Chapter Two
1232 Words
The ride back home was silent and sharp like a knife. Shame wrapped around me, even though I was the victim. That’s how they made me feel—that I was the one to blame.
The five black cars passed through the towering iron gate and the bulletproof concrete walls of the Raventhorn Mansion—where the Hayden family lived for ages.
It felt like I was attending my own funeral. We stepped out of the car and walked into the mansion, all under the curious eyes of the guards and servants, while the security armed guards surrounded us as we walked.
“You’ll leave for Milan, Italy, in two hours,” Papa Gerald declared once we were inside, while turning his back to me. “You’ll stay there until I decide what to do with you.” And without giving me a chance to speak or defend myself, he walked out.
His words were final, his tone unforgiving.
“But I didn’t—”
“I knew she’d bite the hand that raised her, merda, disgusting,” Aunt Miranda hissed, spitting out the words as she looked at me with disgust.
“I was set up!” I screamed at the top of my lungs before collapsing to the floor. I had never even left New York City in my entire life—how was I supposed to survive alone in a country where I knew no one?!
I looked at Ricardo with tears and desperation. “Rick, frattelo, brother, it was Liana! She’s the one who set me up—she’s the reason I ended up like this!” But he turned his face away, refusing to look at me.
“And was she the one who made you sneak out of the mansion at night like a thief, stubido, stupid?” Miranda asked, exhaling smoke from her cigarette.
With a deep sigh, Mama Marcellia said, “Don’t worry, Mila. We’re only sending you away until things calm down. Gerald has already managed to delete the video from all social media, but it’ll take time for everything to settle and for people to forget. Especially since the man who…”
She stopped herself mid-sentence, swallowing the word she was about to say. Lifting her head to keep her tears from falling, she continued,
“That man… he’s one of Gerald’s most dangerous enemies.”
It felt like a bucket of ice-cold water had been poured over my head.
Oh my God!! I have been used to stab Papa Gerald in the back!
And…
Did everyone see that video??
Aunt Miranda spat in my face as she snarled, “You filthy little devil. I don’t know why my brother Gerald brought you back. He should’ve thrown you out into the streets where you belong.”
This wasn’t the first time Aunt Miranda had insulted me—I was used to it by now.
But this was the first time she did it openly… and no one stopped her.
I stumbled standing, looked at them in panic, hoping to find someone—anyone—who would believe me, who would hold me.
But…
I wasn’t used to their coldness, so their silence felt like knives piercing my heart.
They were all I had in this world—my only family.
I collapsed to the floor again, screaming that I was innocent.
“It’s not how it looks in the video! Someone edited it—someone faked it!”
Papa Gerald came back at the sound of my hysterical screams, pain and disappointment clouding his eyes… maybe even heartbreak.
For a moment, a flicker of hope lit up inside me—
But it shattered the second he spoke.
“Basta! Enough!” he snapped. “Get out of my sight.”
“Get out of my house. You’re just like her. She gave birth to a monster before she died!”
It didn’t take a genius to figure out who he meant, even though it was the first time I had ever heard anyone in this house mention my biological mother.
Like a lioness, Mama Marcellia stood between me and Papa Gerald, her voice steady, fierce, and full of defiance as she said,
“Take that back!”
Oh God, this day just keeps getting stranger.
It was the first time I had ever heard Mama Marcellia stand up to Papa Gerald.
She had always feared him—always obeyed him blindly.
He exhaled carelessly and waved his hand.
“Can’t you see? No matter how hard we try…”
Then he looked at me with pure disgust and finished,
“She’ll turn out just like her.”
“Like who?”
The question slipped from my trembling lips, my voice barely holding together under the weight of the tears choking my throat.
My eyes widened in a mix of shock and fear.
It was the first time I had ever heard anyone speak about my mother this way.
Who was she? And why would they say such things about her?
Without warning, five fingers left a red mark on Papa Gerald’s cheek.
Breathing heavily, sweat dripping down her forehead, Mama Marcellia roared,
“Mila is my daughter. Do you hear me? My daughter. And I won’t let anyone speak to her that way—no one. Not even you. Do you understand?”
My jaw dropped—I hadn’t seen that coming at all.
And to make things even stranger, Papa Gerald closed his eyes for a moment… then turned and walked away, leaving us behind.
~~~
Two hours were never enough to say goodbye.
And yet, here I am at the airport, standing between Mama Marcellia, Ricardo, and Marco.
Marco was usually indifferent, cold even. But here and now, he was avoiding my eyes.
For a moment, I thought he was just like Papa Gerald—that he didn’t even want to see me anymore.
But then he shocked me.
The moment I picked up my suitcase to head toward the plane, he pulled me into a tight hug… and broke down crying.
Crying like his heart was shattering.
I was stunned.
I had never seen any of Hayden's men cry—especially not Luca or Marco.
Through his sobs, he whispered,
“Forgive us… we couldn’t protect you, sorella, sister.”
For someone who could cut off a man's fingers in cold blood or rip out his throat with bare hands, crying during a goodbye felt… strange.
Unnatural, even.
Marco was the only one who didn’t accept my presence when I first moved into the mansion.
Even though he was eight years older than me and always felt distant,
deep down… I knew he loved me like a little sister.
Just a day ago, I never imagined leaving New York—let alone the entire United States.
I had never even gone out alone before; armed guards had always followed me wherever I went.
And now, here I was, heading to Italy.
A country I hold citizenship in… but have never set foot in, and know nothing about.
I cast one last glance out the plane window at New York City,
watching as it slowly faded from view.
“Goodbye, New York,” I whispered, as a single hot, broken tear slid down my cheek, burning as it went.
And just like that, my world fell apart.
- Writer
