Running from hell isnʼt easy. Especially when thereʼs someone dragging you back down into it.
Belligerent, brash and always in shades of black, Freya is hardly a lady. Hidden away by her father, sheʼs lived a normal life despite being born into the...
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I’VE ALWAYS HATED HOSPITALS. The stark whiteness of the walls, the sterile smell in the air, and the forced, controlled quiet. The paparazzi are stationed outside the hospital, likely waiting my arrival. I don’t care. I’m here for show, anyway.
My hands are tucked in my pockets as I saunter down the hallway, heading for the room where my father’s being held.
When I enter the room, he’s on the bed, looking pathetic, and no doubt pissed that he wasn’t placed in a private room. I might or might not have had something to do with it.
His face is pretty fucked up. I might be an artist after all.
It’s a good thing I got my mother’s features, because swollen and bruised, Salvatore Costa is one ugly motherfucker.
“You know,” I say, by way of greeting, drawing to a stop at the side of his bed. “It’s a different kind of satisfaction, seeing you here, like this.”
At the sound of my voice, my father tilts his head in my direction. “Why are you here?”
“Have to keep up appearances,” I murmur dryly, “Isn’t that what you taught me?”
“I taught you a lot of things,” he mutters, “beating your own father to a bloody pulp wasn’t one of them.”
I scoff, shutting him down. “Ma took worse beatings from you.” I glance up at the monitor, feigning concern. “What’s the diagnosis?”
The side of his mouth twitches. “Severe concussion.”
A frown touches my lips. “That’s it? Thought I broke your jaw, at the very least.”
My father bares his teeth. “Don’t patronize me, son. You might be Don, but you’re still under my control.”
There’s a sour taste in my mouth. It hasn’t even been a few minutes, and I’m already annoyed.
“Now that I think about it, I should’ve just broken your jaw,” I mutter, “that way I wouldn’t have to listen to the bullshit coming out your mouth.”
His hateful face morphs further into distaste. “You’re deluded. Raising your hand on your own father? And for what?”
“You—” I clench my jaw, focusing my thought. “You hurt my mother. Again and again. You never gave a fuck about Sof—” I grit my teeth— “And now you want to break my—”
