Mafia Paradise

•Elisia•

I dreadfully drag my feet out of the university and to my car. I'm going home for Christmas. One month. With them, again.

I completed all of my exams early, but I lied to my parents saying that I still had one more to take. It's officially the end of semester one, meaning I have no more excuses to drown them in anymore.

Stanford University.

I love this place, I never want to leave. It's my escape from my family. Most people hate college, but it's the opposite for me. Studying is fun-I love learning, mostly because of my passion for medicine.

I take a deep breath and start my car, heading to my regular sized apartment. It doesn't take me more than ten minutes before I arrive at my place, since it's not very far from campus.

I unlock the door and take myself to my

room-my very messy room. I open my closet and grab bundles of clothes, neatly folding, then fixing them into my suitcase.

I make my way over to my dresser and look at my drained, tired reflection. I was doing perfectly fine before my papa had called me and demanded I come home.

Sighing deeply, I start to gather my makeup and all of my other necessities such as my hygiene products.

I finish packing and pick up my suitcase from the bed, placing it on the ground with a loud thud. Turning off my lights and just as I open my bedroom door, I hear someone's footsteps. Inside of my apartment.

What the fuck?

I live alone.

I only told Matt, my boyfriend, I was going home for Christmas and that he couldn't come over anymore.

Confusion and panic creeps it's way up me and wraps around my throat. In utter instinct, I turn around and open a drawer beside me, the one with all types of knifes.

For protection, you know?

I firmly grasp onto the handle and get behind my door, sheltering myself. I see a shadow approaching my way and mentally prepare my body.

The anonymous person enters my room and faces their back to me. It's so dark, I can't see shit.

I decide to not test my crappy luck and lunge towards the uninvited intruder. If someone is going to die today, it won't be me. I twist their body, pushing them up against the wall and position the knife against their neck.

And these are skills I learned when I was younger...

Until they scream. She screams? A girl? There's no way a guy would sound like that. Unless he's really feminine.

I don't fucking know.

Lost in my thoughts, the person reaches their hand out to the switch and turns the lights on. I instantly step back after realizing who it is, my eyes wide from regret and shock.

"What. The. Actual. Fuck. Sia!?" My favorite person yells, panting heavily.

My mouth is still gaped open before I burst into a rambling conversation. "I'm so sorry Sandra. I thought it was some burglar!" I explain, trying to prove my innocence.

Sandra is still out of breath from my stunt which I thought was quite impressive. "Why do you even have a knife in your room?" She finally talks after a good ten seconds of silence.

I give her a very, well knowing look. She knows exactly why I have weapons named as protection with me.

Before I could give her a sarcastic response, she mutters out a stretched out 'oh'. Then, she changes the topic as quick as the wind changes. Only, I didn't want to talk about what she was about to say...

Sandra crosses her arms and tilts her head at me, her eyes glaring me down. "I came here to say goodbye, since you didn't think it was necessary to tell me you were leaving."

Damn it.

Sandra has been my best friend since high school and she's been through it all with me. She knows about everything. Every guy who's hurt me, every guy I've dated, my past friendships, my relationship with my parents, everything.

Not by blood, but she's my sister.

Sandra was there for me when I was suffering through depression. When my parents didn't want to take me to therapy, she did. I called her when I needed help with my panic attacks and she made me clean of self-harm. In conclusion, this woman is the most important person in my life and always will be.

"Are you going to answer or...?" Sandra raises a brow, cunningly waiting for a response.

"Yes..." I mumble as I'm snapped back into reality. I take a deep, long breath for the intense speech I'm about to give my best friend. "Sandra, I'm sorry. It completely slipped out of my mind and I know you're upset. I didn't want to worry you-"

Sandra cuts me off from rambling even more and voices her comforting words, "Sia, babes. I'm just joking, it's okay." A wide, playful smile forms on her face.

My heart swells and I suddenly feel like an emotional wreck. She knows me so well, to the point it's concerning.

I didn't tell her, because I knew how she would react if she found out I was going to my parents house for Christmas.

I haven't seen my parents since I graduated high school, which was two years ago. Two fucking years. No calls. No messages. Nothing.

I have been tagging along with Sandra at her house for holidays. Her family absolutely loves me and treats me like their own daughter. They are the family I never had, the type of people and love I've always craved for deep down.

I finally release a breath I didn't realize I was holding for such an immense amount of time, and wrap my arms around Sandra. My eyes shut tightly, trying to keep the unwanted tears from escaping.

"I don't know what they want from me, San..." I choke out, finally loosening the tight grasp I had on my emotions. "Papa called me earlier and told me- no, he demanded, I come home."

She pulls me back, so she can wipe my tears off of my cheeks. Her thumbs graze under my eyelids and she grabs my face, making me look at

her. "Sia, say the word and I swear I'll-"

"No...I just- he called me. Not a single heartfelt greeting of his daughter, instead he ordered me to come home or else..." My breath hitches at the back of my throat and I feel a tsunami of hurt running up me. "He will come here and drag me home." I finish, my voice wavering and filled with pain.

"You don't have to go, I'm here for you." Sandra assures, trying to convince me. But I know my papa. He will indeed come here and drag me by my fucking hair if I don't comply to his demands.

I've never been one to stand by and take hurtful comments. I'm the one to snap back with the same amount of energy. But, it's different with papa-I can never look him in the eyes and defend myself. My mouth has been sealed shut with past trauma and the fear of what he will do to me if I decide to speak against him.

"I have to go, Sandra." I breathe and she instantly starts shaking her head.

***

It takes me about a solid hour to convince her. Convince her, that I will be fine and we will see other after break. But at this point, I don't know if it's her or myself that I'm trying to reassure.

Sandra agrees on the condition that I will text and call her everyday, to inform her I am okay. I internally smile, no one has ever cared this much for me.

She and I both walk out of the apartment, locking the door as we go. Before getting in my car, I hug her one last time. "I love you, Sandra." My voice comes out as a mere whisper, hoping this won't be the last time I see her.

"I love you too, Sia." She smiles, hugging me even tighter as if she's not ready to let go either.

After a couple of minutes, we say our goodbyes and I situate myself into the car, driving off with a heavy heart.

Once I get on the highway, I play some music to lighten my mood and distract myself of what's to come.

'Cruel Summer' by Taylor Swift starts playing from my playlist.

God, I love her so much.

Thought, the song doesn't quite match the aura since it is Christmas. So, I change it to 'Midnight Rain', which brings me an unexplainable amount of comfort and relief.

It's a four hour ride home and I left my apartment at 6:00 p.m., meaning I'll arrive there around 10:00 p.m.

Great.

After four long hours of driving, I finally stop in front my house-my parent's house.

Still the same two story house, with the obnoxiously large water fountain in the middle of the driveway. I guess you could say I was born into a rich family, actually very rich.

Papa's older brother, Pedro Alfonso, was head of the Spanish mafia. When he died of a heart attack, his wife, Cristina Alfonso, and son, Dante Alfonso, came to live with us.

One day, they both magically died. At least that's how Dominic Alfonso, my papa, wants everyone to see it as.

But that's all a whole lot of bullshit.

That night, I heard screams and sobs coming from our basement. My stupid, seven-year-old self, went downstairs to cure my curiosity and my heart practically stopped when I saw the scene playing out in front of me.

Papa-my papa, was stabbing Dante in the chest with a knife while aunt Cristina was tied to a chair in the corner, being forced to watch her own son die.

I didn't know what to do, it's not like I could do anything. I sprinted back up to my room and had my first panic attack, with no one to help me.

The next morning, aunt Cristina was no where to be found. It was pretty obvious, even to my young mind, who had killed my aunt and cousin.

My papa was a fucking murder.

And what did I do?

Fucking nothing.

As I grew older and overheard conversations between papa and his 'colleagues', I soon figured out what the fuck was going on.

I was fourteen when I found out.

My papa killed his brother and his family to take over the Spanish mafia himself. He did all of this for money.

Our family wasn't poor before this, so papa had no reason to be this greedy. He got caught up in all of this avarice that he ended up killing his own family.

It wasn't like uncle Pedro didn't send us money either, he would always help us when we asked. Yet, papa didn't appreciate his brother's efforts enough...

Which is exactly why you should never give more than you receive. People will always hurt you and take advantage of your kindness and efforts.

Somehow the next day, papa found out I had eavesdropped. He forcefully took me to the basement, the same one he had murdered our family in.

Papa signaled one of the men in black suits who had brought over a man. A man who was bruised up and bleeding to his core. A man who shouldn't be suffering like so. A man who a child shouldn't be seeing in such awful conditions.

I had felt like throwing up. A fourteen year old should be doing anything else, but be in a room with a beaten, bloodied man.

Before I could have said a word, papa handed me a gun. A gun, in the hands of a damn child. A fucking gun.

"Shoot." I remember him demanding. As if it meant nothing, as if this weapon couldn't take someone's life in an instance.

When I refused on killing that man, he slowly took of his belt, showing me what would happen if I didn't. He wrapped it around his fist and gave me a pointed look. This was the look he gave me when he would hurt me.

The feeling was all too familiar...My heart dropped straight to my stomach. I felt purely sick.

'Was he really going to beat me? In front all these men?' I had thought to myself. Now looking back at it, yes he would have.

I pulled the trigger. I shot the man, I was so scared. I didn't want to hurt him, but I did. I was selfish. I could have taken the beating, but no, I took a life instead.

The bullet went straight through his head. I was in pure shock and I could not move an inch of my body. The air around me had began tasting like poison, a type of poison I deserved for killing an innocent. It felt like the walls were closing in on me. No one was by my side to help, it was just me.

Papa put his arm on my hip and turned me around, leading me out of the basement.

Just when I thought this shit was over, he took me to the basement every day. But not to kill, to train.

He would leave me alone in there, for ten hours every day after school, with random men. They taught me to defend myself, but not in normal ways.

If I did something wrong, they would fucking hit me. It's like papa gave them permission to treat me like this. I remember the pain I felt everyday, lying on that basement floor, and I don't ever want to feel it again, nor do I wish for anyone else to feel it.

By the age of eighteen, right before graduating, papa had successfully trained me into killing people. He treated me like some project.

I never understood why he trained me. It wasn't like I was inheriting his position, so I never figured out why he taught me to defend myself in such crude ways.

Maybe he was just a mental patient having his fun of my life.

I close my eyes and feel a single tear glide down my cheek.

I shake the old memories away and step out of my black Mercedes. I take a deep breath and grab my suitcase and purse from the back. Heading to the front door, I ring the doorbell. A repeated 'bing', noise echoes through the walls and bounces off the windows.

Still the same fucking sound.

My parents are both from Spain. I fluently speak Spanish since I was raised there for the first five years of my life. My parents never bothered to check on me, so I took care of myself.

I remember one time, I had accidentally spilled coffee on my papa. And he yelled. Screamed. And fucking hit me. I cried and I still remember his stupid, useless words. Except they've been proven to not be so useless after all, because I have recited his sentences word for word.

"Eres una puta mujer, así que empieza a actuar así. No vales nada más, así que no esperes que yo ni ningún hombre te tratemos así. Ahora, ve a hacerme otra taza, perra!" (You're a fucking woman, so start acting like it. You are not worth anything else, do not expect me or any man to ever treat you like it. Now, go make me another cup, bitch!)

I was fucking seven. This sexist motherfucker. Yet, I never said that to him, I simply just went back and made him another cup.

My mama, Anita Alfonso, isn't any better. She never treated me like a human, let alone a child. I got myself up in the mornings for school, and made my own dinner and breakfast at the age of ten. It wasn't ever real food, just things that were easy to make because I was never taught how to cook. For example, cereal and bagels were always a go-to.

I had no siblings. No pets. And my parents would never allow my friends to come over. I was all alone. I felt like a prisoner in my own home, trapped with no way out.

Some people should never have kids if they can't take up the responsibility to give them a good life. I don't get why they didn't put me up for adoption or simply just dispose of me if they didn't want me.

The relationship of a mother and daughter is supposed to be the most special. Your mom is supposed to give you sex education and explain periods not abandon you in a world full of cruel people.

School was never easy for me either. I was always taunted because my parents would never show up to any of my events.

It was excruciating, seeing other girls at school getting picked up by their mama's while my fucking driver came.

It pained me to think my parents didn't love me enough to do those little things for me-the ones that mattered the most.

If I decide to have kids with someone, I'll never let them go through the things I endured. I end up knowing that I cannot give them a good, happy life, I simply will not have children.

I was snapped out of my thoughts when the door opened.

Mama.

She still looked the same, except some wrinkles had made their way to her face. She was a beautiful woman on the outside, yet I never thought I looked like her or my papa...

She had the fakest smile plastered on her face as she spoke unexpectedly nicely. "Bienvenida a casa, Elisia!" Mama exclaimed, excitedly. A little too happy, isn't she?. (Welcome home, Elisia!)

I step into the house and all of the horrible, traumatic memories come flooding back. It's as if all those years of therapy had done nothing to heal me.

Four years of therapy down the drain.

"Bienvenido de nuevo a tu casa, cariño!" A loud voice booms behind me. (Welcome back to your home, sweetie!)

Papa.

His grey hair was shriveled and messy. He was in his usual grey suit, and it's safe to say he hasn't changed one bit.

It's ridiculous how he says 'your home'. This house was never my home. Maybe my naive seven year old mind thought so, but as time passed, and I grew up, I slowly realized this isn't what you call home. This was and still is fucking hell. And, I, unfortunately, was stuck in the deepest, darkest pits of it.

I want to go back already.

"Cómo has estado, cariño?" Mama chimes in, acting as if they hadn't traumatized me for life, scarred me for life. (How have you been, dear?)

I swallow the lump in my throat and reply, "Bien." (Fine.)

"Bueno, pareces cansada. Por qué no vas a tu habitación y duermes?" Papa smiles at me, obviously fake and sarcastic. (Well, you look tired. Why don't you head up to your room and sleep?)

My room?

I thought they made it into a guest room.

What the fuck is happening?

Why is he smiling like this?

Something doesn't feel right.

"Me parece bien." I reply, just happy to stay away as far as possible from them. (Sounds good to me.)

And with that, I head up stairs.

Elisia•

I shoot up and out of my sleep in a hurry, thinking I was somewhere completely unsafe.

And I fuckin' am.

I pick my phone up to check the time and realize it's 8:00 p.m. I took a nap for three hours?

I've been here for two days now. Everything seems to be fine, but my gut feeling is telling me otherwise.

My phone buzzes and I look down at my phone to see a message from Matt. Him and I are not that serious, we met at a college fraternity party which says a lot about our relationship in the first place.

Matt

Come to the Infinite club in an hour.

Me

You're here?

Matt

Yes, now come. I miss you.

I jump out of bed and open my suitcase to grab some clothes. I still haven't unpacked, because I genuinely don't think I'll be staying here for more than a week. I physically and mentally can't.

I try finding an outfit that would look good at a club and end up wearing a matte black, leather skirt paired with an off the shoulder crop top.

I throw on some gold jewelry, layering the necklaces and bracelets. Deciding to leave my hair natural, I run my fingers through it to get rid of any knots. To finish off the look, I put on some light makeup and casual heels.

To finish off the look, I put on some light makeup and casual heels

I stand in front my full length mirror to look at myself.

Woah.

I snap a quick picture to post on Instagram later since I haven't posted in a while and decide to head downstairs.

I grab my keys and just as I reach the front door to head out, mama stops me, "Y a dónde vas?" (And, where are you going?)

I sigh and reply, "Salir con un amigo." My tone had definitely sounded rude and uncalled for, but I am not a child anymore. She does not need to know where I go anytime I leave the house. (Out with a friend.)

"Vestida como una zorra?" She snorts, almost identical to a pig. I knew it was coming-I almost smelled it from a mile away, but didn't want to ruin my mood. (Dressed like a slut?)

"Tengo más de dieciocho años y soy capaz de hacer lo que quiero. Así que sí, vestida como una zorra. Ahora, si me disculpas, mi amigo está esperando." I snap, all in one breath before slamming the door shut as I head out. (I'm over eighteen and capable of doing what I want. So yes, dressed like a slut it is. Now, if you'll excuse me, my friend is waiting.)

Where the fuck did I get that courage from? It's gonna be one hell of a night when I get home.

***

After about fifteen minutes, I arrive at the club and walk inside-after showing them my identification card. I immediately find Matt's dark, ocean blue eyes and he rushes over to me as he wraps his arms around my waist, more like my ass. He tries kissing me, but I lean back.

Fucking hell, why did I have to make this so awkward?

"Oh, sorry." I mumble, laughing awkwardly and trying to wave it off. As I'm about to pull away from his arms, he does the unexpected.

He nods at first, making me think he understood I didn't want a kiss right now. Instead, he leans into kiss me again.

Did you not get the hint? I'm not in the mood, dipshit.

I give in and kiss him back. A short, quick one. He clutches onto my wrist and leads us over to the bar, where he had saved us two seats.

"Two tequila shots!" He yells over the loud music, almost making me cringe at the sudden voice.

Matt is a handsome man. He has fluffy, curly blonde hair with the brightest blue eyes ever. He's a nice guy, he has a cute smile, and is respectful. Sometimes.

When we first started dating, he begged me to have sex with him. It's been five months and I still haven't let him in my pants yet. It might be safe to say, that he's only with me for my body.

Which is why Sandra is telling me to cut him off, and honestly, I want to break up as well...

The bartender gives us our drink and we both take our shots.

"You look amazing, Sia." Matt compliments me and for a second, I thought he was being sweet. That was before I followed his gaze straight down to my tits.

Men.

"Thank you..." I smile, suddenly feeling awkward. It's not that I didn't like him, otherwise I wouldn't be dating him. But that's the thing, I used to like him, I don't anymore. The small actions of his have made me loose feelings over the last few weeks. Actions such as this, where he only gawks at my body.

I decide to break the awkwardness and start a conversation, "Were you the one who told Sandra I was leaving?"

He nods, running his hand through his hair to add volume. "Was I not supposed to?" He raises a brow in confusion, not knowing if he had done something wrong.

"Just wondering." I smile, awkwardly once again. Is he not understanding that I'm just trying to start some icebreaker shit?

"Wanna dance?" He tilts his head, extending his hand forwards for me to grab. A small smile plays on his mouth as he awaits for my response.

"Why not." I nod with a small smile of my own. At least this way, I won't have to deal with more fucking silent awkwardness.

After talking and dancing for a while, he tells me he wants to go to one of the back rooms. Matt was being a bit too touchy with me on the dance floor. I know he's my boyfriend, but I'm not really in the mood to do anything sexual.

I follow him to the back with a heavy sigh and before I know it, he pulls me into one of the rooms. Matt pushes me against the wall and starts kissing me roughly as his hand roam my entire body, sensing each crevice.

He moves his lips down to my neck and starts sucking, biting, and nibbling. That's definitely going to leave marks.

Jesus, how do I stop him?

I don't want him to get mad, like last time...

It's not that we have no sexual interactions. He's seen me naked and the same goes for him. I might be a virgin, but I'm certainty not a saint. I have made Matt come with my hands and he's touched me too. I just never let his dick get inside of me or in my mouth.

Before I can process it, Matt pushes his hand under my skirt and starts rubbing my clit, messily. He's really not even hitting the right spot, so it doesn't feel good either.

I can't take this anymore.

I press my hands against his chest and nudge him back a little. But he doesn't stop. His heavy breaths fan my ears and I shiver slightly at the irking sensation.

"Matt, stop." I mutter out, pushing against his chest once again in desperation.

He doesn't stop.

"Matt, stop!" I speak, a little louder than I had intended to be. Thought, my voice still does not get through his thick fucking skull.

I use all of my strength and push him off of me at once. He almost looses his balance and lands on his ass before he catches his breath, looking at me with pure rage.

"Are you fucking serious?" Matt scoffs, fixing himself up as he glares me down.

"I'm sorry, I just don't want to-" I try explaining my side of the story, before getting abruptly cut off.

"Fuck you and your stupid apologies." He slightly raises his voice at me, scoffing and shaking his head in anger.

I internally flinch at his harsh tone. I fucking hate when people talk to me like this.

Fuck, I'm gonna cry.

Instead of snapping back like I usually would, I stay silent. He has the right to be angry with me. I feel like I'm leading him on. But I wish he would understand that I'm just not ready to lose my virginity yet.

Especially to him, no offense.

He glances at me again and nudges his head after realizing I don't have anything to say. A few moments pass by and he walks out of the door.

Fucking great.

I walk out after a minute too. I sit back down at the same barstool and ask the bartender for another shot.

Why are men like this?

Just because I said no, he has to get all pissed off. I won't let him inside of me without barely even knowing him.

This is not the relationship I want. I always find myself settling for less, and I'm realizing that's exactly what's happening right now.

I want chocolates, flowers, and sex. Good, rough, and hot sex. Matt knows nothing about my desires and what I like, yet he still insists on sleeping with me.

It's fucking tiring. That's what made me realize he's only here for my body. Not once has he ever complimented the way I look. It doesn't even have to be with words, he's never even showed me he likes the way my face is, or my heart is.

I'm completely and utterly a hopeless romantic. I want someone to look at me, adore me, compliment me, worship me, the way men do in books and movies.

And Matt can not give me that. Hell, he can't even stop when I tell him to. I internally groan and scold myself for agreeing to come here.

While waiting for my drink-that's taking fucking forever-I look around the dance floor and my eyes unwillingly lock with a man's pitch dark, brown eyes.

His hair is messy and black with slight waves. It looks so soft and fluffy, making me want to run my hands through each and every strand.

The mystery man is seated on a couch, leaning back, with his legs spread wide open. His muscles bulge through his shirt, to the point where it looked like it could be torn with one singular move.

He slightly tilts his head as if he's checking me out, not breaking eye contact once. My eyes run over his jaw and cheekbones. They're so sharp and defined, I want to touch them-

"Ma'am? Here's your drink." The bartender speaks and I turn around, apologizing.

I take the shot and when I look back, the man is gone.

Was I dreaming or something?

I decide to just head back to the house, since someone left me here.

I reach the hellhole, and when I walk inside, I see both of my parents. They stand there, throwing daggers at me with their hardcore glares.

Well, shit?