Sorellina | ✔️

Chapter Fifty-Five

Maddie's POV:

When I wake up, I'm laying on a pillow on the couch, a blanket laid over me. It's around 3:00 in the afternoon. I've been sleeping so late lately and its not something I'm used to. I haven't even thought about the idea of going to school, winter break started last week and doesn't end until next year which reminds me of how close we are to Christmas.

I stand up from the couch and walk into the kitchen, no one is in there but I already know to go to the microwave for a plate. Sure enough, there's some eggs and 2 sausages and a pancake. After warming it up, I bring it to my room and eat it in silence. The silence is surprisingly comforting, despite my troubled thoughts and I let the quiet sink in as I eat.

Then the longing sadness returns.

Every moment of quiet gives me time to think of everything I could've done differently to avoid being here at this point, or maybe how things could be different if I'd been born to different parents altogether? How much better everyone's lives would be.

Just then my door opens and Alessandro walks in. Most likely just checking on me because I disappeared from the kitchen. He looks at my plate and nods approvingly.

"You're eating without anyone telling you to. Good job."

Something about being praised for something that would have gotten me in so much trouble before makes me feel odd. My inside constrict so tightly, but at the same time they feel impossibly full of appreciation and sadness. A weird mixture, I know.

"Do you need anything else?" He asks.

The mere sight of him makes me so upset, and it's not him, but whenever someone shows even a little bit of care for me, I feel the need to just tell them everything. And I want to, but I don't want to complain right now. I don't want to vent, I don't want to feel out of control, the way I always do when I'm pouring my heart out to my brothers. But when has Alessandro ever made me feel bad for opening up? Or told me that he wishes I'd stopped talking so much?

I need help but I never ask for it, can I expect people to automatically know what I need and when all the time? Maybe at some point, they'd be able to pick up my habits and recognize when I need it, but if I never show them, they'll never know.

I guess he doesn't really expect me to respond, and he turns away to leave.

"I need..." But my voice stops. It sounds so foreign to me after not saying much for so long. I don't know what I need and so I can't verbalize it. Alessandro turns back toward me at the sound of my voice and waits patiently.

I open my mouth to talk. I want to shut down. I want to say never mind and forget that I ever even opened my mouth to talk. I don't want to embarrass myself any further. But I want to talk because I want to be comforted, I want to be reassured. Is that dumb to say at my age? Am I too old for that.

"I need, um..." I stop again, "I need to talk."

His eyes narrow slightly and he crosses his arms, watching me intently. I take that as a green light.

"I want to say that I'm sorry," I begin, "But I don't know what I'm even sorry for. I'm also...I'm confused, and I feel like I over reacted before, because I'm not angry at you guys for lying about the..." I hesitate, not being fully able to wrap my head around this concept, "About the mafia. I know you didn't want me to worry and all I've done since learning about it is worry. And I...I don't know how to feel about mom's letter because I don't want to give away anything I inherited from her because it's all I have. But I also...I feel guilty because I don't want to be a part of the mafia, but you guys didn't have a choice and so I feel like it's my-I feel like it's my duty to bear my weight, but-" I'm cut off by my own sob that finally escapes.

I've had so much time to dwell on this. I don't want to be a part of the mafia. Violence has always held such a dark part in my life, and though I don't think they'd ever force me to partake in it, it makes me ill even thinking about it.

He confirms it when he responds, "We would never make you participate in this, I'm not even certain I'd allow you to had you asked."

"I don't want you guys to talk about it, it just, it's scary right now," I say. My voice is so small, it's even quiet to my own ears, "Can you do it like before?"

Before when I knew nothing about this. Before when I didn't understand that ignorance was bliss, and I thought they were unfair and secretive just for the hell of it. He nods once and I feel relieved.

"I'm sorry," I say, finally succumbing to the tears, "I'm sorry."

I'm apologizing for everything. I'm apologizing for dad's death, and mom's death, and Dante's death, and for ever allowing myself to be weak enough to be pregnant and then for being weak enough to let her die, and for overhearing them talking, and for getting kidnapped, and for not wanting to be a part of dad's mafia, and for everything. Despite how unreasonable I know it is, I apologize anyway.

He sighs watching me, the first and most amount of distress or empathy I've ever seen him show but immediately his expression is stoic again, but he doesn't turn and leave or give a cold response and tell me to finish my dinner.

"I remember something you said to me a few months ago," He says, "Correct me if I'm wrong. But you told me that I was only 13. That I deserved the chance to be a child."

I vaguely remember that, but it fills my heart with a sad sort f happiness that he remembers it at all. But then I realize my hypocrisy. How could I tell him something I don't really believe. Except when it comes to him, I do believe it. Maybe because I feel guilty in some twisted way, but it's how I feel about all of them.

He watches me for a moment, almost curiously, before turning to leave. I hurry to get to my feet, I just need to do this.

He turns toward me at the sound of my plate and fork clattering as I hurry over to him, before hugging him as tight as I can.