Chapter One

Yellow Plaid by JESinwonderland featuring Forever21

“Mom!” I screamed, running into the bedroom.
In the middle of the floor I saw my mother gasping for air, a knife stuck in her stomach. There was blood everywhere, on the walls, floor, and bedspread.
“Sisi…” She cried, her voice cracking.
“Momma, it’s gonna be alright. I promise, I promise.” I said, sitting down next to her on the floor.
I watched as the bright white carpet began to absorb her red life. I reached for the phone on the bedside table and frantically dialed 911.
“Hello, 911, how may I direct your call?” A woman’s voice answered.
“I need an ambulance here immediately. My mother is hurt, she was attacked.” I cried into the phone as I held my mother’s bleeding body in my arms.
“Okay. Just calm down. Is the assailant still in the house?”
“I--- I don’t know. I just got home. I didn’t see anyone.”
“Alright, are you hurt too, Miss?”
“No-- no, I’m fine. I’m alright.” I said, my voice calming when I heard sirens in the distance.
“Good. There is an ambulance and officers on the way right now. I’ll stay on the line with you until they get there.”
“Okay, thank you.” I sighed.

I sat in a chair in the waiting room of the ER. My foot tapped nervously against the linoleum checkerboard patterned floor. The sound echoed with the rhythm of the receptionist typing at her computer. I was still in the same clothes I had on when the police arrived. A pair of jeans with a now bloodied white teeshirt. My hands and arms were covered in dried blood. I didn’t think to go into the bathroom and wash them off. I was too concerned with what was going on inside that room. I heard the high pitched rings of the defibrillator. My father rushed in then. His six foot two, three hundred pound frame pushed past random nurses until he reached me. I stood up as he wrapped his arms around me, when I pulled away, I saw that some of the blood was now on his grey suit.
“It’s going to be alright.” He said, rubbing my back.
“Who would do something like this?” I cried.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get them back.” He steamed, “Go into the bathroom and clean yourself up a bit.”
I did as he asked and walked into the small bathroom. I rested my palms on the edge of the cold sink, taking in a huge breath of air. I looked up at the mirror at my reflection. My tear streaked face was dirtied with running mascara and dried blood. I turned on the cold water and bent my face down to splash the water. It felt nice against my burning face. I switched the water from cold to hot, to get the rest of the blood off of me. With a handful of paper towels I scratched and scraped until the red water eventually ran clear. I took a few moments to myself before opening to door and returning to the waiting room. I just wish I was ready for what was on the other side.
“Dad… what happened?” I asked, looking at my father’s tear soaked face.
“They lost her.”

Three Months Later…

“Sienna! Wake up or you’re going to be late for your first day!” My father yelled from downstairs.
I groaned and rolled over. School, ugh. I hadn’t been to school since November eleventh, the day my mother died. Three months was all the school would give me for ‘grieving’ before I had to stay back. So here it was, February eleventh, and I was going back to school. The past months had been a blur. A zombie, comatose blur. I rarely left my room. My father and I had grown distant, two people living in two separate worlds.
“Sienna if I have to ask one more time---”
“I’m up!” I screamed, the shrill echoing through my room.
I rolled out of bed and slammed my feet on the hardwood floor so my father would hear me. I pulled out a pair of black jeans from a pile of clothes on the floor along with the next clothes I found. I could honestly care less about how I look.
“You look very nice this morning.” My father said as I entered the kitchen.
I rolled my eyes at his lie. He was just trying to make me feel better.
“Thanks.” I mumbled, taking a water bottle from the refrigerator.
“Aren’t you going to eat something?” He asked.
“No.”
“I really think you should.” He pressed.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Well here,” My father started, reaching for the wallet in his back pocket, “take this for lunch.” he said, handing me a twenty dollar bill.
“Thank you. I’m gonna go now.” I said, shoving the money into my pocket and walking out of the kitchen.
I walked down the hall into the grand entranceway. Everything in this house was so white, I hated that. The walls, the floors, and even the furniture. My mother had decorated the entire house from top to bottom. It reminded me of her, that’s why I hated it. I pulled on my boots over my jeans and zipped up my peacoat, unprepared for the day ahead. When I opened the door, I was instantly blinded. The snow was so white that when the sun hit it, it shined bright. I covered my eyes with sunglasses and walked outside, narrowly missing a patch of ice on the walkway. I pulled the keys to my pearl white escalade and got inside. Freezing, I turned on the monstrosity of a vehicle and flipped on the heater. Driving a small bus wasn’t my idea. It was my father’s. After my mother died, he did everything he could to keep me save, including trading my 2010 Camaro for a Lincoln Escalade. I’ll admit, it was better driving in the winter, but I felt like I was driving a tank suited for the army. It even had bulletproof windows. I guess I should be thankful to have a father that cared so much for my safety. But it was his fault our entire family was in danger in the first place.

I felt self conscious walking through the halls. People stared, knowing why I had been missing for so long. I don’t know what was worse, the kids who looked at me like I was a leper, or the ones that plastered that disgustingly fake sympathy smile on their face. I saw that some of the familiar faces I had gone to school with changed a little. Some had different haircuts or color, fake tans, and other small things that change over three months. I didn’t have many friends, or close ones. I didn’t even have a best friend. Growing up the way I did, I was taught never to fully trust people. This caused me to be somewhat of a loner in school. That was alright with me I guess, it means I couldn’t miss anyone.
By lunch time I didn’t know what to do. I felt like the new girl. I stood at the front of the cafeteria, bewildered. Everyone had a place to sit, and I didn’t. It made me sort of sad. But I knew I couldn’t be sad now, I’ve had three months to be sad, right now, I was going to eat my lunch.
“Hey, Carrie, mind if I sit here?” I asked.
“Oh sure.” Carrie said, moving her bag to make room for me.
The other girls at the table didn’t seem to notice me. Either that or they pretended not to.
“So… how have you been?” Carrie asked.
Oh God, that fcking question. I hated that question with a passion. I‘m horrible, thank you very much. How’s that for an answer?
“I’m fine.” I lied.
“That’s good. I’m glad.” She smiled.
I didn’t blame her for asking really. If I were in the same situation, I’d probably ask the same thing. It was just having to answer the same question day after day, when the answer never changed.

After school, I had an appointment. I hated these biweekly appointments. It was the same questions over again while someone stared at me writing unknown notes. I hated being analyzed. It made me think too much. I overanalyzed every word that came out of my mouth during that one hour appointment.
“So Sienna, how have you been since your last visit?” Doctor Mufti asked.
Ugh, that question.
“It’s only been three days.”
“That’s not an answer, Sienna.” She replied.
“Well maybe you should ask questions that have answers.” I snapped.
This always happened. I never ‘let her in’. Apparently I have trust issue, go figure. It didn’t take a three hundred dollar an hour shrink to tell me that.
“So have you thought about it recently?” Doctor Mufti asked.
“Thought about what?” I asked, knowing the answer.
“Your mother’s death.”
“Yes.”
“And what did you do.” She asked.
“This.” I said, revealing my scratched up wrists that where covered by stacks of bracelets.
Mufti put her head into her hands, rubbing her temples, then looked back up at me.
“That’s not healthy.” She said.
“I know.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“Because it makes me feel better.” I said simply.
And it did. I couldn’t even explain it to myself. Every time a bad thought or memory came back to me from that day, I just pulled out my trusty pair of scissors and fade into happyland. It’s a compulsion, sometimes I feel like if I don’t do it, I’ll explode. My head starts to hurt, I get nervous and jumpy, then I finally have to give in to it. Otherwise, I’ll lose my mind. The second the blood starts to show, I smile. I don’t know why. Maybe because I know I’ll feel better now, and I’ll actually be able to sleep. I won’t be plagued with unnecessary demons. I regret it sometimes. But I guess with every action you have some type of regret. Mufti is the only one who knows about it. I somehow convinced her with my wit not to tell my father, even if it meant breaking the law. I promised her I’d stop, but even she knew I couldn’t keep that promise. I’ve told myself to stop numerous times. In retrospect I guess it’s really not worth it. The annoyance of having to hide everything. But when that crippling pain in my head starts, I know I’m doing the right thing.
“Sienna, if you don’t stop this, you’re going to have to be committed. Is that what you want? Think about what it will do to your father. You’re all he has left.” Mufti said lightly, leaning towards me.
“So no you‘re guilt tripping me? Jeez, if that actually worked I would have been dead six weeks ago.” I growled.
“That’s not what I’m doing and you know it.”
“Well sht, it sure sounds like it. ‘Oh Sienna, if you only realized the pain you’re putting on others. Forget about how fcking shtty you feel, worry about everyone else and their problems.’”
“Stop it. Now you’re just putting words into my mouth.” she yelled at me.
I laughed slightly and slouched backwards into my seat.
“I think we’ve made quite the breakthrough today, Doctor Mufti.”

By the time I got home it was after dark. The wind howled and whipped as I shuffled to the front door. I slammed the massive front doors shut only to realize the inside of my house was completely black. No one was home. I switched on the entranceway and hall light and made my way to the kitchen. There was a plate of food with a note attached to the top.

Sienna,
Maria made this for dinner. Baked ziti, your favorite! I promise I won’t be home too late tonight.
Love, dad.

Awesome. Dad was out on yet another one of his late night excursions doing God only knows what. Actually I take that back, even God probably didn’t know what he was doing. He was that good at keeping secrets.
I walked up the cold white marble staircase until I reached the top. For some reason, I was being pulled towards my parents old bedroom. No one, not even my father, had gone in there since the day of my mother’s murder. He had Maria take out all his clothes and put them into one of the guest rooms, where he had been sleeping ever since. No one wanted to enter the room, the memories where simply too much, especially for me. I couldn’t help myself though. I took soft, steady footsteps until I reached the door. I wrapped my fingers around the door handle and began to twist the knob. At the very last second though, I stopped, let go of the handle, and walked to my room.

I sat on the edge of my bed, debating whether I should laugh or cry. I chose neither and stared blankly at the opposite wall for a few minutes. It wasn’t until my cat, Roscoe, jumped on my bed, that I realized just how long I’d been staring.
“Hey boy.” I said, petting his head.
He purred and snuggled his face into my hand. I smiled and continued to pet him. I heard a few footsteps coming from downstairs. I didn’t think anything of it, it was probably my father. Suddenly, there was a loud crash, sending Roscoe to sprint into the corner. Slightly panicked, I reached for the baseball bat I had hidden underneath my bed, and pulled it out. As quietly as I could, I crept off my bed and towards my closed bedroom door. I pressed my ear up against the wood and heard more crashing coming from below. Without a sound, I opened the door and walked downstairs. The sound was coming from the kitchen. Hiding behind an outcove in the hallway, I saw a shadow creeping around the room. Using my instincts (although my true instincts where screaming ‘get the gun!’), I charged at the stranger, screaming as I did so.
“Miss Delessio! It’s me!”
“Maria?” I questioned.
“Yes, Miss!” She said, waving her arms around in the air.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I thought you were a burglar.” I said, my heart rate slowly going back to normal.
“No, dear. Just me. I’m afraid I forgot my cell phone here before I left earlier.”
“Oh, okay.” I said, panting a little, “Just don’t do that again.”

After my little run-in with Maria the maid, I went back up to my room. I was bored, and actually somewhat enjoying the silence, so I took my journal out from my bedside table. It was Mufti’s idea that I keep a journal. At first I thought it was part of her psychiatrist mumbo jumbo, but it actually helped sometimes. It felt good to be able to write everything down. Picking up my pen, I opened to a fresh page and pressed to the paper.

Dear Journal/Diary/Rant Book/Future compost,

Had a riveting appointment with Mufti (or as I prefer, Muffy). It was full of life changing expression and moments. I think for a millisecond there, I could have cried. Ah, screw it. Even a fcking notebook can read my bullsht. No, Muffy did nothing. She asked the same questions she always does, told me the same stuff, I learned absolutely nothing. Actually, I take that back, I learned that she is SO not worth the three hundred dollars an hour. Hey dad, save the money and buy me a new Chanel bag, kay? I’m such a brat, shoot me in the face. Whatever. It’s not like I know anything less than gold toilet seats and caviar. Alright, maybe I’m over-exaggerating a little. But still, save the money dad, really. That bitch is a quack. Maybe SHE should go see a shrink. But I guess it’s true what they say, it takes a crazy to know a crazy (quoted by the fine miss Muffy herself).

Well, I best be going now. My tummy is grumbling and Maria’s baked ziti is taunting me from the kitchen counter. I’ll check in later, I guess.

Love,
Sienna Delessio, your favorite mafia princess. “Mom!” I screamed, running into the bedroom.
In the middle of the floor I saw my mother gasping for air, a knife stuck in her stomach. There was blood everywhere, on the walls, floor, and bedspread.
“Sisi…” She cried, her voice cracking.
“Momma, it’s gonna be alright. I promise, I promise.” I said, sitting down next to her on the floor.
I watched as the bright white carpet began to absorb her red life. I reached for the phone on the bedside table and frantically dialed 911.
“Hello, 911, how may I direct your call?” A woman’s voice answered.
“I need an ambulance here immediately. My mother is hurt, she was attacked.” I cried into the phone as I held my mother’s bleeding body in my arms.
“Okay. Just calm down. Is the assailant still in the house?”
“I--- I don’t know. I just got home. I didn’t see anyone.”
“Alright, are you hurt too, Miss?”
“No-- no, I’m fine. I’m alright.” I said, my voice calming when I heard sirens in the distance.
“Good. There is an ambulance and officers on the way right now. I’ll stay on the line with you until they get there.”
“Okay, thank you.” I sighed.

I sat in a chair in the waiting room of the ER. My foot tapped nervously against the linoleum checkerboard patterned floor. The sound echoed with the rhythm of the receptionist typing at her computer. I was still in the same clothes I had on when the police arrived. A pair of jeans with a now bloodied white teeshirt. My hands and arms were covered in dried blood. I didn’t think to go into the bathroom and wash them off. I was too concerned with what was going on inside that room. I heard the high pitched rings of the defibrillator. My father rushed in then. His six foot two, three hundred pound frame pushed past random nurses until he reached me. I stood up as he wrapped his arms around me, when I pulled away, I saw that some of the blood was now on his grey suit.
“It’s going to be alright.” He said, still hugging me, rubbing my back.
“Who would do something like this?” I cried.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get them back.” He steamed, “Go into the bathroom and clean yourself up a bit.”
I did as he asked and walked into the small bathroom. I rested my palms on the edge of the cold sink, taking in a huge breath of air. I looked up at the mirror at my reflection. My tear streaked face was dirtied with running mascara and dried blood. I turned on the cold water and bent my face down to splash the water. It felt nice against my burning face. I switched the water from cold to hot, to get the rest of the blood off of me. With a handful of paper towels I scratched and scraped until the red water eventually ran clear. I took a few moments to myself before opening to door and returning to the waiting room. I just wish I was ready for what was on the other side.
“Dad… what happened?” I asked, looking at my father’s tear soaked face.
“They lost her.”

Introduction

by of_wonderland

I know you’ve seen it all; The Godfather, Goodfellas, Scarface, The Departed, every single mob movie known to man. Sure they’re entertaining, fun to watch, and always keep you on your toes, but what if that’s your life? Being the daughter of a mob boss was no easy feat. Sure we had unlimited amounts of cash, but constantly telling your friends your dad was ‘in the construction business’ got a little suspicious at times.

My childhood was fairly easy, I’d learned how to shoot a handgun at the age of five, and had the mouth of a sailor by twelve. My dad didn’t do it to hurt me, he did it to protect me. He wanted to make sure I knew how to take care of myself in any type of situation.

I guess this is the part where I messed up, though. I let myself become vulnerable and weak, I let my guard down. Rule number one of the mafia; trust no one. And that’s what I did. I trusted him, I trusted the enemy.