The Mafia Family

Anastasia.

A/N: HUGE trigger warning for this chapter! please don't continue reading if you're sensitive to topics such as rape, murder and blood .

"Mama?" I called, tiptoeing through the empty corridors. I found her sitting on the edge of the balcony smoking her cigar in her black mini dress, bruises tracing across her frail arms.

"Mama did he hurt you again?" I heard her breath in.

"You." She spoke, her voice cold and slurred. I knew this voice. She'd been drinking.

"You are the reason he beats us. You are the cause of my death." She shouted, throwing her cigar off the edge of the balcony and turning to face me with her demonic green eyes.

"Cause of death? Mama what do you mean?" My voice was shakey as I took a step back. She picked up one of the broken beer bottles from the ground then raised it to her neck. My heart stopped.

"MAMA! I'm sorry...please i'm sorry, don't leave me with him please.." I cried and begged and tried grabbing the bottle from her but she only hit me with it until I was bleeding on the ground, looking up at her as she looked me in the eye and slit her throat. Blood poored out, onto me, onto the street below. It felt like a dream. Please be a dream.

I sat there weeping, her last words playing on repeat in my head.

"You are the reason he beats us. You are the cause of my death."

I sat there crying for about an hour, I didn't even realise him hovering over me on the dark balcony with my mothers corpse by my side.

He bent down and pat my back giving me a grimacing smile.

"I was wondering when she'd finally do it." He laughed, as if his wife hadn't just died and her remains weren't scattered in front of him.

"You should clean this up. I need a beer." He grunted, getting up and trudging off. I couldn't even stand to look him in his cold grey eyes.

—-

My stepfather spent the next few months using me for his sexual needs and beating me for putting the wrong condiments on his sandwich. There were times when he'd invite his friends over and tell them to touch me wherever they pleased.

—

It was a cold Friday night, i'd spent the day cleaning up, ironing his clothes and preparing a well made dinner with the little food we had in the house. Once i'd set the table I sat down on the sofa to wait for him to come home. I nervously bit at my lip, I was praying he wasn't drunk or in a bad mood.

I heard footsteps approaching, then the twist of a doorknob. His eye was bruised and he looked angry, angrier than usual and angrier than when he's drunk. He trudged over and sat down on the armchair opposite to me. His cold glare met mine.

"I made dinner.." I whispered breaking the silence. "Chicken pot pie, your favourite remember?"

His eyes immediately shot red, his brow furrowed as he grabbed my throat and pulled me to his face. His claws were digging into my skin.

"You fucking idiot bitch. I only told your slut mom that was my favourite to get her off my back. Go make me some real food if you don't feel like getting a beating." He spat in my face and threw me by my neck to the ground. I landed with a thud, my body felt weak and I haven't eaten in days yet I still managed to pull myself up from the ground and waddle over to the kitchen.

I looked around for ingredients, anything. But to my dismay the cupboards were empty. Not a single crumb remained. I looked over to the counter where the knife that I used to slice the chicken was. I took it and stuffed it in my back pocket then slowly walked back to the living room.