Fifty.
No one tells you that your life can change within a blink of an eye, by meeting the wrong man, making one bad decision or doing what you believe is right, but typically turns out to be the complete opposite.
They say when life gives you lemons, make lemonade...
Whoever came up with that quote needs to be uppercut.
How the fuck can I make lemonade in the predicament I now find myself in?
No, fuck that and fuck the lemonade.
What you need to do is, throw those damn rotten lemons back into the face of life.
"Well, angel?" Castello hums, bringing me back to my cruel reality.
"It's not easy trying to fit everything I want to say in one sentence," I reply in a snarky tone.
[Still as dramatic as ever] "Ancora drammatico come sempre." He retucks the gun into his jeans, reaches over, and drags me to my feet, and I watch as Ace's lifeless body rolls onto the concrete in an awkward posture.
"I don't have time for your crap." He starts to drag me towards the bach with his hand wrapped firmly around my upper arm.
I blow air out of my nose, biting my tongue and suppressing the sharp desire to struggle against him. He pushes me forward as we reach the steps to the front door, I walk ahead of him, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.
The urge to spin around, and kick him in the chest watching as he falls back down the stairs is savagely strong.
But I resist the urge.
I'd rather watch him die at the hands of another even if the thought of me taking his life is satisfying.
I turn the bronze knob to the large oak door and slowly push it open. The bach is silent, which is odd because back at the mansion boisterous laughter could be heard through the thick walls.
"Where is everyone?" I dare to ask with curiosity heavily lacing my voice.
"Here, there, everywhere." He answers nonchalantly.
I nod my head, making sure that I pay attention to my surroundings.
"The door on your left."
I open the door on my left and enter what looks to be the living room.
"Sit." He commands, walking towards the large bookcase full of encyclopedias.
He picks up his phone, taps on his screen and presses it to his ear. "We have a visitor I think you might like to see. Also, get one of the boys to go outside and check to see if Jacob is alive." He grumbles with his back still facing me. "Oh, bring the girl and Sandro." He places his phone back on the bookcase along with his gun.
He turns around and faces me, rubbing his hand along his jaw. He just stares at me in silence with his eyes narrowed into thin slits as if he is trying to read what's on my mind.
Flicking my hair from my shoulder, I walk to the armchair that sits by the large window. I pray I don't look as afraid as I am feeling right now. I settle into the large leather chair, facing the door and I wait for my baby to enter the room.
Trent walks, no...
Trent limps into the room, his bottom lip is split in three different places and his right eye is protruding from his socket. Lovely shades of blue and purple stain his disgusting face.
He looks how I feel.
Beaten, torn and defeated.....
I can't contain the sly smirk that curves upwards on the corner of my mouth. It brings my heart so much fucking joy to see him literally walking around all beaten up and in so much glorious pain.
It tastes even sweeter to know that I am the reason why he looks like utter shit. It's a pity the Irish family didn't get to play with him longer than they intended.
But I'm here and....
"Sandro!!!" I leap out of my chair the moment I see him enter the room and rush towards him with tears brimming my eyes.
He's grown and looks more alert than ever.
The young Russian princess holds up her hand, [No!!] "Het!!" She growls, twisting her body away from me.
I instantly stop in my tracks. "Please," I plead with her. "He is my son." I pat my open hand against my chest unsure if she can understand me.
"I know who you are!" She snarls with a heavy accent. "You caused the injuries of the man I am intended to." She shakes her head and her luscious blonde curls sway side to side. "As a result, your son will belong to the Bratva. We will raise him until he is seven and send him to Russia to work under the supervision of my uncle Aleksander." She states categorically.
I scoff, "You stupid little girl. Do you have any idea who his real father is?" I place my hands on my hips.
She shakes her head side to side, briefly glancing at Trent and Castello.
"They didn't tell you?" I laugh with astonishment, "Sandro is a Peker from the Turkish mafya. [Mafia.]"
Her eyes grow wide, a small 'O' shape forms on her lips and she looks back at Trent with fear in her eyes.
"The Peker as in Sedar Ozturk?" Her voice trembles.
"Uh-huh. The one and only." I hum with satisfaction.
She hands Sandro over to me as if he was a hot potato. "You never disclosed this with my family." She hisses at Castello. "You wait till they find out. This union between our families is never going to happen, the Bratva know better than to take on the Turkish family!" Her voice is a whisper from a hysterical scream. She faces me once again, "Please, accept my apologies. It seems we were misled into thinking the Esposito's were only at war with the Irishmen. Once my Uncle Alek-"
I watch in slow motion as Trent takes the hunters knife from the inside of his left boot and in one swift motion he slits her delicate throat.
"NO!!! You bastard!!" I scream, shielding Sandros head as I watch the young girl clutch her throat with shock written all over her face.
Within seconds, her clothing is saturated with her bright scarlet blood and falls to the ground as she chokes to death on her own blood.
Trent wipes his blood-stained knife across the leg of his pants and tucks the hunter's knife back into his boot.
"The little bitch talked too much." He growls, looking at Castello.
Castello slams his hand on the bookcase, causing it to rattle and Sandro to start crying. "Sei un fottuto idiota che ci farà uccidere da ogni famiglia là fuori!!" He says furiously and pins Trent against the wall.
[You are a fucking idiot who will have us killed by every family out there.]
