[COMPLETED]
Book 1 in the Del Rosso series
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"I have three words for you Ace Del Rosso. I hate you."
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River Arccadi is the Spanish mafia Donna and has been ind...
TW: mentions of abuse (read with caution) ___________________________________
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— It was my fifteen birthday. I was hiding in my room because I was afraid of the man standing outside. He told me he had a gift for me but I already knew what type of gift it really was. He did it every year without fail.
My breathing picked up when he calmly walked into my room with a belt in his hand. He sauntered over to me with a sinister smirk on his face.
The man that was suppose to protect me from the monsters under the bed became one himself. I feared my own father. I feared for my own life, wondering when he would just take it away from me. Wondering when he would end my suffering.
Using his belt, he landed a harsh slash to my back and even after I begged him to stop, he didn't. He didn't fucking listen. He never did.
He left me bruised up and in pain as he calmly walked back out of my room. Not before stopping and half turning to me to say the words that will be forever engraved into my mind.
"Happy fifteenth birthday, son." — The air around me is suffocating. I can't breathe. I need to get out of here but my mind is stuck in a tortuous cycle of remembering those days. All those sleepless nights. The pain I went through for doing something that he didn't like.
That wasn't the worse part though. The worse part was the aftermath. I would have to cover up the marks he made because if anyone were to see them then the pain would be worse than last time.
Why he did what he did was a reason unknown to me. He told me everyday without fail that I was to blame for my brothers death.
I was young when he passed away due to a car accident. Twelve years old to be exact, he was sixteen. I was in the car with him. I told him I wanted to watch him play hockey so he took me to the arena my family owned and we played until it was dark out.
On the way back home, a truck had collided with our car from the side. I survived but he didn't. He didn't fucking survive.
My father took the news awfully and ever since that day I never saw the man who raised me, instead I saw a monster. It was like he was a whole new person.
My mother was there for me. She suffered his punishments too but I always protected her. I'd rather have more scars on my body then see my mother cry.
I was sixteen when my father finally passed away along with my mother. The years of pain finally was finally over but I lost my family. They were in a explosion that the Russians operated. And ever since I lost my mother I haven't been the same.
How could I be when all this guilt follows me around everywhere I go? When my fathers words are still engraved into my mind.
This is your fault. You are the reason he is dead. Why couldn't you die instead of him?
