His Greatest Redemption [REUPLOADED]

16

Samantha

The next morning I woke up covered in sweat.

My hair clung to the sides of my face and my shoulders in dampness, which only made me get up and shower again. My heart battered against my chest as I scrubbed myself clean, the memories from last night returning with a vengeance. It was nothing short of torture to force myself to go to sleep last night, but it was either that or having to stay awake with the images of an open-eyed, very dead Giovanni haunting me.

I regret falling asleep now, though. The nightmares were worse than the dead corpse. But everything clung to my skin all the same in the end. So really, there was no winning for me.

My papà was a monster, and he didn't just kill people —hurt them, but he destroyed them in the process. And it just so happened that I was just another product of his destruction.

My fear and my hatred for him couldn't be tamed. It was something wild and feral, almost like a fire blazing, only except this fire couldn't be extinguished.

Salvatore Cavallaro was dead, long gone, but my brain just couldn't comprehend what that meant. Besides me being free, I was still afraid and cautious of every little thing I did. I was calculated and aware, a habit I couldn't bite.

Sometimes I thought that all my demons were on a mission to claw their way up to the surface in order to try and determine exactly which one would fuck me up the most in that moment.

I remembered waking up screaming to the feeling of his hands all over my body the first few years. The toxic, metallic smell of my sister blood was a stench that I couldn't get rid of for months after that night, and even now, six years later, I could still smell it. It used to be worse, no therapist or doctor could help what was wrong with me, so I suppose in this case I shouldn't complain when I knew how overwhelming it really could get.

I'd take the night terrors over that any day.

I was drying my hair when a knock dragged me back into reality, and I turned around quickly to find Ronan standing in the doorway again. He was wearing a white t-shirt and some black ripped jeans matched with a pair of converse. I took a moment to glance at the tatted words, 'Cosa Nostra' written across his knuckles.

"Aren't you a little young for a tattoo?" I asked, bringing the towel away from my semi-dry hair.

"I got my first tattoo when I was thirteen. Me and Eli took turns." He smirked. His voice was calm and relaxing, so nonchalant and calm, completely different from his brothers. His quietness kind of reminded me of Spade, but Ronan was too gentle to be compared to him. "This tatto is a symbol of my loyalty to my brothers." He traced his finger across his knuckles. "I practically owe my life to Spade and Nico."

"Have you been initiated already?" I asked slowly.

He leaned against the doorway, "Taking the oath and swearing my silence to the Cosa Nostra was something past overdue."