Her Reign: A Mafia Love Story

Violette Reigns: The Beginning

I look in the mirror.

My long hair curls in waves, reaching my mid back, the color of chocolate with cinnamon highlights. My green eyes stare back, foresty and vibrant. I've been told by a lot of people that they are my most striking feature, but I'm partial to the freckles that are sprinkled across my cheeks and shoulders. I'm wearing a plain white sundress and a blue fuzzy cardigan. The dress is a bit snug at the top, flaring out into ruffles. My creamy white thighs peak out, a reminder as to how pale I am even in the dead of summer, and living in Palm Springs for 18 out of the 22 years of my life. Now I'm in Delaware. I sigh, watching as my chest rises with the motion.

Behind me, my room is bare.

It used to be so cozy. Blue comforter, ( I can't stand pink) band posters, (panic at the disco, five seconds of summer, fall-out boy) and extra blankets (I'm smaller than most, and no matter how hard I try I have like zero body fat. Even in July I'm freezing my a** off).

I had a small desk in the corner that was once littered with papers of drafted novels and ideas. Now it's stripped bare, no bed frame, no matrice, no broken swivel chair.

I'm moving to New York, it's a small drive for me, because I'm used to traveling. I moved a lot as a kid, my parents were constantly in the car.

Only fitting they died in it.

I remember the day they died. I was only thirteen . They were on the way to pick me up from school. I waited for over an hour for them, but they never came.

Waiting for the gray minivan to pull up around the corner, I wasn't prepared for a vision of blue and red to drive up and inform me they died.

It was winter, they said something about black ice. It was April in the south, I had my doubts.

No one looked into it, and I was too young to do so.

"Are you Violette Reign?"

The police man bends down, his mustache bristling. He smells like smoke, it burns my eyes.

That's what I tell myself as I start crying.

"Your parents- they're," He sighs. "Do you have any family you can stay with?"

"I-I-I," I stutter. "N-no. I'm a-a-alone," I sob.

He stands up and sighs, turning to my teacher. I don't hear what he says next. I don't remember. I've blocked it out, that lonely April evening, the day my childhood shattered.

I was put into a foster home, Janet and Gary, who were as mean as they were fake. I was one of seven kids, crammed into their small home and forced to work. They had two kids of their own, and the other five were picked up to basically be servants. I babysat, did their homework, and any money I earned went straight to them. Shortly after I moved in, Gary realised that I was a good writer and put me to work as his own personal ghost writer. That's how I got good at writing. At thirteen, I was writing work for this forty year old has-been under his name and no one noticed it was me, only that his writing suddenly got better. I hate them, and can hardly stand to talk about them. They were somewhere in Florida, a state I vowed never to step foot in again.

A single tear falls down my cheek, and I turn away from the mirror. I'm leaving the small town I only just settled in, Upper Delaware, with its plain people and even plainer lifestyle.

I don't know why I'm moving to New York. I just feel it sort of...calling. My dreams are full of bright lights and cloudy nights, sometimes faceless men in suits. It's a strange sense of Deja-vu, even though I've never been to New York and these men are like none I've seen. I can't see their faces, but I know, deep in my heart.

I've always wanted to be a writer, and you don't find many authors in Delaware.

I've looked.

I'm excited, something I don't feel very often. My phone buzzes. I look at it.

It's Sean.

"Hey," He texts. I don't respond.

"U up?" Sean texts again. I glance at the clock above my phone. It's four in the afternoon. I sigh and put my phone down, done with the mediocre men in my life.

I look back into the mirror. It shatters. I blink, confused, and reach out to it. It cuts my finger.

"That's never happened before," I say to myself. My shattered reflection doesn't respond.

I guess I'm not taking it with me.
I look around my empty room one last time, grab my bag, and leave.

The door closes behind me. I walk down the driveway and sigh, lost in my thoughts.

Hesitantly, I open the car door. It's a small VW bug, who I nicknamed Itsy. People say it's a weird name, and that I'm weird for naming her. They say that car names are for trucks or sports cars, but I don't care what they think. She's old, but he's true. She's the longest friend I've had- I saved up for weeks. I didn't let my foster parents know, hiding the money in a shoebox or cans. I worked hard, taking odd jobs here and there. The second I turned 18, I bought her and moved across country to a journalism job in New Jersey. I moved around the East Coast, staying north for a couple years until I landed in the small town I am in today.

Was in. I won't be here for much longer.

Time to start my new life.

a/n: so this is a story ive been thinking about for a while... i'm really excited :) sorry the first chap is so short :/ I promise that the rest of them wont be so short!!!! i love mafia tropes and am so exited so start writing/uploading my own :) any and all comments are much appreciated <3 <3 they mean so much to me lol... you guys are the greatest!!! shout-out to ma gurl livi for proof-reading!!!! you encouraged me to create an account and write this :) <3 luvvvv you guys!!!

see you in the next chap!!!!

xoxo 

rosy :)