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Rotten Girl
Author: Ivy Fox

PROLOGUE

 

 

 Selene

 All my life I haven’t lost sight of who I truly am because they are with me.

 Not an easy feat, since the life that surrounds us all can distort our own self-perception. It can make any image in the mirror unfocused and destitute, offering an ugly, imperfect reflection, only enhancing flaws and inadequacies, tarnishing any beauty or innocence.

 You wouldn’t think that if you were on the outside looking in, though.

 To the untrained eye, I have everything a girl could wish for.

 I am the only daughter of one of Chicago’s most successful restaurant entrepreneurs and was dubbed one of the wealthiest young heiresses in the making, right from birth, predestined to lead a life most young women only dream about.

 I’m supposed to be living a fantasy—a real-life fairy tale.

 And in most fairy tales, when the story involves a beautiful princess, you assume her life is full of enchantment and magic. But not all princesses share this same lot in life.

 In the real world, my world, being a principessa holds a very different meaning, and wearing a crown means being pricked by thorns every second of every day. Knowing you are not free to choose your destiny, and that your life is in the hands of those more powerful than you. The crown on my head is not a symbol of entitlement and good fortune, but a prison sentence where powerful made men hold the key to the locked shackles which incarcerate me to this life.

 My privileged existence is one big fabricated lie.

 I do not have the world at my feet; quite the contrary—I have chains binding me to a fate I do not want or care for.

 We may have fancy clothes, cars, and houses, but still, the brass iron cuffs tether me to a future worse than death. One I can’t outrun, and that I am expected to accept willingly, wearing a graceful smile for all to bear witness to, even if inside my soul rots in disgust and anguish.

 My only saving grace is the rebellious boys of my youth. The only ones who give me comfort and hope that I may one day escape my misfortune and lead a free life, filled with love and kindness, even if hidden within four walls inside their embrace.

 But with so many lies and deceits polluting my reality, clinging to the frail ribbons of hope might be the worst deception of all. Because just like me, they too have their future already foretold and none of us can escape what our birthright has already put in motion.

 You see, they are destined for greatness, too. Each one preordained to follow in the footsteps of their predecessors, but taught and trained to aim higher. An ugly, cruel life filled with nothing but bloodshed and vengeance is all that awaits them. Yet, in our world, only the worthy are entitled to such a damned existence and deem it as a reward.

 However, much like me, my unruly boys wish for a simpler way of being, where our only concern is the happiness we can provide each other. Their only thought is the preservation of the love we all share, with my name eternally engraved in their hearts.

 If this was a true bedtime story, in my fairy tale the principessa would be able to choose and love her misbehaving heroes till the end of her days, and they, in turn, would cherish her with every breath they had.

 But I know exactly who I am—a princess without the possibility of a happily ever after.

 Love is a foreign concept to which the cards I’ve been dealt do not hold, and it would be foolish to give hope to such credence.

 In my world, love is a weakness that can kill and maim the very object of your affection.

 Loving them will be our downfall in the end, and I for one refuse to watch it die a slow, painful death.

 Yes.

 I know exactly who I am.

 A rotten girl bound to a rotten life.

 

 

ONE

 

 

 Selene

 

 Twelve years old

 I fidget in my seat, thankful that Papà isn’t in the large living room to see how restless I am. He wouldn’t appreciate my anxiety, and no doubt would punish me the minute we got home, with his all-too-familiar slap to the cheek or worse—his trusty belt.

 But as much as I try to act the well-behaved young lady he expects me to be, these social gatherings always make me jumpy. I should be accustomed to them by now; every month or so, Papà is invited to these events and, as such, it would look improper if the consigliere of the Chicago Outfit didn’t make an attendance with his wife and daughter trailing behind. Especially if said event is being held by Salvatore ‘Big Sal’ Romano himself—Papà’s boss and the head of the syndicate. He is probably the only man alive my father respects and fears.

 Sitting quietly in my corner seat, I’ve been able to attest that he’s not the only one—every guest tonight has greeted Big Sal with the same trepidation in their spine. I for one don’t understand how anyone could be uneasy around such a jolly-go-lucky man. He’s always welcomed me with a smile on his face and given me hard candy that he keeps in his pockets. His larger-than-life laugh and red cheeks always remind me of Santa Claus—if Santa was a big bald Italian who only wore the best-tailored suits—and he lets me come play with Vincent whenever Papà is away on business. Still, whenever I hear someone say Big Sal’s name, it’s always with a hint of dread as well as esteem in their voice.

 I don’t know why they don’t use the same tone for Papà, though. He’s the one they should be frightened of. Mammà and I sure are.

 “Selene? Do you want another piece of cake, piccolina?” my mother asks me, leaning down to my eye level.

 Mammà looks like an angel tonight, with her floor-length, cream-colored dress. While my red hair is in loose curls down to my shoulders, hers is carefully styled in a French bun. She looks majestic even while crouching down, placing her soft hands on my knees, and ending my nerves, if only for a little bit.

 “No, Mammà. I’m not hungry,” I reply, offering her my first genuine smile since we arrived here.

 “Hmm. My little principessa is bored, am I right?” she teases, softly giving me a nudge on the tip of my nose with her finger. I scrunch my nose and lips, and lower my eyes to my feet.

 “I’m sorry, Mammà, but these grownup parties are never any fun,” I answer truthfully, hoping my honesty doesn’t disappoint her as much as it would my father.

 “Do you want to know a secret, piccolina? I don’t think they’re too much fun either.” She grins brightly, warming my heart with her tender smile.

 She stands up and looks around the loud, crowded room, filled with people dressed to the nines, engaged in the latest gossip of whatever faux pas happened recently. Mammà gives me a discreet wink and takes my hand, walking us out of the busy room toward the patio overlooking the lush green yard in the back of the mansion.

 I immediately see Giovanni and Dominic goofing off by the large stone fountain. I let out a small giggle as Gio runs away with a clip-on bowtie in his hand behind his back, which must belong to Dom by the way his face is turning all shades of red in his fury. My restless feet start to hop from one foot to the other when Mammà places her finger to her lips as if we’re about to share a secret before she opens the patio door.

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