Page 2 of Carved in Ruin

Layla stifles a sob, her breath hitching in her throat, she launches herself off the chair.

“Sit the goddamn down, right now!” father barks.

With a shaky exhale, she drops back into her chair, avoiding both my gaze and his. The tension in the room is heavy as lead.

“Ask to be excused,” he hisses with venom.

“May I be excused?” she whispers.

He nods, dismissing her with a flick of his fingers. She doesn’t wait for another word, rushing upstairs as if the walls might close in around her.

“May I please be excused too?” I mumble after a minute of silence.

He studies me for a moment, then rises from his chair, stepping behind me. His fingers brush a stray strand of my hair. Leaning down, he places a soft kiss on my cheek, his breath thick with the scent of whiskey.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he murmurs, his thumb sliding from my hair to caress my jawline.

He sighs. “You’re excused.”

I nod, giving him a slight smile before I head upstairs in search of my sister. I find Layla curled up in her bed, wrapped tightly in her blanket, her small frame shaking with sobs.

I climb in beside her, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her close. “It’s going to be okay, I promise,” I lie. My little sister isn’t meant for confinement—she’s a wildflower, destined for freedom. She is meant to explore the world beyond these walls. And that won’t ever happen.

Surprisingly, she responds with a quiet, “It will.” Her voice is so small, so fragile, and I squeeze her tighter.

“He’s right,” she admits, her words catching me off guard.

“Right about what?” I ask.

“Me being like my mother.”

I shake my head violently. “No, you aren’t. You would never abandon us.”

But Layla buries her face in my neck, her breath hitching as she murmurs, “No, Mila, I’m just like her. And with time, you will see that you are just like her too.”

Two

A Dance of Fire and Ice

Mila

Disgust. Dread. Fear. That’s all I feel the next day when father hands us custom-made gowns for another one ofthesemafia gatherings. As usual, the dresses are so expensive they might as well be sewn with blood. It’s all so superficial, fake, and suffocating. But there’s no room for protest. In this world, you dress up, you smile, and you endure.

My father’s voice breaks through the haze as he surveys us. “Wear them well. Make me proud.”

Making him proud is all I want. Yes, he can be mean sometimes, downright cruel. Yes, he treats us like birds in a cage,fearing we’ll use our wings to fly. But he’s still my father. The one that would color with me, braid my hair, and spoil me rotten.

Layla glances at me in the mirror as she puts on her makeup, her face blank, but her eyes having the same reluctance as mine. She hates these events as much as I do. Even my sunshine’s light dims on nights like this

Tonight,hewill be there, along with several capos from the Italian Cosa Nostra, and other mafia families. These events are supposed to be neutral ground, a place for alliances. But everyone knows it’s a powder keg, just one wrong word away from exploding.

And still, amidst the anxiety and the cold sweat pooling down my spine, I feel a spark of something else. Excitement. Anticipation. I hate myself for it, but I can’t deny it. It’s because I will seehim. He won’t talk to me. He won’t even acknowledge I exist beyond a passing glance—if I’m lucky. But just seeing him is enough for me.

I put the dress on, and it clings to me like a second skin. It’s black, with a high slit that teases the pale curve of my leg, and the neckline plunges deep enough to make me feel exposed. I drape the diamond necklace father bought me for my birthday around my neck, and step into my four-inch Louboutin heels. I need all the extra height they can offer.

Layla’s dress is loud, bright orange, a color that does no one any favors, but somehow she pulls it off. It’s short, too short for my taste, and she keeps tugging it down every few steps.

We’re both putting the final touches on when the door swings open. Father strides in without knocking, and I scowl, annoyed by the Lack of privacy. At least Layla and I are already dressed. His eyes land on me, a smile curling his lips. There’s something in the way he looks at me that’s odd. His gaze drops from my face to my chest, lingering there too long, making my skin crawl. What the hell’s gotten into him today?

---