𝑃ℎ𝑜𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑛

11

~ phoenix ~

I couldn't begin to fathom why my head felt like a brick. Releasing a shaky breath, I laid my forehead against the lapel of Giovanni's tux, shying away from the bright, stinging light.

Somehow, we'd found ourselves back, swaying slowly to the sound of the orchestra but now that I thought about it... I couldn't remember how. I clenched my eyes shut, trying to resurface the memories of the past hour. Why did it all seem like a distant blur?

"Too many to drink?" came the low, amused voice at my ear.

With a sigh, I raised my head, squinting up at him. "I can't... actually remember."

"Well, it's time," he murmured, too low for any ear other than mine.

I furrowed my brows. "For?"

"Your three o'clock. Your grandmother is storming towards us and she doesn't seem entirely pleased."

I glanced discreetly to my left and indeed, Babcia was fast approaching, lips thinned. Stifling an inward groan, I began to detach myself from the Italian.

"Wait," Giovanni whispered, urgently. His grip around my waist tightened. "Do you remember our..."

I inhaled another slow breath; why was the room so loud?

"Lyra!"

I jolted in his grip, before my grandmother snatched me to her side. I glanced back, vaguely remembering that he said something. Giovanni's eyes revealed nothing, despite pressing into mine. What had he said?

"Ty głupia, głupia dziewczyno!" [You stupid, stupid girl!]

I returned my attention to Babcia, who continued her tirade of incredulous scolding.

"Are you drunk?" she demanded, once we were out of earshot.

Shaking my head with frustration, I pulled my arm out of her grasp. "Of course not!" Why was she speaking so loud? For a brief second, there were two scowling faces hovering before me, before they merged back into one. I raised a hand to rub my eyes.

It was snatched back down.

"You will smudge your mascara—" She inhaled, exasperatedly. "What is wrong with you? Do you intend to ruin us? You gave the Bratva all of five minutes but found enough time to dance with the włoski drań [Italian bastard] twice! The rumours have already begun—"

"I don't care, Babcia!" I erupted, head pounding.

She glared, ferociously, wrenching my arm forward. "Don't you dare destroy everything your Dziadek [grandfather] built for us, you selfish child." She threw my hand back at my side, where it hung limply, bright red from her unkind grip. "It is time for the ceremony to begin. You will find it in you to sober up and you will address the Father with respect and you will behave."

I detested the damned ceremony which I had no choice but to accept. I rehearsed my lines and practised my movements with contempt for the sick irony that out of all people who could inaugurate me into to the Polish mafia, it would be a fucking priest.

Nonetheless, I smiled and I strutted elegantly up the gangway as the trumpet sounded and the voices hushed. My grandmother assumed her position beside the Father, who smiled encouragingly. In the absence of my Dza, it would be her to present me with the family heirloom, an obnoxiously large and ugly pendant.

Under the weight of every eye in this room, I forced my shoulders to not sag. The dizziness I felt rising thankfully stayed at bay until eventually, I was standing on the steps beneath the priest.