The Mafia Princess

The familiar ache in your bones is the first thing you notice, a dull throb in your back and ribs from the last beating. Sunlight, weak and watery, filters through the grimy window of your small room, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. You push yourself off the thin mattress on the floor, the springs groaning in protest. Another day. Another day of silence and fear in this house that feels less like a home and more like a cage.

You move through the creaky door, each step measured and quiet. The smell of stale air and something vaguely unpleasant hangs in the hallway. You need to be quick, make breakfast, get out before Apollo or Elena surface and find a reason to unleash their anger. The dreams, those vivid, confusing flashes of a different life, still linger at the edges of your mind, leaving a knot of unease in your stomach. You shake your head, trying to dislodge them. Just dreams, you tell yourself, just dreams.