitting out the toothpaste in my mouth and rinsing it out, I answer.
“Your obsession with me is getting concerning, Gray,” I say, making my voice flat even though there’s a smile on my face.
His voice is low and husky from sleep. I practically melt when he speaks.
“You can’t blame me for being obsessed, Isa. Your charm is impossible to resist.”
I roll my eyes. “What do you want? And why are you awake so early?”
“There’s a race happening right now,” he informs me.
“Race?”
“Yeah. The Australian Grand Prix. No way in hell am I missing this.”
I sift through the information stored in my brain before coming to an understanding of what he’s talking about.
