Iris Giorgianni is no ordinary girl. She's living a double life: a neglected daughter at home, but a fighter on the streets. As the leader of The Sangue - one of the most wanted and well-known gangs in London - Iris has a reputation to uphold. Only...
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"There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle."
- Albert Einstein
THE WALLS were familiar in the house. A soft coral that smelt sweetly of pollen, adorned with frames of photos and paintings, stretched around each room, displaying years of life that were treasured and respected. The living room was warm and inviting, and the carpet, though old and worn out, was still soft with each touch; holding various pieces of furniture that seemed to work magnificently as an ensemble, despite their varying colours and styles.
"Vita, why have you not visited us? We have missed you." Warm hands, a kind smile – Nonna. And beside her, with his eyes closed, humming to the music on the radio was Nonno, tapping each beat softly on his knees. He was sitting in the corner, as he used to, enjoying his space, yet listening in on every conversation, presently and quietly relaxed at ease.
Iris let Nonna take her hand and smiled back lovingly. Nonna's hair was a clean white with silvery tones in her roots, so soft that if she were to lean over and hug Iris, it would feel as though a paintbrush had stroked her cheek. Nonna's face, though wrinkled with age, always stood out as one of great beauty – large green eyes, long eyelashes and structured cheekbones. La mia bellissima moglie, as Nonno used to say, kissing his love on both cheeks at every sight of her.
"I'm sorry." Iris said sadly. "I would visit you more, but mum has been busy, you know."
"Ah, ma per carità! Do not listen to them." Nonna's face filled with anger as she leant back in her chair, staring at a photo of her daughter from years ago. Alessandra had a large smile, resembling Nonno's greatly, with dark hair that tumbled down to her hips, tucked behind her ears as she held out a dandelion to the camera. "I bet it is your stupid father, no?"
It was difficult to think of Alessandra in the picture as Iris' mother. She looked happy and free, without a care in the world; nothing like the cold, stern woman she was used to. "They just work hard."
"Work, psh!" Nonno shouted, waving his hands in the air with a look of frustration on his face. He had not spoken for a while, but the mention of his daughter and her husband had seemed to ignite a sudden energy. "They can find time to see us, if they make it."
"Well, we have our Vita." Nonna said, smiling with adoration at her granddaughter, still holding her hand as if afraid to let go. They had always called Iris Vita, translating to 'Life' in Italian. Their family was large, but they had all moved far away, so far that nobody ever met up for longer than a couple of days – leaving Nonna and Nonno mostly alone in their last few years. Iris was Italian in her roots, as both her father and mother were born in Italy with Italian parents, but she did not know even a few words in Italian. Because of this, she was ashamed. If her grandparents hadn't learnt English for their grandchildren, she would not even be able to speak to them.
