Page 2 of Sins of the Orchid
At thirteen-years-old, I knew more about the fashion world than any girl my age should or would care to admit. But Regalè Fashion was my legacy, one that I would one day be responsible for. That's what Grandmother Regina kept telling me.
I thought I had years, decades, before that would all fall to me, but it seemed that decades wouldn't be an option since my parents were dead. Correction, since my mother was dead. George... he wasn't my real father. He was never meant to be part of the empire.
For thirteen years of my life, I called that man my father. He taught me everything I knew. What should I call him now?
My stepfather? No, it sounded too cold for someone that gave me so much.
I wished everything was the way it was before everything happened. Before I saw my mother tortured and killed in front of my eyes. Before I heard my father’s… George’s screams. The buzz of this city reminded me of the dangers in the jungle, and frankly, I wasn’t sure which was more terrifying.
This city would chew me up and spit me out. Just like the jungle did.
The sudden blare of a car horn had me jumping and glancing over my shoulder as people shoved past me. I'd been released from school an hour ago, but the man that usually picked me up, an uncle I never knew I had, Uncle Vincent, wasn't there. So, I started out my trek to find my way home.
This school would end up breaking me. They already think I'm a freak. An Italian girl with an Irish face. I started at the high school last week after a series of tests confirmed I was much further ahead in my studies than my fellow middle schoolers.
The counselor thought he did me a favor by placing me in a higher grade, but those high school kids were brutal. Lunch breaks and waiting for my ride after school were particularly painful. I just wanted my old life back, to feel normal again.
I glanced around and noted I was lost. Again. Today, the bullies decided to linger around while I waited for my uncle, and taking advantage of him not showing, they decided to dance around me, taunting me before taking my phone. So, I headed home on foot. They kept following me until about two blocks ago.
So here I was! Lost, no phone, and no way to get home. The overwhelming sounds of the city had me turning in circles, looking for any clues as to where I was, or where I needed to go to get home. I sighed, long and hard, my chest constricting in that familiar way. The panic attacks that started since my mom and George’s murder threatened to swell, making it hard to concentrate.
Don’t panic now, I silently whispered to myself. There were men in suits walking in and out of the building next to me, but it barely registered. I was in my school uniform with a backpack on my shoulder.
Leaning back against the glass window, I slid down onto my butt, dropping the bag onto the ground next to me. I pulled my knees to my chest and buried my head into my lap, breathing in and out.
I felt alone, missing Mom and George. The loss was still raw, dreams too vivid and memories too fresh. Until their death, there wasn’t a day that passed by without me talking to Mom. And now… I was so alone.
Dad’s wife hated me. My brothers didn’t know what to make of me. Not even my father knew what to do with me. He didn’t know of my existence until three weeks ago when he got called into the jungles of South America to come and collect me. The Carrera Cartel found me in the jungle. Another day and I wouldn’t have survived. It was a miracle they found me. My mother was saving me even in her death. She reached out to a contact, the head of the Carrera Cartel, and to my father, asking for help before she went in search of George and me. If only she would have waited for them before she went looking for us.
She could have been…
The pain in my chest threatened to explode. It was too hard to live with the knowledge that I caused my mother’s death. If only I would have listened to her. I just wanted her back in my life, my mom and… George.
Grandma Regina lived around here somewhere too, but when Dad came to collect me, those two got into an argument and Dad forbade her to come around me. It didn’t deter her. She kept coming, but each time, their arguments grew worse and worse.
I could do twelfth grade math, but I couldn’t understand what their argument was about. Nobody talked to me; nobody understood me. I didn’t understand them either. I shouldn’t cry; I was too old for tears Grandma would say. She was strong; I wasn’t. A queen in her own right. She was the strongest woman I had ever known. I wanted to cry until everything was back to normal.
“Hey, kiddo.”
The voice was close. A pair of luxurious, black Oxfords entered my line of vision, draped in tailored black slacks.
One heartbeat passed, and I lifted my head, my grip around my legs tightening. My line of sight kept traveling up the custom three-piece suit until reaching his face. Dark eyes stared at me, studying me. That was another thing about this place. Everyone around my dad’s family had the same coloring. Different shades of brown eyes, olive skin, dark brown hair. These men were no different.
They looked like the men that kept visiting Dad, like my brothers.
I looked nothing like any of them. My hair was curly and bright red, and my eyes green. The Irish came from my grandmother. I had my mother’s eyes, but red hair hadn’t been seen in Grandma’s family for a long while. It didn’t sound like an insult when Mom used to say it, but when Elena, Dad’s wife said it, it sounded like the worst insult. She screamed at Dad to have a paternity test done because there wasn’t a single trait I possessed that was Bennetti. It wasn’t like I wanted to be here either… Grandma wanted me. They should have just sent me to live with her.
The younger of the two stepped forward, though he was still much older than me. His dark suit fit him perfectly, making him look dominant and was the epitome of good, expensive style as my grandmother would say. As a granddaughter, and now heiress, to her fashion empire, I always wore the latest and greatest trends and designer clothes. Even as we trekked through the forests and mud of the jungle. George always laughed and thought it ridiculous, but we had a reputation to uphold.
“Stai bene?” I recognized the Italian words but didn’t understand the meaning. The guy offered a smile and kept his voice even and soft when he spoke up, I guess to reassure me I wasn’t in danger. “Are you okay?”
My eyes darted behind him where an expensive black car was parked. Like the one we used to have when we lived in Europe. I didn’t hear the car pull up, maybe it was already here. Lorenzo, my new-found brother, warned me to pay attention to my surroundings. He said it was a consequence of being a Bennetti. I was failing at that too. He was good to me, but he kept his distance. Not that I could blame him. His mother glared at him when he passed me a basket of bread, never mind speaking to me.
I exhaled, my heart heavy in my chest, as I watched both men eye me curiously. I nodded hesitantly, eyeing the man warily.
“Bad day at school?” he asked, lowering down to my eye level as he pulled up the pant leg of his suit.
I tracked the movement of his hand, noting a tattoo snaking down his forearm. He wore a white, crisp shirt, his sleeves rolled up. While it was still warm here for late September, it was nothing compared to the heat and humidity of the jungles in South America.
