Page 12 of Bitter Prince
I knew this was unlike him and that he would surely feel the guilt crash down later, but I wouldn’t stand by and watch it happen. So, I took a step in his direction, hardened my features, and moved her behind me.
“Don’t touch her.” My angry scream could probably be heard throughout California, full of rage and coated in disappointment. He had never hit us before. Yes, he’d been getting increasingly agitated with us lately, but this was a step too far. It wasmyjob to protect my sister, and I planned to.
My ears rang and the taste of copper flooded my mouth from biting my lip so hard.
He stood there, his face bright red and something in his eyes I couldn’t quite read or interpret. He released a shuddering breath, the deep creases lining his eyes making my anger waver. He looked tired. Exhausted.
Phoenix held her cheek, and seeing his handprint on it made my anger flare back up.
He wasn’t the man I remembered. He wasn’t the same Papà who was kind and soft toward his girls. He had changed. He’d hardened. I couldn’t understand it. His hatred—toward the world and everyone in it—was consuming him with such intensity that it raised the hairs on my body. My eyes studied his arm.
“What happened?”
His eyes darted down and darkened, almost as if he’d forgotten about it.
“Nothing.” His voice was cold, slicing through the air.
“Well, I hope thisnothing”—my eyes flitted to his bloodstained bandage before reconnecting with his gaze—“bleeds out and you drop dead.”
I had no idea where the words came from. Yes, I often got into trouble at school, fighting the kids who bullied Phoenix, but I’d never said anything so mean. I opened my mouth to say something else, but before another word was uttered, the slap came, silencing me. My ears rang as pain exploded on my cheek and warm liquid trickled down my chin.
My fingers touched my split lip, crimson staining them. I stared at my hand while my lip throbbed, dripping more blood down my chin and onto my shirt. Father had never raised his hand to us. Fucking ever. Yet he’d just hit Phoenix and me in the same night.
I braced myself for more pain when the door opened.
“What are you doing, Tomaso?” Grandma stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips and a white cap on her head. Her eyes, blue like Phoenix’s and mine, landed on my sister. She didn’t miss the handprint on her cheek, and when she saw a matching one on mine, her eyes narrowed. “What have you done?”
The taste of blood, sweet and coppery, made my stomach churn and burned the back of my eyes. Phoenix’s soft cries filled the room, but I had to be strong for her. I feared if I let my tears fall, they wouldn’t stop.
“Punishing my daughters.” His voice shot through the dark room. “Go back to bed, Diana,” Papà said with an eerie calmness. “And starting tomorrow, Phoenix and Reina are grounded for sneaking out and doing who knows what all night.”
One second she was at the doorway and the next she was in front of Papà, blocking us from him.
“Move out of the way, Diana,” he hissed. “They are my daughters.”
She didn’t answer, just stared fearlessly at him. One day, I wanted to be brave like her. One day, I’d stand up to the world like she did.
“Do you need a reminder?” Grandma’s voice was like a whip. The temperature in the room took a dive, and goosebumps rose on my arms despite the warm April temperatures. “Do not forget your promise, Romero.”
Silence stretched, holding steady as tension bubbled. It pressed on my chest. Awkward. Uncomfortable. Almost explosive, but not quite. The quiet itched beneath my skin, thick and ominous, until Papà turned around on his heel, leaving us without another word and slamming the door shut with a loud bang.
“I hate him.” Phoenix was the first to break the silence, her hands signing rapidly. Grandma stared at the closed door, her chest rising and falling. She was more upset than ever. “I hate him and I love him. Why is he like this?”
No answer. Tension wrapped its invisible hand around my throat, suffocating me.
“Grandma, what happened?” I whispered, my voice shaking. “And why was Papà’s arm bandaged?”
“Because he’s a goddamn criminal,” she responded, her expression shuttering at what she’d let slip. But the statement didn’t come as a shock. We’d known ever since we were little that our father was different. Maybe it was because none of our friends’ dads carried weapons. Not unless they were police officers, which our dad most definitely was not. “I told Grace he wasn’t good enough for her, but she didn’t listen. Never listened, and it cost her everything.”
Phoenix and I waited for her to elaborate, but judging by her thin lips and grim expression, she was done speaking.
“Has he killed anyone?” Phoenix asked. “Why wasn’t she happy?”
Grandma shook her head. “You two don’t worry about that.” Then she pinned us both with her sternest look and added, “And you never repeat it to anyone. Understood?”
We both nodded hesitantly. “What if Papà takes us away from here?” I rasped. “Do you think he’ll forbid us from living with you?”
She shook her head. “He won’t.”
