✥ The Billionaire & His Secretary ✥
[part two] Violette Rossi, the younger daughter of the feared Italian mob boss Rafael Rossi, is challenged by her own blood to make her own identity apart from her father's. When she is offered a job to work for t...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Desiree Efrain Today...
"I will not break. I will not break. I will not break." His soft chants were the only things that echoed in the dark basement.
I hated being down here, hated the way the chill clung to you like a second skin, hated how the stench of blood never completely disappeared no matter how many times they tried to rid the cement floor of it, and what I hated the most was how familiar I had become with this basement.
The chants continued to echo but even through that I could hear what his voice reeked of. Fear. Fear of knowing deep inside that you will break, that eventually no matter how much you try to talk your lies into life it still would not be enough. It will never be enough and no one knows that better than me.
I don't say a word as I approach him but I don't have to, he knows. It's good he does, I don't like to talk much these days especially not when the person in front of me is going to be dead sooner than later. What a waste of words.
His jet-black hair is matted but does not give away the fact that it is because of his own stupidity. The idiot thought it was a smart idea to jump out of a glass window. But I guess people don't think when all they are focusing on is staying alive. What a waste of energy.
"I will not break. I will not break. I will not break. I will not break."
I smile as I look him right in his eyes. Kneeling before him I say, "Ты сломаешься. Все ломаются." (You will break. Everybody breaks.)
I broke so will he.
Violette Rossi Today...
My hands shook as I buttoned my work shirt. My eyes met my own in the mirror and I could not help but think about how she was alive. That my older sister was alive.
This is not something I could keep from my father, not that I wanted to. My father was a jagged man, all sharp edges and no soft corners. Except when it came to my mother, the only exception to everything in his life.
My mother was a strong woman. Sorry, I should say my mother is a strong woman. She's just a different type of strong these days. Her nature always calm and composed. Deep down even she knows that the only thing keeping my father going till this day is the fact she was still besides him. He blames himself for what happened to my older sister and the guilt of it would have swallowed him whole by not if it weren't for my mother.
I don't know how she did it, I don't know if she even knows that there are moments I have caught her in the middle of doing something and then lost in thought. Her eyes would glaze over with tears, tears she never sheds not anymore at least, before she finally breaks out of wherever she goes and continues on with her task as if nothing even happened.
I never called her out in those moments. Never thought it would be appropriate to do so. Everyone was entitled to their pain, my mother more so. It is the only emotion she has connecting her to my sister nowadays. And I know deep inside she fears that if she allowed herself to be happy that she would forget. Forget that she had another daughter who still exists.
