Page 1 of Soulless Rivalry

PROLOGUE

11 years ago. Upper East side, New York

My hands were trembling.

I hated it and tried hard to keep them from doing so, but I couldn’t.

Next to me, Mamma’s eyes were vacant, as they had been for the last week, ever since baba passed away.

She went through the motions, didn’t even acknowledge the people escorting us to the highest floor of the tallest building I had ever seen in my ten years of existence. We didn’t have anything like these back home.

I had only been there for a few hours but I already hated New York. I wanted to go back home to Italy with Baba and Jedde, but even back then, it was pretty clear to me that I would never see the sun of Sorrento again. I would never see my dad or find comfort in the arms of my grandma ever again.

We didn’t have much; we lived on the ground floor of an old building in the north of the city. I had to share my room with Jedde but I didn’t even mind, I loved hearing stories of her childhood back in Tunisia before going to sleep.

Tears rushed to my eyes and my fingers absentmindedly traced the gold bangles on my wrist. Jedde had given them to me on the morning Mamma’s people found us and came to our home, two days ago.

I lived pretty much my whole life in hiding. My parents never said it out loud and tried their best not to let it show or affect me, but I always knew the reason why Mamma dyed her blond hair brown was not only tolook more like me,as she would say whenever I asked. I knew the reason why we never wandered around the country, hell, thecity, wasn’t only because money lacked, but also because there were people out there looking for us.

And now, with dad out of the picture, they had found us.

The walls around us suddenly felt like they were closing in, the hallway becoming even more narrow with each step we took. Breathing felt difficult.

There was a red door at the end of it. I knew whatever was awaiting us behind wouldn’t be good.

The two men walking in front of us stopped suddenly, and so did the two behind us.

“They’re all waiting for you.” The guard’s words were in English and I remember wondering what they meant since I only spoke Italian with specks of Arabic back then.

His voice was surprisingly soft. Nothing like the men who came to take us two days ago, forcing us to leave our life, home and family behind.

“Thank you, Leo.” Mamma’s voice was flat but soft. Empty.

When the guard, Leo, nodded, he pushed open the red door and stepped away, signaling for us to step in.

My heart was in my throat and my hand clutched mamma’s even tighter. She didn’t squeeze back.

She used to, before.

It was our thing.

I would squeeze her hand when I needed a little strength and she’d squeeze mine back, giving it to me.

Maybe she just didn’t have any strength to lend me on that day. Maybe she had to save it all for her.

Several new faces looked up at us when we entered the room.

An old man was sitting behind a gigantic desk. It seemed fancy, as did the whole room. All the furniture were made of wood, polished and sparkling clean, certainly custom made. There were gold accents pretty much everywhere; soft-looking, blood red curtains were on either side of two huge windows, giving us a clear view of the buzzing city underneath us.

It may have seemed odd that I was focusing so much on the decor, but for a kid who had only known second hand furniture, handmade quilts and using tin cans as plant pots all her life, being so suddenly thrust into a world of opulence and lavishness made me feel out of breath.

If I’d had to choose, I would’ve chosen Jedde’s makeshift plant pots, mamma’s handsewn quilts and baba’s latest thrift find rather than all of this luxurious nonsense that had been presented to me.

The silence in the room was deafening, cut only by the squeaking sound of my old sneakers on the hardwood floors. I gulped as I took in the people staring at us. They were all so impeccably dressed compared to us. We hadn’t been allowed to change or even shower since they had come to take us.

Mamma’s dress was long with short, puffy sleeves, a beautiful burgundy color, but it looked cheap in comparison to these people’s designer clothes. My jean shorts were dirty from playing outside and my shirt clung to my skin with perspiration from the trip earlier.

The old man behind the desk didn’t take his eyes off mamma, not even bothering to acknowledge me at first, unlike the other people in the room.

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