15 years ago, Amelie Russo gave birth to twin girls. The first girls in over 3 generations of Russo children.
However, the mafia is a dangerous world full of dangerous people. After a kidnapping when the twins were 5, only one twin remained. This wa...
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"Don't mistake silence for weakness. Smart people don't plan big moves out loud." - Unknown
~Recap~ (Lila's POV)
The last item seems to be another book, with a crumbling, red leather case and yellow, aged pages.
I turn it over in my hands, examining it closely.
On the front of it reads 'le journal d'amélie'.
My mothers diary.
Holy shit.
Holy shit holy shit holy shit.
~Now~
My breaths are coming out shorter, the air getting stuck in my throat.
What the fuck?!
My mother had a diary?
Why did no one know about it?
I flick open the pages cautiously, feeling as if the book is about to disintegrate right in my hands into a pile of dust.
My eyes scan the pages, 21st November, 23rd November, 25th November... holy shit!
This goes on for two years!
I can't believe this.
I launch up to my feet, ready to head downstairs and examine it further.
But as soon as I am up, I take a deeper look into the box. My hands dive in as if the contents of the box was sparkling gold coins.
More and more diaries fill my hands. More and more diaries from my mother.
I can't believe this.
This could answer all my questions. What happened with my parents? Why were they always fighting? How did they die?
Was it really all an accident?
Why were me and Elena taken?
My eyes well up at the unanswered questions running through my mind.
So many questions and not enough answers.
Laughter bubbles up and out of my throat, a strange sense of unease and adrenaline rushing through my body.
The answers were here the whole time.
More laughter.
The nightmares that plagued my mind, day and night, day and night, the answers to all the questions in them, right here. It was ALWAYS right here. Always within my grasp, within my reach.
More questions burn through my skull. Who else knows about these? Do my brothers? Did my father? My grandparents?
It's as if for every question I answer, three more take it's place.
