A Second Chance のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 11 - チャプター 20

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO, Antonio Dante's pov "Good news?"I almost squeaked. My father had never had any good news to tell for the last fifteen years of my life. "What good news?" I asked curiously. Nothing in this world could make my father happy. Or so I thought until this day. I glanced at the turkey again. Tall and proud. Hot juices spilled from its sides and my stomach growled without warning. "Now, now. The good news must wait," my father laughed merrily, his eyes, giving away every angle of happiness he was showing now. "You must eat something," he said before making to call the servant. "No father, "I protested. "I will dish the food for myself." I looked over to Lisa who had a nervous expression but still gave me the slightest smile. I ran my hands through my hair as I sat down, making notes to bathe as soon as I was done with my food. And of course, hearing the 'good news' my dad who barely smiled had to offer. I chewed on the food slowly, relishing its goodness while thin

Stella Romilly's pov I sat at my dressing table staring at the mirror. I combed my brown hair backward and tied it tightly at the back of my head. I applied concealer on all of my blemishes and pimples that had started to appear out of nowhere. I grabbed my brightest shade of pink lipstick and applied it, pouting for added effect. I dipped my mascara multiple times into the pouch of black liquid before grazing it against my eyes. I turned myself on the chair I sat on and got up. I walked over to the curtains of my room and gushed it open allowing sunlight to fill in and bless my pale skin. I threw my white morning coat on the bed and searched my closet for a dress. I ended up picking a long white fitting dress. It was a halter dress with an open chest. I brushed off the folded parts on the linen and adjusted it watching how the slit when down to the surface of my breasts. I threw my long deep brown coat and paired it with matching deep brown stilettos. It seemed so long since I ha

Stella Romilly's povPastSome truths are meant to be kept. For if lies can create chaos, what can truths with many letters do?It was my first day at school.It was my third school that month. I was always hoping for a change. A fresh start. A new life. For my past was nothing but an unending trauma which I had no hope of curbing.I fastened my little backpack on my back and walked into the school. I looked around. At the bright compounds. The green grass. The happiness felt in the air. Parents with their children. And I wondered.I wondered. Where was mine?I scanned the place and spotted the door where the apparent teacher stood, waving at the parents and guiding the kids in. I walked to that place and queued up, awaiting my turn. I saw how the bags of the kids were removed. Bags that contained lunch. And I wondered.I wondered. Where was mine?The faces of the kids were creased with joy. At the fact that they get to be in school to see their friends and have fun. I was me

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO,Antonio Dante's pov,“Antonio.”“Antonio.” “Antonio.”My father is part of the mafia.My father is a Mafia.A boss. A Mafia Boss.“Open the door,” I might have been behaving like a child locking myself in the room but I needed time to think. “Antonio, please."My father is a murderer.“Antonio, please let me explain.”He kills people.“Please open the door.”For business.It was my mother's voice. Begging me to open the door. So she can explain. Explain what?What exactly? That my father didn't mean to be in a Mafia?Or that he didn't mean to kill people? I was angry at her. Angry at her for keeping this to herself. Angry at myself. Because I kept being stupid. And foolish.I was in no mood for sympathy from the pleas that came out of her mouth. I was worried that I was this calm. I sat on the bed, then got up. I paced the length of the room before deciding against my best wishes. My hand found its way to the knob of the door and I twisted it open.

Stella Romilly's pov,PastSaying sorry is a selfish thing to do. You are doing that to relieve yourself of guilt. But what of the person who has been torn apart? Hannah was not like the other kids who snickered and laughed when I walked by.She was the nicest person I had ever met. She had volunteered to sit by me at lunch and guide me through my first days at school. We sat in the dining area. I opposite her. Her with food. Me with a space. “Here,” she said, pushing her full lunch box to me. I could smell the sausages and rice from where I sat. My stomach growled and my mouth watered.“Let's share,” she said.I looked at the food timidly, feeling guilty. “You don't have to be nice to me you know” I stated. She may have been forced into this but I would rather a genuine heart. She looked confused. Tilting her head to one side, she asked me.“Why?”I was startled by her question. “What?”“Why do you think I shouldn't be nice to you?” She poured, the redness on her cheeks prominent.