Fool for you (Z.M)

Spain is beautiful, in the kind of way that makes you feel like you're being watched. Like the sun is staring straight at you, waiting to see if you're going to burn or just go blind from the brightness. The streets always smell like oranges and smoke, like something sweet that's about to turn bitter. I grew up with my hands in both.

There are two versions of life here: the one people pretend is real and the one I actually live in. I wasn't raised on fairytales. I was raised on blood, guns, and my father's voice echoing down the hallways at three a.m., sharp and cold like the barrel of a pistol pressed to your ribs.

Being the daughter of a mafia boss is nothing like the movies. There's no glittering ballroom. No dramatic violins when someone gets shot. There's just business. And fear. And silence. Lots of silence.