Reality

(Made Man – A young boy in the mafia who has already been trained in the ways of the mob. To be taught the ways of the mob, you have to have killed a man.)

BANG!

The loud sound of the gunshot was temporarily deafening. For a moment, it echoed in my ear and drowned out every other noise.

Scarlet liquid splattered everywhere, bringing an aura of death and violence. Scarlet liquid was all over my white dress meant to bring me perfection. The dress that fit me snugly and made me look angelic was permanently stained with imperfections.

"Clean this up!" My father yelled and the servants all pooled in to do his bidding. He sat back in his chair at the head of the table and ate like he hadn't killed a man.

Like he hadn't killed a man in front of his twenty-one and sixteen-year-old daughters. Like he hadn't killed a man in front of his seventeen-year-old son. But my brother was a Made man—he'd been for years.

Violence was something he was used to seeing or doing himself.

Despite the blood stains on all of our clothes, we went on eating in silence like we hadn't witnessed death. We were already used to it.

My mother grabbed my hand tightly, bringing my attention to her.

"You flinched. Don't do it again."

I nodded my head slowly and she let me go. I flinched. That was the only thing a mother had to say to a daughter who had just witnessed murder.

From a young age, I had been taught perfection. I had to look perfect, stand perfectly, sit perfectly, dress perfectly, and act perfectly. Perfect like the perfectly curated life my parents pretended was best for us.

I had seen more violence than any normal man walking on the street. Perfection to my mother meant no one would know that fact just by looking at me. I had to be pretty like a princess and hard like a knight.

"The mafia will eat you and spit you out if you don't have thick skin," she always told me.

Perfection in my family also meant I should carry myself with class and abstain from worldly sins. According to me, the worst worldly sin of all was being Antonio Agosti's daughter.

According to him, my self-worth was determined by who I would marry and the kind of connections that union would bring to the Agosti table. My mother taught me how to act around men and how to seduce them to do my bidding.

From the age of fifteen, I was taught men only had one weakness—the thing between their legs—and I should learn how to look the part to exploit that weakness.

It showed in the revealing and daring outfits that Mother chose for me.

To my father, I was just an arm candy whose virginity he would sell to the highest bidder when I came of age. I was very surprised that he waited.

I expected to be married off immediately after I turned eighteen. Hell, I expected to live with my future husband before I was eighteen. After all, my whole life was centered around being the perfect wife of a stranger.

I'd come to accept my fate throughout the years. There was nothing I could do about it. I wore a chastity ring on my ring finger to show my father that I was pure. He made sure no man ever got close enough to talk to me.

When he found out I had a boyfriend in college, he killed the boy in front of me and home-schooled me. I couldn't say how many times I'd wondered if death was better than the life I was living.

The only thing that kept me going was my little sister.

Punishing other people for my mistakes was something else I had grown accustomed to seeing. My sister took my beatings from a young age so I would fall in line. Father couldn't risk tainting his cash cow—me.

Since I was to be married first, I was the daughter to make sure they didn't hurt. I would be sold first so I needed to have smooth skin with no scars. Angelica, my sister would have time to heal her scars.

Plus, Father never failed to mention how I was the gorgeous sister and Angelica was the ugly duckling. False.

"Stop shaking. If Mother sees you, she'll hit you." I scolded Angie. She was barely holding it together after seeing the violence that had just ensued.

She made the mistake of letting out a whimper. Everything fell silent. Cutlery stopped clinking as my father looked at her with eyes full of disappointment. Those eyes went to my mother who he regarded with the same look.

My mother got up from her chair and grabbed my sister. Her grip was so hard that my sister begged to be let go.

She was just a freaking child.

"You disappoint this family more every day. Why can't you be perfect like Viola?"

Maybe because other people are punished for my mistakes while I walk scot-free.

No one should have had to suffer because of me. And when I quickly learned that I would never be punished for my mistakes, I did everything Antonio wanted.

Angie made the mistake of talking back. Nobody talked to Susanna Agosti like that. Not even her children.

"I'm scared!" Angelica yelled.

"Apologize!" Mother said calmly but fiercely.

"I didn't do anything!" Angelica yelled again, tears falling wildly down her cheeks.

Mother pushed her to one of the guards and said, "Beat her until she begs for mercy."

We all sat in silence as Angelica was beaten using a whip by one of their father's guards. I had to grit my teeth to stop myself from lashing out. That was the only physical reaction I was allowed. If I reacted, she would get beaten more.

I was being trained to be the perfect Ice Mafia Queen.

Her screams for him to stop only fueled louder screams. She begged and begged but no one listened. I wanted to say something—do something but if I did, she would get a worse punishment.

"Enough!" Father yelled. Only then did the guard stop. "Behave Angelica or I will give your ass to some of my many friends to fuck. We all know they like them young and unused. Maybe then you'll be useful for money. Your virginity is sacred. No one said anything about your ass."

She did nothing wrong…

He was saying that to a sixteen-year-old. And we all knew he never bluffed. If he talked about it, he was thinking about it.

Despite the disgust I felt, it didn't show. I didn't want to give my mother more reasons to punish my sister.

Angie tried to stop crying but some of her wounds were bleeding meaning she was in pain. I knew it was a matter of time before she annoyed Antonio.

"Father, may she be excused from dinner? She will cry and spoil the mood." I requested. My words may have sounded disgusting but they came in favor of Angie. The longer she stayed at the table, the more chances she had of being punished again.

"She can go."

My sister scurried away limping, her skin red and raw from the impact of the whips. My mother would soon call her Korean skincare doctor for the right remedy to stop the marks from being permanent. A cheat code, if you will.

None of her daughters were allowed blemishes.

Then my father brought all the attention to me. He said words I'd told myself I was prepared to hear. But really, I wasn't. My heart still shattered, my heart racing when I heard what he had to say.

"Your mother will take you wedding dress shopping. I have found a perfect husband for you. You'll meet him at your engagement party. Look perfect."

He left no room for an argument. Antonio's words were final.