Astrid Knight was the definition of cold. Preferring to stay in shadows, she had managed to successfully avoid any life-threatening incidents.
Fending for herself was hard when she was a minor, forcing her to work on the other side of the law.
After...
"Baby, drop them bones. Baby, sell that soul. Baby, fare thee well."
~Dorothy, Raise hell.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I WAS GLAD NO ONE really found out about the stunt we had pulled earlier. And even none of the older ones in my family made no move to indicate that they knew about the entire party thing— I knew they were suspicious. At least my father and Alessandro were.
You may wonder how I knew this.
"She's rebelled more against you then we had in the past year," Alessandro said, not even bothering to look up from his phone.
My father sighed, his mouth in a pursed line.
"Well, she is his daughter, isn't she?" My uncle grinned at me.
I didn't react, "Why are y'all pretending that you didn't drink at my age?" I questioned nonchalantly.
I saw my uncle tense. Why is it they can ask and look up my past but I can't know anything about them?
"We never had proper parental supervision," My father said, pouring himself a drink, "We were practically orphans, with no fucking idea of how to not be... ruthless."
"Leo—" My uncle tried to interrupt.
"No, let her know," he downed the entire glass in at a time— maybe this was why I wasn't a light weight—, "My father wasn't a... good man. And it turned worse when my mother died.
"He was what parents used to scare their kids with," He shrugged. The entire room stilled, and I wondered if anyone dared to breathe, "I hid Dante away from his clutches, and he thankfully didn't seem to care.
"When I was your age, I was an alcoholic. And to be honest, I wouldn't have recovered if it weren't for Rora. My father never cared if we drank or what we did. He was just there..." I glances around, Austin was looking at his lap, he didn't seem to have heard this the first time. And Luc was glaring at the wall.
I don't think anyone would understand him as well as I did right now, we were both struggling at our ages— me who consumes less food than what was considered to be normal and him who consumed more than normal.
The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?
"I pity you, father," I said, leaving my seat, "for how much we are the same and how much it shows that we're fucked up. In more ways than one."
