Page 78 of Soulless Rivalry

“No. You have nothing to do with that.” I grabbed the hand he was cupping my face with and interlocked our fingers.

“Then who? I’ll fucking kill them.”

Fury shone in his bright eyes, but I shook my head at him.

“It was just a fight with my cousin, nothing to worry about.”

“Mia did this? What the fuck, Elyssa?”

“She’s having issues. I think–” I hesitated, knowing Mia would be mortified if she knew I told anyone of her previous addiction, not even Briar knew. “I think she’s doing coke again. Or something stronger,” I sighed. “I need to tell her mom about it on Christmas break. She didn’t mean to hurt me, she’s just… she’s sick, Konstantin.”

I could see he didn’t like my reasoning and that was okay. Konstantin was a pragmatic and disciplined person. To him, if Mia was addicted to something, it was simply her fault. It wasn’t a lack of empathy per se, just his logic. He didn’t understand human emotions well.

That’s something he’d told me one night after we stayed up late discussing The Order, and it somehow made me understand our years of rivalry better.

“It doesn’t excuse her hitting you. I’ll let it slide this once but if it happens again, I’m sending Dinara after her.”

Was it bad that his reaction made me feel cherished? I loved my cousin, but she had hurt me deeply. After everything we went through, after watching our grandfather and uncles smack me around ever since I joined the family in my early teens, she knew how her hitting me would make me feel.

She had crossed a line last night.

“How is Katarina?” I asked, needing to change the subject.

Konstantin’s lips pursed. “Not good. There’s permanent nerve damage.”

I gasped softly, my heart breaking for her.

“She most likely won’t be able to dance again and certainly not on a professional level like she wanted.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“We’ll find whoever did that to her and make them pay,” he said fiercely, his eyes blazing with anger.

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him I suspected Viola, but I knew they would kill her if they knew. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be responsible for her death, so I didn’t say anything. If it was her, they would find out anyway and then I wouldn’t be responsible for whatever they did to her.

Konstantin cupped my face again, his eyes back on the bruise on my cheek. “I still can’t believe Mia hit you.”

“It’s okay. Not the first time a family member mistakes me for a punching bag, believe me.” I tried making light of the situation with some self-deprecating humor, but that was an obvious mistake as it only seemed to make him more mad.

“What do you mean?”

I gulped, looking away, and tried to move away too, but he didn’t let me, and his hold on me tightened.

“It’s nothing.”

“Like fuck it is.”

“I mean, come on, Konstantin, you know I’m far from being my grandfather’s favorite, or anyone from my family for that matter. If I recall correctly, you used that knowledge to take jabs at me.” I sent him a pointed look which he promptly ignored.

“I said that because that’s what people were saying, but they also say the same about Briar’s grandfather and you see how doting he is with her. I thought it was only a matter of pride, that your old man acted like he couldn’t stand you to keep face in front of his peers but treated you well behind closed doors.”

I flinched and shook my head.

“My family hates me.” I let out a humorless laugh. “Hell, I don’t think I even have one in the first place. I used to, back in Italy, but ever since Baba died, nothing has been the same. My uncles and grandfather never forgave my mom for leaving, and they don’t consider my lineage to be pure enough for them. It was worse when I was younger, but now they mostly ignore me.”

I tried hard not to let it show that it affected me, I did, but the truth was, there was a part of me that always yearned for a family. My inner child still maintained the illusion that they would accept me someday, maybe even start taking interest in me,likeme, even. God knows I did everything I could for that to happen: I never disobeyed orders, stayed out of their way, excelled at school, and took on as many extracurriculars as I could… but nothing seemed to be enough.

“I try holding onto my father’s culture, it’s the one thing I remember from him, and they hate it. This is the only place I can paint my fingers with henna because if they see it on me back home, they go mad. They hate my bracelets, but I never take them off because they belonged to my grandma, and they never fail to tell me they think my belt is tacky but again, it’s one of the few things that remind me of her. She used to wear one every day. She’d hook a handkerchief or a really small towel on it because they always came in handy according to her,” Ichuckled. “She had tattoos on her chin and forehead, not the kind you’d get done in a shop, the traditional kind that she got when she was fourteen in her small village in Tunisia.” A smile stretched my lips as I conjured her image in my brain.

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