The Mafia Dons Temptation

ARIA

Flashback

"You bi**h!" Jacob's voice thundered through the room just before he slammed my head against the wall.

A sharp, blinding pain shot through my skull as I crumpled to the ground. Black spots clouded my vision, and a warm trickle ran down my forehead. Blood. My body felt like dead weight. My limbs felt weak and unresponsive as I struggled to push myself up from the cold floor.

"You can't run from me," he snarled. "Never!"

Tears burned my eyes as I caught sight of my packed bag, lying just a few feet away, and the sound of his expensive Armani shoes clicking against the floor as he approached me made my pulse hammer against my ribs.

"I'll kill you today," he growled.

My stepfather never joked. I knew he had every intention of making good on that promise.

Panic surged through me as I frantically searched for anything I could use to defend myself. My breath hitched when his grimy fingers clamped around my ankle, and a terrified scream tore from my throat as he began dragging me back toward him.

Instinct took over. My hand shot out to grab the jagged remains of a broken lamp beside me. Without thinking, I twisted onto my back and drove the sharp edge straight into his leg.

"F*ck!" Jacob groaned in pain before collapsing onto the floor.

Adrenaline surged through my veins as I scrambled on top of him, straddled his hips, and with every ounce of strength I had left, I plunged the glass into the side of his head. His agonized scream filled the room as blood gushed out of his wound.

I staggered back, panting. My hands trembled as I grabbed my bag, and without waiting to see what happened next, I rushed towards the front door.

As I pushed through the front door, Jacob's voice rang out behind me, his words sending a shiver down my spine.

"It's not f*cking over, Aria!"

End of Flashback

The house before me was smaller than I expected. The windows were dark, the wooden front door seemed to have been worn by time, and there were thin vines curling up the side of the house. The air was crisp with the scent of rain-soaked grass. A dim glow from an old street lamp cast shadows over the building. That only made the house look more eerie than it already was. 

It was the house my mother grew up in.

I swallowed against the lump forming in my throat as my fingers curled into trembling fists. The paper I'd stolen from Jacob's office, the paper containing my mother's home address, was already soaked from my sweaty palms. I didn't care anymore. I was home.

Even though I hadn't seen my mother's family before and they had never seen me, I knew they would take me in. They had to.

I marched forward and knocked my fists against the door. I waited for a few seconds and was about to knock again before I heard footsteps shuffling on the other side.

And then, the door swung open.

The young woman who stood before me had a striking resemblance to my mother. They had the same high cheekbones, full lips and hazel eyes. For a moment, I forgot to breathe. 

Her eyes widened in shock, and a strangled gasp left her lips.

I forced a smile. "Hi, I'm-"

"I know who you are," she whispered in a voice laced with disbelief.

"Evita! Who's at the door?" an older female voice called from inside. "You know better than to open the door for strangers at this time!"

Evita, my mother's only sister from what I heard, didn't respond. She just stood there, staring at me like she'd seen a ghost. A moment later, an old woman appeared in the doorway.

The instant she saw me, a bloodcurdling scream ripped from her throat. Before I could even react, she rushed forward and slammed the door in my face.

I blinked in surprise. 

Wow. This wasn't exactly the warm welcome I envisioned.

I exhaled sharply and knocked again, harder this time.

"Leave us alone!" The woman's voice trembled from the other side. "Don't come back here. Please."

A sharp pain twisted in my chest at the blatant rejection. I traveled a long distance just to get here. I had nowhere else to go. They had to let me in.

Desperation clawed at my throat as I pounded on the door with both fists.

After a long silence, the door creaked open just enough for Evita to glare at me through the gap.

"Why exactly are you here?" 

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean," she snapped. "Why are you in Milan? You're supposed to be in America."

"I'm on the run," I said on a tense exhale.

She scoffed. "And what does that have to do with us?"

The sharpness of her words stung.