"They say family is forever; blood is thicker than water. But what happens if all I wanted to do was kill my own family?"
A boy, Ace Moretti to be specific, was destined to be part of the family mafia. He had no other choice but to be in the mafia...
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- Ace Moretti -
"Baby sister?"
Slamming my hand into the punching bag, I had lost count with the amount of times that I had hit it. It had been hours since I had pretended that there was not blood smeared all over the punching bag, as I knew that it was mine. I knew that if I stopped now, that there would no longer be the need for this punching bag, and that I would just sit down and break down into pieces.
I couldn't let that happen though, as my brother had sat me down, after I had been dragged home from the hospital, to meet the said girl that had once been in my arms, before I had ducked down into the basement, prepared to take everything out on a punching bag. It was what I knew best, and that was how I liked it.
This was the one thing that I knew how to do. I knew how to control my anger, and that was to put it against something that couldn't speak back or tell me to stop. This was something that I had seen my brothers do, and it made me just hit the punching bag even harder, knowing that I was just following in their footsteps, no matter how hard I tried to spin the wheel the other way and get a different outcome; to get something better.
I had tried so hard to be different than them. I tried so hard to be a nicer person, but I knew that deep down in my core, there was no changing my genetics that had designed me to be a killing machine because of the family name that I held. I had tried so hard to chose a sport that my brothers had once tainted with their little fingers. I even went to boarding school, so that I could get away from their reputation.
It was always to just get away. Until they decided that they wanted to get away from me, when all I did was come back to say goodbye to my father, like even my own father knew that he had to tick it off on his checklist that he had seen his least favorite child. I hope he is happy that he finally has a little girl that is his own.
A great way to come back from the hospital, was being faced with your big brother, demanding that you stay present for your little sister, like your the one that is old enough to run off into the night and drink away his life, so he must have had me confused with one of my other brothers. He told me that my mother, had been killed and replaced by the lady that had had Ingrid, and the two of them had been given one of my brothers apartments to stay in until they found their family.
Apparently, they were just two pawns in a game of all the big boys. Nobody had outrightly said it, but I knew that it was for the better that I hadn't said goodbye to Ingrid, but she will forever hold a special part of my heart, labelled with her name. She deserved better, and I am glad that she got out. But, I am the one left without a mother, knowing that she had died when I was about 5 years old.
She would be so disappointed in me, for never getting the chance to say goodbye to her. I had trusted my big brothers, and had always wanted to be the person that got to say goodbye to whoever was passing away, no matter how much I may cry. I knew that I would have to mature and face up to it, and I was prepared to do that at the age of 5. But now, here I was, at 17 almost 18 years old, I was getting prepared to say goodbye to my only other living parent.
