My Tragic Mafia Life | ✔️

37

Two weeks after, Josephine still hadn't forgotten about the incident. But everyone else had. Camillo didn't bother to contact her, and neither did she. Things had changed, and she was spun into their spider's web ensnared like a fly.

It came as no surprise, really, when Dante had told them about the night's fallout. Houston's brows had rose, Isla offered her a cup of tea with shaky hands, and Dante said no words of comfort. It was fine. She didn't want them anyway.

Dante decided to not mention it to Camillo, and informed Josephine to follow his lead. The plan was obvious: if Camillo had some sort of information about the shooting, then it was clear that he was involved. As for the rest of Camillo's friends, she made no mention to the bitter Lucia or her twin Luca who was at most awkward with silent stares. Valentina held no warm greetings for her, only uttering words that she couldn't understand with the language barrier.

Though the days were nerve-wracking, no other threat or incident had formed. In fact, it only pushed Dante harder to finding the killer. He was always pragmatic about his ordeals, only centering around his brother and death and vengeance. Josephine just didn't want any part of it.

But she was, and there was no way out of it now. Not when someone was out there trying to tidy their bloody trail. Like Dante and his friends, Josephine decided to take the fallout of that night as a grain of salt. She swallowed it whole with a bat of golden lashes, but it didn't mean she had forgotten about it either. No, when people choose not to say anything it means that their words become moths and swarm around in their heads, body by body. Idea with idea, until the entire thing pulsated out of mouths with shrill poison. Only then would they be satisfied.

Even so, Josephine shut her mouth and pretended to forget the whole thing.

In general, she was slowly becoming accustomed to keeping her two lives in balance. On one hand, she was her father's daughter. A perfect student who failed at nothing to be victorious in everything she had learned, ruling the school with a fearless monarch. On the other, she was a two-sided coin. Playing heads or tails at their mafia game which whomever suited her mood that day. She would smile at Dante, and then blush at Camillo. Camillo, who had gotten her involved with everything. Dante, who had forced her against her will to become his toy.

She would suffer humiliation for glory. If they wanted her to snap one way, she would bend. If they wanted to turn her another, she would twist. It was all precise, small stitching to the grand tapestral cooking in Josephine head. Failure was no escape, and she couldn't understand that before. Until now. They would all pay for what they had forced onto her. Josephine sensed it.

Like a bird, fear was her cage. And wraith were her wings.

The day after that night, coming to school had been like crossing a sea. Her brows had beaded with sweat and her skin looked like rotten yolk. She lived for the comfort of her home and dreaded the time spent at school full of their faces. But she was here, now, and still standing. Still breathing. Still alive.

Like usual, Josephine and her teammates wove around a bundle of cherry red lockers and leaned against them. Their painted eyes would watch any student that dared pass their wake, giggling at the length of their legs, the bridge of their nose, how their uniforms made them look like phantoms.

"Look at how she walks," chided Makenna at a girl wearing tennis shoes. Then she copied the girl's posture, her shoulders hunched and gait a bit limp. Her teammates laughed.

Josephine fiddled with a strand of her hair. "Well, that's an easy fix."

Makenna grinned with her pink lips. "No one's gonna want to date her if she looks like that."