Special mass release for the novel's launch, 10/20.
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MIA
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"As he ended up being a wanted criminal who had escaped from a high security prison in Massachusetts, it didn't take even ten minutes before the police, helicopters, and the TV reporters surrounded the place. That's why he took papa, he seemed to know who he was, the power he held. Papa was obedient, until the fucker kicked me to the side hard enough for me to break a rib, after I called him a 'cowardly pussy little slut'. That got papa livid and he reacted. When he reacted…"
I swallowed a heavy lump in my throat.
"When… when he reacted the criminal shot him in the face, not satisfied, the psychopath shot papa on the heart, right in front of me. I lost all reason, I went blind with pain, rage, bitter guilt, and instant grief because I knew he wasn't going to survive and it was my fault. When he threw papa's dying body over me, one of his guns fell down, and I could only act. I shot him blindly, nonna. If I had at least focused a bit… if… if I had been smarter… if I had… if… if I had thought better, I would never have shot him wrongly like that. I would have killed him, but not even that I was capable of doing."
The only person who knows this is my psychiatrist from Cambridge. I never opened up about it. I never told anyone else. Definitely not my famiglia.
"He…" I struggled, "papa smiled at me… he… in his last seconds he said that he loved me… all of us and Nila… that he was sorry… that…" I broke again. "He said that… he said he was sorry that…" I cursed myself. "He… papa said he was sorry that he would not be able to walk me down the… down the aisle with the boy I love since I was a kid. That…" I covered my face with my hands, shaking furiously with the tears. "That he was glad that he was dying to protect me… and he… he smiled. On his last second he smiled, as if to tell me he was in peace."
"Mia…"
I ignored her, needing to let it out. "I wasn't in fucking peace, I was in hell and burning alive on its fire. Papa died in my arms, nonna. As I… as I hugged him, I felt as he draw his… his last breath… I heard his last heartbeat because it was against mine…" I cursed again. "I was drenched in his blood… but I couldn't let go, I couldn't let go, I couldn't let go. Letting go… would make it all too real, and I didn't want to think that it was real. I cried, and I screamed, and I cried even more, in a way that felt like I was releasing 15 years of bottled up tears, and that was the snapping point for it. I was never one to cry, but his death broke me, nonna. It… It broke me."
I clenched my fists, sad, broken, angry.
"None of them will ever understand what I feel. The… the nightmares that have been haunting me for five years. How my mind keeps bringing me to that fucking day every time. That's why I despise my birthday, why I can't stand how you dare to congratulate me on it, how you dare to ask me to be kinder, to smile, to get a hold of myself. I don't fucking want to be kind, I want to burn the world, to go there and finish murdering the fucker who killed papa, to stay away from you, because you all remember me of it. But not as much as looking in the mirror does, so much that, though I love myself, I can't stand it."
Clenching my jaw, I swallowed, brushing the damn tears away.
"So, sorry, nonna, if I can't pretend to be happy about this whole thing. To be happy that everyone is falling in love and getting together with their beloved lovers from childhood. I'm a bitter bitch who's jealous of how you all dare to be happy like this, of how their lives are working perfectly fine, how they are moving on, how they have reciprocating lovers when the guy I've been in love for ages is unavailable and loves somebody else. You can see me as a heartless cold bitch if you desire, since most of you already do that. My heart ain't as pure as yours, as pristine, isn't that it? I'm the black sheep in here, the odd piece, too much and at the same time too insufficient. Think whatever you want, it's not like there's a way for my heart to be broken further than it already has been."
Swallowing, I cursed myself for talking so much when she didn't ask.
And when I raised my eyes and found her staring at me stunned, full of pity in her eyes, and with her jaw slack, I felt even more uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have… I… talked too much. It's unlike me, I'm sorry," still with my hands shaking, I forced myself to stand up. "Ignore what I just said, I don't need anyone's pity. Definitely not from anyone in the famiglia. I would rather die. I'd much more appreciate to keep them thinking I'm a heartless bitch who has no feelings, than for them to see me at my lowest like this. It's humiliating."
When she still hasn't said a word, I cursed myself again.
"I just busted, okay? Don't look at me like that," I whined. "It's been stuck in my chest for years, the only time I spoke about this was after I drank too much and broke into my psychiatrist home." When her eyes widened, I swallowed. "She told me I could go to her whenever I needed, alright? It had barely been a year since I had lost papa, and I was breaking. I was ponding to do things I shouldn't do, and that papa would definitely fight me for it. I was in need of help and I didn't feel comfortable with any of you."
I closed my mouth with my hands, cursing myself mentally for talking more than I should... again.