𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝟏 | fidelity ( BWWM )
/fɪˈdɛlɪti/
noun
faithfulness to a person, cause, or belief, demonstrated by continuing loyalty and support.
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𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐎 Vitale, Capo Dei Capi of the Famiglia, had rarely shown in...
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"WIPE YOUR TEARS, ARYA." His voice is hard, resentful — and an unforgiving pounding in my ears.
"I'm sorry." I hear myself say as he inhales on the cigarette resting against his bottom lip.
"Sorry doesn't cut it," His voice is mocking me, pretending to be gentle, causing me to shrink away. "Keep crying like a bitch and I'll add another lash onto that pretty little back of yours, understand?"
When I don't reply, he instantly begins to undo the buckle of his belt. I'm quick to sit up, using the back of my hand to wipe the snot from under my nose.
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I'll try harder, I'm sorry." I can't meet his eye, my body folding into itself, waiting for him to land another blow.
I feel his presence kneel down in front of me. He takes my chin and pushes my face in his line of view. I know he senses my fear and sees the weakness in my eyes. And he feasts off of it.
Sick bastard.
Something he always calls me, but that's exactly what he is.
I don't realise I've said it out loud until he replies, "Is that so?"
I don't know what he's thinking, so I don't answer, my body trembling in fear. This isn't the response he wants; without second thought, my father wraps both his hands around my throat and my eyes widen in shock. He's come close to killing me before, but this time I believed he would go through with it.
"I asked you a damn question."
I slap his hand twice, struggling to breathe. He tightens his grip, slamming me into the wall, hard.
The scars healing on my back sear with pain, the stitches reopening. I try cry out but the lack of oxygen makes me dizzy, not a single sound escaping except my wheezing as he continues to grip my throat.
Black spots fill my vision and in that moment I start praying for my life. I know he could kill me right now and no one would care. No one would stop him.
I kick my legs out under me. One knee collides with his thigh and he mutters a curse under his breath. I freeze.
"Kick me again, you little shít." I refuse to and it only makes him angrier. He releases his grip on my throat and I immediately gasp for air. I struggle to heave in oxygen, my body sliding down the wall as I clutch my bruised throat.
