Their Little Princess | ✔️

Chapter Two

MADDIE

The police move swiftly through the living room as the paramedics do stuff inside.. The police officer who escorted me out of the house has been chatting intensely with a blonde woman whose hair is pulled up into a bun. 

I'm sitting on the stone wall beside my house as I try to focus on their features to erase the image from my mind. The blonde is talking anxiously on the phone. Her eyes widen slightly and she turns to look at me.

Does she know? Does she know they used to hit me? Did they see the bruise? Is there some science-y way to scour Daniel and Mom's minds to figure out all the horrible things they've done to me?

I'm momentarily distracted as I strain my ears to hear what she's saying.

"Yes...Yes, are you certain, sir? I can always—" She's cut off immediately and her face pales and for the rest of the conversation seems to stick to nodding despite the person on the phone not being able to hear nods.

If I ever nodded instead of verbally answering Daniel, he would very well have killed me. He would have beat me past recognition. Immediately the sight of them bleeding out on the couch overtakes my mind.

"Alright, I've worked it out," I jump as a voice startles me out of my thoughts. I meet the woman's stare, she looks exhausted. I look at her silently, she pauses as if waiting for me to answer, like I didn't just see 2 people bleeding out in my living room. Would she be eager to answer if she saw what I did?

"Your family has decided to take you in. Your oldest brother is sending a private jet to come pick you up later today to go stay with them—"

"Family?" I cut in. It's the first thing I've managed to say in hours

She doesn't seem pleased to have been cut off.

"Sorry," I whisper.

"Yes, your family. You have 6 brothers. They live in New York and have agreed to let you stay with them."

"Why?" I ask. It just doesn't make sense. Why would people who don't even know me want to take me in? And if they do know a lot about me, I definitely don't see why they would want me. The woman shakes her head, "Lord knows, honey. It's just how these things work. You're lucky you have a family who wants to take you in though, remember that."

I stay quiet. I don't feel very lucky considering my guardians, as bad as they were just died.

"I'm Diane, your social worker. Head in and change and pack your things in this bag. We'll head down to the landing and you'll be off to New York. We're on a bit of a schedule here so I'll need you to hurry."

I hesitate, scared to go back in the house, I look over at the police officer she was speaking to. He's now speaking with another officer. Does no one understand that I don't want to go back in there? I swallow and nod, turning and walking inside the house. My entire body is shaking as I walk into the basement I've called a room for as long as I can remember. 

I empty my few things into the suitcase Diane gave me: A couple of sweatshirts and tights, a t-shirt, and the few Christmas gifts I've gotten from Chase and Jessica over the years and hidden from Mom and Daniel. I look around at my empty room and frown at how little I had for my room to be this empty from one suitcase that was barely full.

I pull off my t-shirt and catch sight of myself in the dusty floor-mirror. My arm seems to be turning a pretty shade of red, my ribs and stomach are silver-y purple, the bruises get black as they crawl to my back, the red marks crawling up my chest are almost artistic. In the view of the grainy mirror, the bruises look beautiful and I know it's the shock talking because just last night, especially the neck one, my latest one from my step-uncle Jerry. I saw the bruises and they induced vomit. I quickly cover them up, cautiously sliding on a turtleneck and a sweatshirt over it.

I zip my bag up and drag it out to Diane's car where she's already sitting in the driver's seat. The moment I climb into the backseat and shut the door, she pulls off toward the airport.

"Here, this has your family's names and such. So you don't walk in there clueless." She hands me a light folder, keeping her eyes on the road, " One of them has a doctorate," She jokes trying to lighten the mood.

I grab it from her and open it, looking at all the files.

LORENZO ROSSI - Father; Dead

ELENA ACOSTA - Mother; 47 Years Old

ALESSANDRO ROSSI - Brother; 24 Years Old

ELIJAH ROSSI - Brother; 23 Years Old

EMILIO ROSSI - Brother; 21 Years Old

FRANCESCO ROSSI - Brother; 20 Years Old

XANDER ROSSI - Brother; 17 Years Old

CARLO ROSSI - Brother; 17 Years Old

"Alright, we're here. Follow Diego, that man in the black suit, and he'll guide you into that jet and it'll take you to New York. One of your brothers will pick you up from the airport and drive you to where you'll be living from now on. Your family should have my number should anything arise where they need to contact your social worker."

A private jet? A chauffeur? Are they rich?

My heart is beating rapidly, and I haven't even met them yet.