Born In Violence ( A Mafia Romance book 2)

Chapter One

                                             Mia

Dear diary,

My nineteenth birthday is a week away. I know I shouldn't think it'll be any different from the last couple of years, but I'm hoping this will be fabulously different. I imagine how much fun it's going to be if my mom comes. I know I might be setting myself up for disappointment and heartbreak, but I wish she'd come. But most of all I wish she will take me with her when she leaves.

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"Close your eyes" Musa whispered to my ear, his breath fanning the tendrils around my neck "Tell me what you see" he whispered again, touching my shoulders lightly, pulling my body so I could lean a little on him.

I closed them, comfortably resting my upper body in his arms before he completely pulled me and tucked me in his warmth. It felt wonderful to have at least one person in the world indulging and buying into my dream.

"I see a big beautiful city bathed in this spectacular emerald green flashy bright lights, tall buildings enveloped in the most eye-catching structures I have ever seen, people boisterously walking together in oneness almost like they understood each other."

I fell silent, my eyes still closed, imagining the most beautiful city in the world. I did not know which country the city belonged to, but my heart yearned to go there, to see this magnificent city in person.

"I'm gonna take you there someday" Musa's soft voice kicked me out of my reverie right into my current reality of living from hand to mouth. "Oh" I enthused sounding skeptical, turning my face to look at him, his dark hair gleaming in the moonlight, his mouth curved in a secret smile. He stood up abruptly, bending down to hurl me up, smiling into my face as he brought his lips down to graze my cheek. I wasn't ready for a kiss, not yet, and he must have sensed the uneasiness and panic crowding my eyes because he stepped back and allowed me to withdraw from the circle of his arms.

"See you later," he said, as he walked away from our hidden place behind the bougainvillea my mother had planted over a year earlier. Left to my thoughts, it got me thinking, what did I want from him?

Did I want a serious relationship with him?

Was he the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with?

Was Musa the man I fantasized about every time I imagined myself in love?

Was I in love with him already and didn't realize it?

I closed my eyes again, this time covering my face with my hands, feeling frustration kicking me from all directions. I felt inadequate, lost, inferior and out of place; the way my grandmother made me feel from time to time when she sharply shouts 'you don't belong here' every time I did something she considered wrong.

Inadequacy was my constant companion. Failure had a permanent residence in my life. I felt like no matter what I did; my life would forever remain the same year after year.

Maybe my grandmother was right; my kind will never amount to anything. I will never be better than I am. I will always watch while everyone else around me went out to live their dreams while I remained behind still waiting tables, paying for the sin of being born illegitimate. Punished for something that I neither had a part of nor choose, yet my grandmother remained unabated.

Letting out a breath I wasn't aware I had been holding, I jumped out from the hiding place, my hands across my chest, heart in my throat as I walked around the curve to swing the gate open. I could hear my grandmother humming softly from inside the house, her beautiful voice soothing the remnant of my nervousness. Though I knew she would never love me as much as I wanted, a part of me liked her; a lot.

Still, I was a little afraid of her. I pepped myself before walking into her periphery, my hands sweaty and my heart beating a couple of miles a minute. "Where have you been?" she hissed, veins protruding on her face, a clear indication that she was about to give me a dress down. "I was out clearing my head" I whispered, convinced she wouldn't hear me, but she did.

"To clear what exactly?" She asked sarcastically "You have nothing to think over other than perhaps who to sleep with next time, or don't you think I know you've opened your legs for that sleazy boy who is always looking at you like you're a piece of meat?" She laughed hatefully, standing with her hands akimbo looking at me with distasteful eyes. I stood there soundlessly, staring at this woman whose venom I had lived with for more than a decade without so much as understanding the core of her hate. This was not only about my illegitimacy, and this was about something else, Musa was right. My grandmother's hostility stemmed from much more than the condition of my birth.

"Why do you hate me so?" I asked, my voice breaking. I was trying hard not to fall on her feet to beg for her love, not much just a little bit. Like a dog waiting on craps, that is how I felt, and I was ashamed of it.

I shouldn't have to beg for anybody's love; I was smart, beautiful, and lovable. If my grandmother chooses to hate me and blame me for being born out of wedlock, that was on her. Not me.

I walked past her to the tiny room that was my bedroom, catching a whiff of her cheap perfume as I did, reminding me of something Musa had mentioned in passing early last year; about my grandmother giving some members of the clergy a happy ending for a buck.

Suddenly, I realized what that meant. Oh, my God! And she had the audacity to judge me, let alone hate me as she did. The hypocrisy of the church!

Every Sunday, she dressed to go to church. I got out of the house before everyone else claiming the choir needed a few minutes to rehearse before the service and the last one to leave the church afterward. I always thought and admired her commitment, yet it was so she could engage in c****s or whatever else she did.

If Musa knew, it meant a bunch of others knew as well. We lived in a tiny village, the chance of covering something like this was slim to none. I did not know what to feel, but I knew nothing would change how she felt about me.