Little Game

Chapter 61

Tatiana.

Her mother.

A monster.

Isabella took a shuddering breath as she watched her intently. Tatiana felt like a shark who hides in the dark ocean with its ghostly, emotionless gaze but is ready to open its mouth to food who flinches helplessly in the water.

She looked so much like Isabella that it made the young girl sick. Her stomach churned at the thought. Tatiana looked so victorious standing in the middle. As though she finally picked up the crown that fell on the floor when Dante tumbled down in defeat. And everyone knew she was a victor. She was a victor because she won the little game that she prepared just for them.

Isabella was just a pawn in everything.

Isabella has never felt more used than she was today. She didn’t expect this to happen. Who would expect this to happen in the first place? She didn’t know that her life would just lead up here, standing helplessly with a gun pressed against her like a painful reminder of death’s embrace.

Isabella looked at Ezri and she could see his hands quivering as he tried to give his mother a warm smile. Fear came at him in waves. With the things Tatiana did, Isabella wouldn’t be surprised by Ezri’s reaction. She did things to him—things Isabella would never want  to experience, to feel. The trauma must be suffocating Ezri like a noose around his neck.

"My flower." Tatiana cooed softly as she waltzed towards Ezri with a smile of her own. She kissed his cheek with a pleased look plastered on her face. "You've made me proud."

Ezri looked relieved but the hands that he hid behind his back kept shaking. Fear. "Thank you, ma." He whispered.

Isabella felt betrayed—she lost like a loser of a little game. Tears welled up in her eyes as she watched with bated breath of the defeat of her own family. Confidence suddenly disappeared in her brothers' eyes and Dante crumbled the moment Tatiana's footsteps echoed closer.

Her sole presence rattled them to their bones and something suddenly dwelled in them, something that was never there before.

Fear?

Dread?

Anxiety?

Worry?

"We all waited for this day." Tatiana's voice echoed loud and clear to the room filled with individuals who were hungry to paint the floor red with the blood of the Torres— Isabella, Elois, Lucius and Dante.

They can’t kill Anthony because the man’s dead already.

To the people in the room who willingly followed Tatina, they think of her as the star they want to chase the touch they craved, the candle that gave fire in them, the devil they followed, the sinner they forgave and the saint that will save them.

They cheered at the words that Tatiana said but her people’s  joy held the whispers of death and sin. They pushed Elois and Lucius in the middle of their room and made them kneel in front of her like the sinner they were.

Abuela stepped forward and grabbed Elois' jaw and she frowned in disappointment. "Never before have I been more disappointed as I am now." She whispered. "Never will any of you be good enough."

Good enough? NOTHING will ever be good enough. Nothing would be good enough for her because she’s always looking for something that would be up to her standards. No person would be up to her standards.

Dante's face looked absolutely crestfallen though he was trying to hide it. He was obviously taking his mother's words very seriously. Like a child, all he wanted was a little bit of recognition, of appreciation. Of love.