Chapter 1
Myra
The house is unusually quiet when I come home. Shards of glass litter the ground that leads to the stairs. Fear races down my spine when I think of my mother. Where is she? Why’s it everywhere like this?
With wobbly steps, I walk up the stairs, heading to my mother’s room. The moment I swing the door open, the scent of alcohol harasses my nose and then I see my mother sprawled on the floor with a bottle of martini in her hand.
She’s drunk and she doesn’t even know I’m back. Her brunette hair is like a bird’s nest, tangled and tousled.
“Mom…” I rush to her side and hunker down. Before I can touch her, her eyes snap open.
“Myra? You…are…here.” She stutters.
Seeing her like this scares the shit out of me because it doesn’t always end well for me.
“Mother?” The word hangs in the air when my mother's face distorts into a snarl.
“You!!!” She grits out. I have to go, I tell myself when my mother stumbles to her feet, her eyes blazing. “I hate…seeing you. You have his eyes…” She stutters while I shake my head, tears running down my cheeks.
I crawl backward, watching her movement. I thought I had seen an opportunity to escape when my mother whirled towards her nightstand but I was mistaken.
Just as I reach the door handle to swing it open, my nerves racing like I had run a marathon, I feel the slash of a whip at my back.
Thwack!!
“Mother!” A scream rips from my mouth as I fall to my knees. Another whip lands on my back, adding more pain to the one I already feel.
No. No. I gasp inside me, my mind whirling.
“Stop, Mom. Please…” Warbled cries vibrate from my lips. My mother, seeming to get her senses back, stops. I hear the whip landing on the floor and her dry voice echoes.
“Myra…? My God, Myra? What…did…I do?” She rasps, coming over to hold me. I pant as well as she does. My face buried into her slender shoulder.
“I’m…so sorry, Myra…” She gushes, fingering my hair while I cry in pain. When I pull back, I see my mother’s lashes covered with tears.
I open my mouth to speak but realizing again her eyes have dilated into devilish black orbs. Instantly, she tightened her hands on my neck, choking me.
I sputter a cough. “Ka-hak. Ka-hak.”
“Mom…” I choke out the words as her obsidian black eyes watch me. With a crazed look on her face, she spews. “Go to hell with me!”
My green eyes shoot open and I prop up from my bed, my heart roars, and my head pounds like a drum. I dart my trembling hands over my face, realizing it’s wet. Is it my tears or sweat? I have no idea. These dreams always haunt me.
I never had a smooth childhood experience. Unlike others, my life has been hell living with my psychotic mother and dangerous father who always locked us up in a dark room.
I come from the Buonarotti family. One of the biggest mafia families in Scilly. From the tales my mother told me, I was the child she never wanted to have. I’m a product of rape.
My father, Enzo Buonarotti, was the ruler of our crime family. He had this unhealthy obsession for my mother who was his youngest brother’s wife back then.
That obsession drove him to kill his own brother and take my mother hostage. Every night under my father’s roof brought my mother pain. She was used as his sex toy, a situation that later resulted in her having me.
My father died tragically, but the truth was that he was poisoned to death by my mother.
I always reminded her of my father, hence my mother ended up punishing me. When I was ten years old, my mother lost her sanity again and ended up locking me in a dark closet like my father always did to us.
She said she was tired of seeing me. My sharp green eyes reminded her of the man she hated the most.
I was so afraid of being in the dark. I cried out, begging my mother to let me out.
My voice grew hoarse from crying, my fingers bled from how I scratched on the door, wanting a way out.
Fear has never been so strong in me as it was that day. I spent what looked like an eternity before my savior arrived. Leon Giordano. My stepfather.
I was ten years old the first time I met him. The first time he saved me. That was when my feelings for my stepfather started boiling.
When I breathe, I think about him, Leon. He's sin personified. He does a lot to me without even trying. I burn for him.
Even when my mother was alive, I still loved Leon.
Is it a sin to be obsessed with my stepfather? Hell, Leon is all I think about every minute of the day. Living under his roof is a plus for me.
Getting up from my bed, I maneuver my way to his room. It’s very expansive and smells like him—male scent mixed with bergamot and tobacco. His bed linen is finely tucked but on it lies his blazer Jacket.
My heart soars, a faint smile lingering on my lips when I grab a hold of the Jacket and dip my nose in it.
“Hmmm. Smells so much like him.” I mutter to myself, taking in more scent of my hot-as-hell stepfather.
Unknowingly, I slip under the duvet and bring his jacket to my nose. Burying my nose into it, I sniff his powerful scent, feeling my sex water with need.
Thoughts of Leon cloud my mind and I skillfully bring my hand to my sex, touching myself.
“Oh, God. It feels amazing.” I imagine it’s him wringing his fingers through my womanhood.
My raspy breaths reverberate in the silent room, mixing with the crackling embers in the fireplace.
I watch the burning flame as I touch myself, my hips bucking in need.
“Crap, I’m sure Leon must be on his way back. I have to hurry up,” I tell myself as increase my pace.
Feeling nervous at the thought of getting caught by him, I pet my sex faster until I come crashing down from high, my channel flooded with juices.
My breaths rush out fast as I stand up from the bed. There’s an ash dish on the nightstand with Leon's unfinished cigarettes. I’ve watched him smoke a number of times, and I wish to try it out.
Picking it up, I light the cigarette and wrap my lips around it. Knowing his lips have touched this cigarette makes my heart spin.
I daintily smoke the cigarette, mimicking him. However, that moment is cut short when there’s the humming engine of an incoming car.
Leon’s back.
Nervous, I throw the cigarette into the fire, arrange his bed, and hurry back to my room. It’s definitely not my first time doing this and trust me, it won’t be my last.