Chapter One: Silent Scars

Elena 

"Argh!" I screamed as the bottle hit my head.

Glass shattered against the wall behind me. Sharp pieces rained down on my shoulders. I pressed myself into the corner of the kitchen, my hands covering my face. But it was too late. The cut on my forehead was already bleeding. Warm blood trickled down my brow, into my eye.

"You worthless girl!" Uncle Dante's voice thundered through the kitchen. His face was purple with rage. The whiskey bottle lay in pieces on the floor. "You think money grows on trees? You think I can afford to feed your useless mouth?"

"I didn't take anything," I whispered. My voice shook. "I only took the bread from yesterday. It was going stale…"

"Liar!" 

He grabbed a plate from the counter and threw it. I ducked. It shattered against the wall beside my head.

I started crying. I could no longer help it. The tears came hot and fast, mixing with the blood on my face.

"You're crying?" He laughed, but there was no joy in it. "You want to know what crying is, Elena? I'll show you what crying is."

He picked up another plate. Then another. He threw them one by one. Each crash made me flinch. Each piece of glass that flew past my face made me curl smaller into myself.

I wrapped my arms around my knees and pressed my forehead to my legs. Maybe if I made myself small enough, he would stop. Maybe if I disappeared, he would forget I existed.

But he never forgot. He never stopped.

"Eight years," he said, breathing hard. He was standing over me now, swaying. The smell of whiskey made my stomach turn. "Eight years I've had to look at you. Every day. Every meal. Every bill. You think I wanted this? You think I wanted to raise my brother's child?!"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. My throat was too tight.

"You want to know what you are, Elena?" His voice dropped to something low and cruel. "You're a debt. A debt that keeps growing!!" 

"I'm sorry," I whispered. Tears still streaming down my face.

It didn't matter what I was sorry for. It never did. The words were just sounds I made to survive the night.

He laughed, a wet, ugly sound. "Sorry. She's sorry." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Your father would be so proud. His precious Elena. The daughter he died for."

I flinched.

Fresh tears streamed down my face.

He always went there when he wanted to hurt me the most. 

I could never forget.

The car accident. The mountain road. The snow. My father's last words on the phone. "We’ll be home soon Elena. Don't wait up."

But I waited. I waited all night with the music box he gave me. My small hands held it tight. The little glass globe with snow inside. I wound it again and again, patiently waiting. 

But their headlights never came. 

"Look at me!" He barked. 

I raised my eyes slowly. 

"You think anyone would take you?" He asked. "You think anyone would want you? A silent little mouse with nothing to offer?"

I said nothing.

He reached out and grabbed my chin. His fingers dug into my skin. "Speak when I talk to you."

"No," I choked back my tears. "No one would want me."

His grip tightened. Then he released me with a shove.

"Clean this mess and finish your chores on time." he said, heading toward the door. "When you're done, there's laundry in the basement," he continued. "Three loads. I want them folded by tonight. If one shirt has a wrinkle, you'll do it again."

"Yes, Uncle," I whispered.

"And dinner." His eyes narrowed. "I want meat. Not the cheap cuts. The good ones from the butcher. With the red wine sauce."

The red wine sauce?!

That takes three hours to simmer.

"But, uncle, I don't have money for…"

He raised his hand. I flinched so hard I hit the wall.

"Figure it out," he said coldly. "Or I'll find something worse for you to do."

He turned and walked out. His boots crunched on the broken glass. He didn't look back.

I stood there for a long time.

The blood from my forehead had reached my eyebrow. It was drying now, crusting in the hair. I wiped it with the back of my hand. My palm was red with blood.

My foot throbbed where the glass had cut it. I looked down. A thin line of blood was spreading across the floor, mixing with the pieces of the broken bottle.

I didn't have time for this.

I dropped to my knees and started picking up the pieces.

The days blurred together after that. Chore after chore.

The bathrooms took me three hours to finish.

My knees ached from kneeling on the hard tiles. The bleach burned my hands, cracked the skin on my knuckles. I scrubbed until my arms screamed. When I finished the third bathroom, I sat on the floor and pressed my forehead to the cool wall.

My head was pounding. The cut above my eye had opened again. Blood and sweat mixed together. 

But I wasn't done. 

I picked myself up and went to the basement for the laundry.

Three loads. Towels, sheets, and his clothes. 

I carried the baskets down the narrow stairs. The basement was cold and damp. The washing machine was old. It rattled when it ran.

I sat on the floor while the machine worked.

The cold seeped into my bones. I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them.

I was too tired. The sun was already setting and I hadn't eaten anything.

I closed my eyes.

Just for a moment.

Then I heard it. Sharp and shrill.

"Elena!" 

I woke with a gasp.

"The laundry," I said, scrambling to my feet. "I was waiting for it to finish. I didn't mean to…"

I looked around. He wasn't there.

"Elena!" 

He called again.

But this time his voice was panicked. There was fear in his voice.

I wanted to run up the stairs. But the sound that followed made my blood freeze.  

Gbam!

It was the sound of a gunshot.

It was loud and deafening.

I pressed myself into the wall. My heart raced. My body trembled so hard I could barely hold myself up.

What was going on?

"Please! Give me more time!" Uncle Dante screamed. "I'll get the money. Just give me more time!”

"Signor Rossi," a masculine voice said. It was cold and deadly. I felt cold shives run down my spine. "The De Vercelli family does not offer more time. You pay, or you give something of equal value."