𝙎𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙀𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨: 𝘽𝙤𝙤𝙠 1
"I'd love to see you in a pretty silk dress"
"Would you?"
"So I can tear it off you"
"If you rip my pretty silk dress I'll blacken your eye"
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Marya Prescott may appear innocent on the su...
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When you weren't fed love on a silver spoon, you learned to lick it off knives. Each silver, every drop, you relished, inhaling and embodying it.
When the feeling falls short, it pushes you to the brink of madness, gnawing at your core until it exhausts you and pushes you towards bitterness. Going through it is akin to enduring torment, prompting you to want to rip yourself apart until you cease to exist. Yet, it also compels you to love more intensely. If you can't find someone to reciprocate your love, it compels you to love with greater fervor. It forms obsessions, ludicrous dreams, and fixations.
Emotions gather within the delicate vessel of the heart, gradually filling up until they spill over and fracture. The intricate mechanism was unable to withstand the weight of my circumstances, leading it to crumble and hide the shattered pieces beneath layers of other wreckage.
The fixations of persistent perfection only intensified when you found yourself in the shadow of someone else, whether it be as the runner-up or simply second in line. Being created for the sole purpose of being a backup plan, tugged the bloody and hearty strings of myself every day. The heir and the spare. That's what we were called. It was sick and twisted but no one could demand anything, it was just how I lived.
Though suddenly, the spare transformed into the ideal heir, but the love and attention that should have accompanied the title were torn apart and discarded before I was ever given the title. The longing for familial love still lingered within me, as the deprivation or fleeting moments of secret affection only inflicted a far greater pain.
All was forgiven by the appearance of my niece in this harsh and cold world. The Made Men, which included my father and grandfather, vehemently denied the existence of children born out of wedlock, deeming it a disgrace to our century-old family name. However, upon reflection, I wouldn't be surprised to discover a long-lost sibling, aunt, or uncle. Despite their unwavering commitment to the Cosa Nostra traditions, these men were still human beings—men who were oblivious to the concept of boundaries and refused to accept apologies.
With her fiery red hair, piercing amber eyes, and mischievously upturned lips, the young girl resembled a blazing fireball. Despite being just three years old, she possessed a remarkable understanding beyond her peers. Clearly gifted, she shared a common fate with the other children in the Vitalis family – being overlooked unless you were male or the firstborn. However, things were a lot harder for little Milani than for any other Vitalis children. She was my brother's daughter— his bastard child. He never got to marry her mother since she died whilst in labor.
May her soul rest in peace, she wouldn't survive our world.
The moment my brother brought her to our doorstep, my world shifted drastically within the Mafia and on a personal level. I was suddenly thrust into the role of sole heir and a second father to Milani Vitalis, as her own father was too consumed by grief to even see five fingers in front of him.
