Amelia

As I stepped out of the courtroom, victorious in my latest case, I could not help but feel a sense of dread wash over me. My legs ached as I dragged them along the floor. My back ached and my legs were about to give out, yet the taste of victory was still in my mouth. Defeating Miller & Co was probably the biggest achievement of my life. The final push I needed to make a partner at Hawthrone LLC.

I open the front door and I step inside; the eerie silence envelops me. That was not something new, it has been like that since mom passed away. The house that was once filled with laughter and love now feels empty and hollow. I cannot help but feel a sense of sadness and nostalgia as I walk through the familiar halls. I remember the time when she used to braid my hair and make me drink warm milk because according to her, "it would help my brain," or how she would stand outside waiting for me to come back. I missed her. More and more every day.

She would have been so happy to know I had the first breakthrough of my career. She probably would've made her raisin cookies. I let out a sigh.

I made my way to the living room and as I sat down on the couch, I cannot help but notice how everything is still in its place. The photos on the mantel, the knick-knacks on the shelves, all untouched, just as mom had left them. I did not have the heart to touch them.

I cannot shake off the feeling of loneliness as I sit here, surrounded by the familiar yet unfamiliar silence. I miss her voice, her laughter, and her warmth. I miss the way she would always make everything feel okay, even when it was not.

I heard a thud coming from the bedroom. My mind at once became alert, and my heart started to race. I was not sure what could have caused the noise, but my instincts told me that something was not right. Grabbing the baseball bat, I had kept for situations like these, I slowly made my way to the bedroom, my heart pounding in my chest. As I approached the door, I could not help but feel a sense of fear and uncertainty. I reached for the handle and slowly opened the door.

"Oh. It is you," disappointment filled me as I stared at the man in front of me.

Grey hair lined his head, his face had some wrinkles now. He still looked the same as last time, but today he had sadness in his eyes while he held mom's picture.

"How are you doing, Amelia?" he asked. Following me out of the room. I saw the latest addition to him, a walking stick. Maybe devils do get old.

"What brings you here father?" I ask, plopping on the couch opposite him.

"Just wanted to check up on you," I roll my eyes.

"I am fine. You do not have to do these annual visits. I am not a child anymore," he ignores what I say.

"I can see that," there is an awkward silence between us. The moments passed painstakingly slowly. If there is anything I know, it is that he does not just show up. He always had a motive.

"I have made a decision," he says, putting his hands out together. His eyes were like steel, unbudging. I had a very wrong feeling about this.

"What?" I was queasy in my seat.

"Your marriage has been arranged." my father replied.

What?

My heart sank.

This cannot be happening. Anxiety flared in my stomach, making its way up my chest, and seizing my breaths along with it.

"What do you mean, my marriage has been arranged?"

His expressions remained unbulging. "I've decided to marry you off to Morelli's only son, Zavier."

Suddenly, the anxiety morphed into anger which was rolling down my veins.

"How dare you think you can make a decision so big in my life? You have always been absent in my life, and now you think you can impose your decisions on me? I am not some property to be traded for your gain." I shot back. Anger bubbled within me.

I will not let him take away my freedom.

"You will do as I say," he replied in a hard unforgiving voice. "Your brothers agreed to it." I scoff.

"Of course, they have. Anything to get the liability off shoulders."

"You know that's not the case, Amelia." He sighed. I could see his shoulders slumped. He looked tired. It didn't matter. Nothing he ever did matter. All the decisions he took were always for his own selfish reasons.

"I will not be bullied into this marriage. I will not be a pawn in your game. I'm my own person, and I will make my own choices."

With that, I turned on my heel and stormed away, leaving my father sitting there with an unreadable expression on his face. I knew this wasn't going to be the end of it. He wouldn't let this go easily.

I wasn't an idiot. I knew my father and our background. Belonging to a criminal family wasn't something I was proud of but it was a part of my life I couldn't change even if I wanted to. It was a part of me that I had no control over and from time to time my father would remind me of that.

I stood on my balcony; the cold air brushed against my skin as I looked at the moon. My parents fell in love in Italy when my mother was visiting her family over the summers. It was love at first sight, at least that's what I knew.

Despite my father having a loving girlfriend with whom he had two sons, he still married my mother. Two years later, they had me. I remember their relationship, my mother doted on my father's every move. She worshipped the ground he walked on and yet my father was always distant, unloving towards her. I saw the light in her eyes slowly dissolve until they became numb to the things going around her. Until something snapped within her, and she decided to leave him. She packed our bags and moved us to New York to start a new life. I remember crying in front of him to stop her but he brushed me off. The pain was unbearable.

One summer after begging tirelessly to my mom, I convinced her to let me stay with him. Just for two weeks. I hadn't seen him for the past two years; I had forgotten his voice. She let me go with the promise that I would call her once a day and if I get too tired, I come back.

I vividly remember the trip. I had my hands clutched around the small straps of my bag as I stood outside our front door, waiting for Dad to pick me up. He had promised that he would come and then we would get ice cream.

"I'll get you chocolate caramel, my sunshine. Whenever I have it, it reminds me of you,"

I stood there, next to my mother waiting for him to show up.

"He'll be here honey. He's probably right here on his way,"

I waited another hour, and with every moment that passed, my belief in him withered as well. Maybe he wasn't going to show up.

I saw two men in uniforms get out of a black jeep and started walking toward us. My mother stiffened when she them approaching us.

"Ms. Amelia. The boss couldn't make it but we're here to take you to him," one of them replied gruffly.

I looked up at my mother, worry evident in her eyes but she gave me a reassuring smile and nudged me forward.

"Have fun, Pumpkin. I'll miss you," she whispered in my ear as I walked away from her and into the jeep with them.

My ride to his mansion was filled with nothing but numb silence. I stared out the window and saw nothing but the forest covering his house. My father always preferred quietness, a place that was secluded from the views of others, or at least that's what my 9-year-old brain could comprehend.

The reality now was very different. It was a strategic move to have an upper hand on any attackers who would try to get near the house. The whole forest was infested with his security so any movement in the area was heavily monitored.

We eventually made our way inside and I was greeted with an empty house. Not a single voice in the farthest distance within the house. The help greeted me and took me to my room. I was told to stay in there until I was asked to come out or until my father was back from his meetings. This went on for the whole week, I would stay inside the four-walled bedroom, away from everyone.

I saw my stepbrothers from time to time, Michael, the oldest would take some time out for me, an hour or so but Sabastian hated me with every fiber in his body. He made sure my two weeks were full of misery whenever he was around.

It wasn't until one day that my patience snapped, and I ran out of the door, the hallway was eerily quiet until I heard muffled screams of agony coming from my father's library. I tiptoed over there. The door was ajar. I peeked inside and the blood in my body ran cold.

Tied to a seat was a man, beaten to a pulp, his eye had a massive gash that was oozing blood while he tried to formulate a sentence. My father stood in front of him, his back to me while he landed another punch to this man's face and he screamed in agony.

He took out his gun and to my horror shot him in the head until he slumped against the floor, his hollow eyes staring at me. I don't remember much after it except the fact that I passed out. The next I remember was waking up in my mother's arms.

I knew what I had witnessed wasn't something a child of my age should have had to, yet the indent was there to stay. It changed every preconceived notion I had of my father and morphed him into a ruthless killer, a spineless man who would destroy families for his greater gain.

I heard the front door shut and I knew this wouldn't be the end of this. One way or another, he would have his way. I just pray that when he does, he knows that he lost his daughter forever.