Chapter 4 4

Anabelle Alfonso

12 years old.

Dimitri dragged me through the hallway, pulling my hair as blood dripped down my forehead, mixing with my tears and falling onto my clothes. My whole body was sore and felt like a million needles were continuously being stabbed at me.

"Please Dimitri, stop. I didn't do anything," I cried out to him, but he just kicked me in the stomach, making me hunch over in pain and fall to the floor, my tears making it hard to see anything.

This made him even more angered, and I knew what was coming next. He grabbed me by my shirt and dragged me to the door at the end of the hallway. He opened it and threw me across the floor. My knees skidded across the hardwood and made my knees scrape with blood. The burning sensation faded away quickly, not outweighing the rest of my pain.

A bright light clicked on in the middle of the room and its illumination focused on a boy, who couldn't have been older than sixteen. He sat tied up to a chair with blood running down his face from everywhere. I stared at his beaten face and wondered what he did to get where he was now and what he could've done better.

"Get up, Anabelle, I'm not going to ask you twice," Dimitri growled from behind me, and I shuttered at his loud, angry voice.

"I- I didn't do anything," I mumbled again. I could hear his shoes hitting the floor behind me with each step that he took, getting closer to me and only making me cry harder knowing that the worst was still yet to come.

"Get. Up."

His voice was right behind me and I hesitantly got to my feet. My legs felt so wobbly and it was taking everything in me not to fall. My arms were shaking from beside me and I took deep breaths trying to control my breathing.

I was only twelve and I had already seen so many bloodshed-related things that a twelve-year-old should never see or be involved in.

"I want you to kill him," Dimitri said while walking around to face me. I looked away from him, feeling my heart beating in my chest and my hands growing clammy along with my shaky legs.

He handed me a gun and when I didn't take it, he forced my hands out and placed it in the middle. I almost dropped it because of how heavy it was, but I caught on to it and looked down at it in fear. He stepped out of the way and beside me, looking at the poor kid.

"This man took something from me and I want you to end his life,, Anabelle. You have to learn how to fight and kill, something your father should've taught you," he spat angrily at me. I didn't want to kill that man-he wasn't even a man; he was just a teenage boy.

Dimitri took something from me too; he wasn't the only person who lost something. He took my entire family away from me and kept me from suffering without them. He took me to torture me and make my life a living hell. I'd rather have died with my family than be under his control all the time.

"Anabelle!" he yelled at me and I jumped at his sudden outburst.

"Now!" he yelled at me again and I pointed the gun at the unconscious boy that sat in front of me. I held the gun up to his chest but still hesitated to pull the trigger.

I wanted to point the gun at Dimitri instead because of what he took from me and all he had done to me. I wanted him gone; I wanted him to suffer as I had suffered.

But I still held the gun to the boy's chest, knowing I wouldn't get away without shooting him. It would only cause me more pain and trouble when I was already so exhausted.

This wasn't my first time doing something like this for him, but it always felt like it every time he had me do it.

I closed my eyes tightly, not wanting to see myself take this poor boy's life when I was only twelve.

Dimitri didn't like that I had my eyes closed, so he walked over to me and grabbed my hair roughly, making me open my eyes to look at him. He had this devilish look on his face. One that made me shudder.

"You do it with your eyes open, Anabelle," he growled at me.

I didn't hesitate anymore. I just pulled the trigger, and the bullet hit right in the middle of the boy's chest. I didn't flinch or jump back like I usually did. He made me into something dangerous, and I was only going to get better, something he should've feared as I got older.

I stared at the lifeless body I had taken, but I couldn't help just feeling empty. I felt nothing. I didn't feel bad like I had five minutes ago. All I felt was anger towards Dimitri.

Dimitri pulled me up, and I dropped the gun as he dragged me down the long hallway again. I knew what was coming.

I screamed and kicked as the other girls he also kept passed me by. They weren't much older than me and we all trained together, but Dimitri was always harder on me simply because I was Lorenzo's, the Don of the Spanish mafia's, daughter.

He opened the door to a room and pushed me inside. I fell to my knees, crying, begging him.

"No, please... please,'' I begged him not to leave me in there, but he got closer to me and lowered himself so he was at eye level with me.

"You will stay in here until I tell you to. I hope you learn your lesson," he mumbled to me, then got up and walked out the door, slamming it.

I rushed to it and tried to open it, even though I knew I would have no luck. I screamed and cried, begging for him to let me out but all I heard was silence on the other end and then silence in the room. I started to quiet down and slid down the door.

The room was dark and cold and there was nothing in there. Nothing but a broken little girl who couldn't be fixed.

Nothing but a broken little girl who couldn't be fixed

I lunged up from my spot on the bed, my sweat dripping down my neck. It felt like I couldn't breathe. I tried to take deep breaths and calm myself down, but all I could feel was myself in that cold room, dark and alone. I closed my eyes and focused on my surroundings, which took me about ten minutes to finally calm down.

I ran a hand through my curly hair and looked around my dark room and to the clock that read it was four-thirty a.m. I wasn't going to be able to fall back to sleep. I never could. Not without the nightmares.

James was always worried about me and said that I was bitchy all the time because I was always exhausted, which I didn't think was true, but he could think whatever the hell he wanted to.

I decided to get out of bed and instantly regretted it because of how weak I felt, but I managed to walk to my bathroom.

Fuck.

I stopped halfway and winced as my leg throbbed with pain, mumbling curse words under my breath. I entered my bathroom, which had black and white marble counters and a big mirror with a light cast around it, making the bathroom light up brightly.

The shower was a big walk-in with sliding glass doors and black tile floors, as well as a wall with a bench on the side to sit on. To the left was my walk-in closet, which was filled with so many clothes that I honestly didn't even remember buying most of them.

I sat on the toilet seat, grabbed the first-aid kit from under the sink, and observed my cut before cleaning and re-wrapping it.

After I was done cleaning my wound, I opened another cabinet and grabbed the joint and lighter that I kept in there. I put the joint to my lips and lit the end of it, hoping that it would help me fall back asleep or even help me relax a bit.