Bury My Love in Blood

Five yeas ago, we were hosting a family dinner when I walked into the study and found my father with his mistress.

He looked at me, voice flat and cold: "Alice Russo, you don't tell your mother about this. Trust me, you can't handle the fallout."

I didn't listen. Ran straight to my mother in tears and told her everything.

That night, Mother had her people remove the woman from the property.

The next morning, the woman's daughter Anya ran my mother down with her car at the docks.

That's when I realized, I was completely alone. Because my dad is taking his bastard daughter's side.

I called Victor Castro, my husband, 99 times. He never answered once.

I had a breakdown at the family tribunal. They physically removed me and had me committed to a psychiatric facility in Sicily, the worst kind of place you can imagine.

Five years later, Victor finally spoke to me.

The transport stopped outside the facility that day. Sunlight hit my eyes.

Two guards helped me to the car. My father stood there with a line of his men behind him.

In the crowd, I recognized Peter Thompson, one of my mother's most loyal people.

He gave me the smallest nod. Something flickered in his eyes.

I kept my expression neutral and got in the car.

The door closed. Victor sat across from me.

He lit a cigar and said it without any preamble:

"The day Anya ran your mother down at the docks? I paid for her legal team. I provided the witnesses. I signed the autopsy report myself."

...

I couldn't breathe.

Cold spread through my chest, into my arms, down to my fingertips.

My father's hands stayed steady on the wheel, his tone casual:

"I'm the one who drugged your tea. I arranged your commitment to that facility. The director there receives a monthly payment from me to keep quiet about your whereabouts."

Five years of hell. They waterboarded me until my lungs were damaged. Kept me in isolation until my vision started deteriorating. Beat me badly enough to crack three of my ribs.

And my husband, helped my mother's killer go free.

My own father had me declared insane and locked away.

I gripped my sleeve until my knuckles turned white. Everything hurt. My voice came out shaking.

"Why? Why would you do this to me?"

My father wouldn't look at me.

Victor leaned back, "It's simple. You were born with everything—the docks, the shipping routes, the weapons caches. Anya spent twenty years as an unacknowledged daughter. She's suffered enough."

He pulled documents from his briefcase and dropped them in my lap.

"You have two options. Sign these papers acknowledging Anya as the heir. Or I take you back to that facility right now, and you never leave."

I stared down at the documents. The text blurred.

Terror crawled up my spine, cold and deliberate.

"Want to hear the worst part?" Victor leaned closer, "When they dosed you with the hallucinogens, they already had your thumbprint on all the paperwork. The liability waiver for Anya's case. The asset transfers. Everything."

"The drugs hit you hard. You burned with fever for three days." He paused, something cruel in his smile. "You were pregnant at the time. You didn't even know. You lost it."

My body started trembling violently.

Phantom pain tore through my abdomen, the memory of what happened five years ago.

The memory crashed over me.

The day after my mother died, I woke up freezing, violently ill.

I'd been vomiting all morning. Cramps cutting through me.

I thought it was grief. Never occurred to me I was pregnant.

All I could think about was getting justice for my mother.

I stayed in my room, quietly reaching out to the elder women from my mother's side of the family who still supported me. Trying to obtain the original dock surveillance footage that would prove Anya's guilt.

Then they broke down my door.

Someone forced my jaw open and poured burning liquid down my throat.

The world started spinning. Everything was on fire.

Fever consumed me, wouldn't break.

Warm blood ran down my thighs, soaked through my clothes, dripped onto the floor.

Through the haze, someone pressed my finger onto documents, stamping repeatedly.

I tried to resist. Couldn't even raise my hand.

My baby.

Gone.

"You've always had your mother's temperament—" My father's voice pulled me back to the present. "You can't let anything go. The commitment was necessary to break that stubbornness."

"Five years was sufficient." He nodded. "Now even if you had evidence of the truth, you couldn't do anything with it."

He turned his head, looking at me like I was a failed investment.

"Do you know why you were committed for so long? Because you slapped Anya in front of the tribunal."

What? I lunged at my father, hands going for his throat.

"You killed my mother! You killed my baby!" I was screaming, vision going red.

The car swerved violently. The wheel jerked sideways.

Victor grabbed me from behind, his arm crushing my windpipe.

"Control yourself, Alice." His voice was ice. "This accomplishes nothing."

The car stopped at the entrance to the underground armory beneath the estate.

My father straightened his collar and opened the door. "Bring her down."

The cell door slammed shut behind me.

The same sound as the facility bars five years ago.

My father pulled a ring from his pocket and tossed it at my feet.

"Put it on." He looked down at me. "Consider it your acceptance of this family connection."

I stared at the ring and laughed.

"Russo bloodline isn't something people can claim at will." I looked up, something wild in my eyes.

"Your mother said exactly that once." My father turned to leave, his footsteps echoing. "Look what happened to her."

I bent down and picked up the ring. Closed my fist around it.

When Victor came closer, I swung my fist up hard, smashed the ring into his temple.

Blood spurted from the gash, an ugly wound.

He staggered back a step, touched the injury.

He looked at the blood, then smiled coldly and wiped it away.

"You have nothing left." He crouched down, fingers digging into my jaw. "Until I authorize it, you won't even know where the bathroom is in this place."

"Cooperate with us, you keep the Russo name, the Castro family remains accessible to you." His breath reeked of cigars and blood. "Just this once. Submit."

The iron door crashed shut.

I leaned against the cold wall and closed my eyes.

Peter Thompson's nod replayed in my mind.

One of my mother's people still remembered me.

Someone might still be loyal.

I opened my eyes.

"This 'family' that only accommodates mistresses and illegitimate children—" I whispered, "I stopped wanting it long ago."

I was getting out of here.

And when I did, they would all pay.