*Mafia boss and his lost love*
Alessa Romanov had endured a difficult childhood. Kidnapped at two years old, she had no memory of her biological family and spent fifteen years in captivity. It wasn't until her stepfather's death that she was finally...
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I woke up in a dimly lit cell, my head throbbing with pain. I groaned, trying to push myself up. As my surroundings came into focus, a sense of dread washed over me.
"Kidnapped again?" I muttered to myself. "Man, people can't get enough of me."
I sat there, my heart pounding, as the cell door creaked open. A figure stepped into the dim light, and my blood ran cold when I saw who it was.
"Hello there, Alessa, dear," my dad said with a chilling smile. His smile made goosebumps rise on body, Questions flooded my mind, but I couldn't bring myself to voice them. How had I ended up in this nightmare with my own father standing before me?
He approached slowly, each step echoing in the cold, damp cell. His eyes bore into mine, and I could see a mixture of emotions flickering in their depths - anger and something else I couldn't quite decipher.
He grabbed my chin firmly, his grip hurting. "It's rude to ignore your elders, Alessa, dear."
I recoiled, trying to pull away from his grip, but it only tightened. His fingers dug into my skin, and I winced in pain. Anger welled up inside me, and with all the strength I could muster, I spat at him. It landed on his cheek, and for a moment, shock registered on his face.
But then, he swiftly wiped it away and backhanded me, his hand grabbing my hair. The pain from his slap radiated through my cheek, and I could taste the metallic tang of blood in my mouth where his ring had cut my lip. I glared at him, defiance burning in my eyes.
"Your first mistake, Alessa," he hissed, "was that you thought I loved you."
In that moment, something inside me snapped. Perhaps it was the years of pent-up anger and frustration or the realization that I had been living a lie. With a surge of adrenaline, I managed to free myself from the ropes that he had tied me up with, I stood, I balled my fists and, with every ounce of strength I could muster, I punched him square in the jaw.
"Your mistake, Dad," I spat the word at him, "was thinking I'd always be your helpless little girl."
Without thinking, I lifted my leg and drove my foot into his abdomen with all the force I could muster. He doubled over, wheezing, and collapsed to the ground.
"Just like your mother," he whispered.
My heart stopped, and I stared at him in disbelief. "What did you just say?"
"That bitch cheated on me. Me," he spat out, his voice dripping with venom. "So, I got rid of her. My poor, innocent sons believed that. Pathetic, really."
My mind was a whirlwind of confusion and anger. "You killed her?" I whispered, unable to comprehend the gravity of his confession.
He didn't answer with words, but the chilling smile on his face said it all.
"You're not even my child, Alessa," he continued, his tone laced with bitterness. "You remind me so much of your mother."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You want to kill me because I remind you of mom?"
"Yes," he said coldly. "You're a living, breathing reminder of her betrayal."
I took a step back, the reality of the situation sinking in. My father was a monster, and I needed to get away from him as quickly as possible.
"You're insane," I said.
But I refused to believe that. As he lunged toward me, I ducked to the side, narrowly avoiding his grasp. I had to find a way out of this nightmare and back to the family who loved me, not the man who wanted me dead.
He laughed, a chilling sound, "Maybe but you're trapped here, just like your mother was. You can't get away"
"And that is where you're wrong, Dad," a voice came from behind. Lorenzo. But he wasn't alone. From behind him came my other brothers.
Then, Lorenzo reached out and deftly slipped my phone from my pocket. He held it up for our father to see that a call was going on. "Didn't think to check her phone, did you?"
Our father's face twisted with shock and anger as he realized his oversight. "She's not even your sister," he seethed.
"She might not be my sister by blood," he said, looking at me, "but I don't care about that. She'll always be my little sorella."
My father- or well Alexander, tried to flee but a single gunshot to his stomach made him crumple to the floor. He clutched his wound in pain, his face contorted with agony.
"You'll regret this," he spat, his voice filled with venom. Lorenzo approached our father with a determined look in his eyes. "No, You'll regret ever messing with my family,"
He grabbed his gun and handed it to me. "Would you like the honors, baby sis?"
"It'd be my pleasure," I took the gun from his hand and looked at him, lying there helpless, I felt a strange mix of emotions. Anger, hatred, fear - they all coursed through me. But there was something else too, something I hadn't expected.
Pity.
Despite everything he had done, he was still my father, and a part of me couldn't help but feel sorry for the broken man before me.
But I knew what needed to be done. I took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.
The gunshot echoed through the room, and my father's body went still.
