Alora Imari has the face of an angel, but the body of a vixen. She's feared by all. Her and her elder brother, Giovanni Imari, were passed down the family business; becoming mobsters for the Italian mafia.
Many describe Alora as being heartless and...
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I was in love once.
I was sixteen and completely naïve. It had been a product of my parents' doing. I, of course, was not aware of that. His name was Maddox. He had been apart of the Sicilian Mafia. My parents had the grand idea of introducing us and deliberately leaving out the part of, essentially, an arranged marriage. They believed I did not have what it takes to become the next leader of the Italian-American Mafia. They thought it was genius, we would get married and therefore, form an alliance between both of our mafias.
I, later, found out that Maddox knew very well of this plan. I, on the other hand, had no idea what both of our families had transpired. My family excluded to inform me that Maddox was doing this for his family, not because he had actually saw a future with me.
I was gullible. I fed into all the lies he told me. I believed him when he told me that he had loved me. I believed him when he told me that he wanted to get married when I turned eighteen. At the time, he had been merely nineteen.
I was completely in love with him in just a couple of months. His witty banter and sea green eyes had charmed me over. I thought he was the person I was meant to spend the rest of my life with. I solely believed that he was the one for me. God, how naïve was I?
A few months before my eighteenth birthday, I had overheard a heated conversation between Maddox, his father and my father. Apparently Maddox had fallen in love with a girl and wanted out of the agreement. I listened as he told our fathers that he never loved me and would never love me. I didn't cry. Instead, I was filled with anger. I left the estate and went to the illegal underground boxing ring. It had been located in downtown New York. Everyone from our type of business went there to blow off steam and bet on illegal fights.
That day I won every match I had entered in. When I returned home my hands were busted and so was my face. I had a bleeding lip and black eye. My knuckles had several gashes and open wounds. But I'd rather take the physical pain than the pain of Maddox's words.
I stormed inside my father's office and broke off their deal. I told him that the Italian-American Mafia would soon be ours (Gio and I) and I would prove to him that I was worthy enough. It took five years, but I did it.
Ever since the incident with Maddox, I had major trust issues. I didn't trust any male that wanted to be in my life. I never let myself develop feelings because I was terrified that I would get hurt again. I didn't want to put myself in that vulnerable position again. I had turned selfish and cold. I was once a selfless, caring, kind person, but that shit changed me. In order to never get hurt again, I built walls around myself. I never let anyone in. I went years thinking I wasn't good enough and ever since then, I told myself that I was never going to allow someone to treat me like that again.
I started my "rebellious stage" after that. As soon as I turned eighteen, I found the best tattoo artist in New York and started to get tatted up. I went simple at first and got my right sleeve done in a couple of sessions. After was my left sleeve, then my hand/knuckle tattoos. My most recent was my neck. I've gotten them all done in a period of six years. Even though I had only started to get tattoos to rebel against my parents, I soon fell in love with the way the needle pierced my skin. Tattoos are a work of art and no one can convince me otherwise.
