A Quiet Kind of Ruin

Two years had passed since I bolted from the chaos that was the Jackson family showdown. I made my escape to a sleepy town on the edge of the south, where I traded my past for a new name and a gig at a local flower shop.

To the world, I was another casualty of Hudson City's most notorious mafia feud, presumed dead in the Jackson family's brutal power struggle.

I had even convinced myself of that lie.

There was an empty grave with my name on it in the family plot, where I would occasionally drop off the freshest white roses, a silent tribute to the 'Eleanor' everyone thought was gone.

However, everything changed the day the flower shop door swung open.

A big-shot client waltzed in, requesting a floral arrangement for the Jackson family patriarch, Roman Jackson's, birthday bash. I kept my head down, lost in the blooms, until a voice, shaky and filled with disbelief, cut through the silence. "Mrs. Jackson?"

The rose I was holding jabbed me, a sharp reminder of reality.

I looked up to find myself staring into wide eyes with shock. It was Aria, the Jackson family's former Underboss.

She was ghostly pale, her gaze fixed on me as if I were a specter. "You...you're alive? Why haven't you come back if you're alive? Don't you know, Mr. Jackson..."

Her voice broke, heavy with emotion. "He's been by your grave for two years straight! He's tried to end it all in that graveyard...three times! If they hadn't found him in time, he'd be..."

Roman, the man she was talking about, was my once-husband.

It felt like an icy hand had grabbed my heart and squeezed it tight.

However, the pain was fleeting, quickly replaced by numbness.

She wanted me to go back? To what? To the Jacksons? To him?

Aria had no clue about the real reason I supposedly died.

My death was a carefully crafted illusion.

Roman had an adopted sister, Liliana. Fifteen years back, her parents took bullets meant for Roman's dad and never made it out. Since then, Liliana was everything to Roman: his world, his heart.

Ever since I said 'I do' to Roman, the adopted sister turned into a real-life villain, hell-bent on snuffing me out.

The first time, she messed with my armored car. The brakes gave out, and I took a nosedive off a cliff, ending up with a trio of cracked ribs and a lung that felt like it had been stabbed.

Roman pulled out all the stops, calling in every favor the Jacksons had to offer, throwing cash at top-notch doctors to yank me back from the Grim Reaper's grip.

The second time, she got to my bodyguard, who slipped some nerve-wracking poison into my wine. I was out cold in the mansion for a solid 72 hours, teetering on the edge of brain-dead.

Roman lost it. He shut down Hudson City tighter than a drum, hunted down everyone involved, and made sure they paid. It was a river of blood for his trouble.

Her attacks, his rescues: it was like some twisted merry-go-round.

Every time I thought he would stand up for me, he would shield her at the eleventh hour, giving me that steady gaze and saying, "Eleanor, Liliana's just a kid. She doesn't get it. Cut her some slack, for her parents who laid down their lives for the Jacksons."

Once, twice, a dozen times...

Until the final straw, when Liliana blew up the arms deal I was running.

Kaboom!

The explosion sent me flying, my skin crisping up like burnt toast, with burns over most of my body.

Barely alive, strapped into an ambulance, I clung to Roman's bloody suit sleeve, pleading with every ounce of strength left.

"Take her out... Roman... She botched the deal... The family code says...she's got to go..."

He crouched beside me, his touch light on my wrecked face, but his voice was frosty as he said, "Eleanor, Liliana didn't mean it.

"Can't you just forgive her, for her parents who died for the Jacksons?"

'Forgive her. Always forgive her.' That was what echoed in my head.

In that moment, staring into the eyes of the man I had loved, shielded, and been let down by for three long years, any last bit of warmth in my heart fizzled out, leaving me stone-cold.