Estelle

Prologue (edited)

I have some songs above that really fit the story.^^^

Earthy, damp, a smell of something living. That is my favorite smell. The smell of dirt and the varying smells of plants.

My garden at Mr. Brova's manor is full of luscious greenery. He gave me freedom to do his small 10 foot by 8 foot flower bed. For this, I chose to stay simple and stick to filling it with hellebore and a few patches of black mondo grass.

The summer sun beats down on me as I focus on my work.

"Lovely, Jane. Thank you," Mr. Brova says approaching me. I stand up and brush the dirt from my knees.

"Of course! Let me know if you want anything else filled in" I say, whipping dirt and sweat from my forehead.

My passion for gardening is the only thing that keeps me going these days. With the drama at home, putting together diverse and beautiful plants distracts me.

Returning home, I am surprised to see my father is not there. Usually by 5pm he is passed out on the couch with a bottle of Fireball whisky in his hands. This time, however, he seems to be missing.

I place the small amount of groceries I can afford into the fridge. Since I moved out 5 years ago on my 20th birthday, I have tried time and time again to get away from my father. He is not abusive but has a troubled life. I'll move out and a month later he will show up at my door with nowhere to go. Unable to turn him away, I let him in and he lives off me until he vanishes again. The cycle repeats itself every year.

He used to be a good father. I am hopeful that he will leave his place of work, and be who I need him to be again.

I guess my mother had the same hope too.

He thinks he is good at keeping his "business" away from me but he fails miserably. I've seen enough to know the people he works with by name and face. My father works for the mafia in selling major drugs. He is dirt to the rich, wealthy mafia members and only does the dirty work when he is not drunk on his daughter's couch.

"Jane?" My dad calls, probably home from work or the bar.

"I'm in the kitchen."

My father walks in instead of stumbling and I pull my head out of the fridge to look at him. His face is void of emotion and a chill runs down my spine.

"I need you to meet someone. Follow me."

Before I can say anything, he walks out of the room and to the front door. I hesitantly follow.

Outside is a sleek black Mercedes, and in front of it stands a man I know all too well. Accelius Vallorani.

"This is Jane."

As my father speaks to the man, he sounds his voice is small. He doesn't make eye contact with him and keeps his eyes on the ground.

"Yes, I have met Jane before." The man looks at me with a cocky smile and a sparkle in his blue eyes.

Mr. Vallorani is 27 with a sharp jaw that boosts his arrogant ego. He is dangerous and powerful. He gets everything he wants with no one to tell him no. He is a narcissist who has had my father do plenty of horrible things for his "business". The fact that he is at my house is terrifying to me. What could he possibly want?

"You are right, Jane is perfect. A beautiful woman," Mr. Vallorani says with his Italian accent. I don't blush.

"Jane, look... I... I ran into a lot of debt with Mr. Vallorani and I... I need..." My father is in no way afraid of asking things of me. Who he is afraid of is Mr. Vallorani. 

"Mr. Estelle is trying to say," Mr. Vallorani gives a threatening smile to my father, "that he owes me a lot of money. In return he said you would be happy to help him."

"How?" My voice is small and I'm afraid of the answer.

"You are to marry me." Mr. Vallorani smiles. His smile is meant to be charming, but since I know who this man is I cannot help the chill his grin gives me.

I look at my father in shock. He just looks at me expectantly. He expects me to take care of him in the same way I always have been.

I'm speechless. The last few times I have met this horrible man, he treated me like the offspring of dirt. Something that ruined his coffee.

Mr. Vallorani's eyes travel down my figure and I feel as if my clothes are suddenly too thin. They take me in with pride as he observes the prophet he is about to make.

"I..." I feel myself growing pale as Mr. Vallorani approaches me. I stiffen as he takes my hand and brings it to his lips, kissing the back of it. His lips are soft and gentle but his hand is tight and threatening. The contrasting touch makes bile rise in my throat.

"I'll be here tomorrow to pick you up." He takes a step back. "Pack..." he glances at my dim, cheap home, "whatever you have... Jane Vallorani."

I can't marry him.

He is notorious for marrying and divorcing women, some of whom end up dead. He has had four wives in the past 6 years. This would be the end for me.

He won't even be making money from marrying me unlike his other wives. I am just a toy and a passing one at that. I will most likely be dead by the end of the year when he tires of me.

He runs many drug businesses and I have even heard that he may be involved in human trafficking. He takes what he wants and always comes out on top.

I hate the life my father dragged me into. The life that destroyed my mother. The thought has been in the back of my mind for a while and now I have to act on it. That night, I grab everything I need and leave my dad on the couch.

Before closing the door, I grab the wad of cash I have hidden under my bed. My father's hand hangs lazily over the couch. I cannot help but think that this money will be gone within a week, but I have to do what I can to help him even as I am leaving for good. He may not be father of the year but he used to be. No matter our current relationship, I still value who he used to be before mom died. Maybe this cash will do some good and turn his life around.

I leave the wad of 100s on the kitchen table and rush out the door.

It is time to run far, far away. Knowing Mr. Vallorani, he will not be happy with what I have done. He will take it as an insult, a blow to his ego. He will come after me. He has all the money in the world and all the arrogance needed to drag me back dead or alive.