The mafia ball.

25|I Killed Her

Grayson's POV

I sigh again as the line goes dead, not even ringing. I chuck my phone down beside me and fall back onto the bed, clutching my hair in frustration. No matter how many times I've tried to call her, it doesn't even ring.

That could mean she has turned her phone off, although it's possible I don't see her do that when she's expecting my calls. Option two is that my father has something to do with it which is something I fear.

I have every reason to.

With much hesitation, I decided to call him.

The line rings till it nearly ends then he decides to pick up the phone. Asshole.

"Ciao, Figlio." His deep voice greets me making my jaw tense.
{hello, son.}

"Let me speak to her," I demand not having time for greetings. 

"Ti ho insegnato a parlare italiano per niente?" He grits out. My body automatically tenses at the sound of his anger.
{did I teach you to speak Italian for nothing?}

I roll my eyes at his stupid rule. I want to be smart and tell him he never actually taught me. I had to teach myself at the age of five or else there would be punishment.

"Fammi parlare con lei." I sigh in frustration.
{let me speak to her}

"Tua Madre impegnata." I don't believe him for a second. My anger begins to rise to a whole other level and it's then I know I should have never called him.
{your mother's busy.}

"La Tua menzogna. Lei è mia madre lascia che le parli." I nearly shout into the phone. My grip tightens on the phone, as my other hand grips the sheets in anger.
{your lying. She's my mother let me speak to her.}

"Guarda la tua linga ragazzo! Quando dico che tue madre è impegnata, intendo che tua madre è impegnata. Ora fine discussion." He hangs up the phone before I can even answer.
{watch your tongue boy! When I say your mother's busy, I mean your mother's busy. End of dissuasion.}

"Stronzo!" I yell in anger, gripping my hair in my hands.
{asshole}

I shake my head to myself in disbelief. My father is a force to be reckoned with and unfortunately, I've come out broken too many times by his hands. My fear for him runs deep within me, I wouldn't admit it to any one of course. But my father is someone you would wish dead, I for as hell do. This is why, when he tells me my mother is 'busy' I fear for her safety.

I change into black basketball shorts and a white T-shirt, leaving the cabin before I lash out. I make my way over to the gym, luckily it's empty. I flicked on the lights, row by row the white lights flutters on illuminating the empty gym. I bask in the silence it brings as I walk into it and make my way to the punching bag.

I wrap my hands and begin to punch. My fists hit the bag with so much force the chain rattles like the sound of a lighting bolt hitting a tree. I close my eyes as I hit the bag almost imagining it to be my farther I was punching.

"solo i ragazzi deboli piangono, mettiti insieme ragazzo" daddy shouted at me making me want to cry even more. I looked at my feet because he doesn't like it when I look him in the eye.
{only weak boys cry, get it together.}

"Sorry, daddy." I sniffled, trying to hold back new tears.

"cosa ho detto quando mi hai parlato?" He placed his hands on his hips, his scary eyes staring me down.
{what did I say when you speak to me?}