The Taste Of It

Chapter 3

I drove out of the street and slowed to the speed of traffic. My arm burned with every turn of the wheel, and the throat cut stung with every breath. I drove for another five minutes before my mind strayed back to the man who cause me this.

Jace fucking Volkov.

Out of all the people I hate, he topped the top first, no excuse. Him and I have been trying - and failing - to kill each for seven years. Seven fucking years, he escaped and reappeared just to barely escape again.

He's apart of an Italian Mafia, and I was apart of the American one. New York, specifically. Both of our Mafia's have been at war for decades, maybe even centuries. It all started when his great-great-great grandfather or something killed my great-great-great grandfather. Since then, no one has been off limits to the other one.

Husbands, uncles, wives, aunts, children...no one was safe from the other. There have been countless deaths and betrayals from both sides. And neither side wants to wave a white flag, so we've been in this endless route of bloodshed. 

My knuckles turned white as I gripped the steering wheel. My arm burned as though someone placed a torch next to it. I ignored the pain as I ground my teeth thinking of Jace and all the horribly wonderful ways I'd murder him.

Relief flooded through me as I noticed familiar marks, telling me I was close to my safehouse. I turned right, and pulled up to a black iron gate. I scanned my handprint as the gates slide open.

I drove through before I reached another gate my father insisted on having. It was a ridiculously long code of random numbers that he changed so often. I clicked it in before I reached the third gate and gave a swift nod to the guard and he let me through.

I sped into a parking space before I made my way to the entrance. I saw myself in the glass reflection and winced. My brown hair was pulled out from its braid, my mascara smeared underneath my eyes, and the cuts seemed worse in the reflection. 

I typed in the code for the door and walked in. ANd immediately wished I didn't.

On the couch where everyone sat in our family, was my younger brother with some blond chick on his lap.

"Gross, Mike." I growled and tossed my jacket at him, making the blond turn towards me. "Find a goddamn room."

"Hey, she was eager!" He called after me as I rolled my eyes. Michael wasn't not good-looking he had my mom's fluffy blond hair my dad's eyes and a soccer player build. I knew he could pull girls but he didn't have to do it right in front of me.

I ignored him and pulled water from the fridge. I sat myself on the counter and watch my brother's situation play out.

The girl was blushing badly, and talking with her hands. She'd gotten off Michael's lap and was standing by the door. Michael was leaning against the corner of the wall, listening. She said something and she kissed him bye.

"Bye, Alexis." I heard him say, "Wait! No, I mean Steph. Shit, I'm sorry." The girl's face flushed and she said something else, angrily before turning away and slamming the door.

"Alexis?" I teased as he walked over. 

"Oh, shut up." He growled and took an angry bite from an apple. "She looked like an Alexis to me."

"Nah, more like Steph to me." A blond chick named Steph? It was practically obvious.

"Her name's actually Marie..." He admitted. "Not Steph or Alexis." He took another bite before his eyes zeroed in on my throat and arm. "Volkov again?"

Michael knows better than anyone about my rivalry with Jace. Everyone in my family had a grudge against the Volkov family but I had something personal against Jace. Not sure what it was, but it's going end up with one of us dead. No doubt. 

"Yes." I ground out.

"Might want to get it checked out, looks deep." Like I didn't know. "I think it's gonna scar."

"Wow, really?" I said, sarcastically. "I didn't know." But I knew he was right. It's probably close to being infected and most likely going to scar, like he said.

"I'll get it cleaned," I added before I walked over to the west wing. It felt like a mile, and probably was, since our home stretched over several acres. To others, it'll look like a mansion, something glorious, something to be praised.

To me, it was the place where I 'accidentally' got my head stuck in the railing - don't ask - and Michael got his head stuck to make me feel better. Or the place where I first learned that running in the hallway after a shower was not safe. The place where I had millions of secret passageways.

The place where I learned how to bake cookies, and the place where I learned that being a housewife isn't my best choice. Or the place where the very fourth step creaks. The place where I rode a skateboard in the house and ran into my older brother, Alex, who almost punched me.  

It was home to me. No matter how glorious or big. 

I was distracted that it wasn't until I heard a silvery laugh that I noticed I was at my father's office. I knocked loudly before waiting several seconds and opening the door.

My father leaned back in his seat, his curly long crew cut hair messy and his chest heaving. My mother stood beside him with her blond hair loose around her shoulders. Both were breathing heavily and their faces flushed.

Oh, God. It didn't take a genius to know what was most likely happening moments ago. 

"Isabella!" My mother noticed my neck and arm. "What the hell happened?" My lips curved when I heard her curse. She was the most level-headed person in the family, so I took pleasure pissing her up sometimes.

"Nothing, it's just a cut." I said, as I walked over and took a first-aid kit from the drawer and turned away. "Have fun." I sang as I shut the door.