Page 61 of Bitter Prince
She shrugged. “Maybe a little bit, but Grandma’s done well to keep us away from it. It could have been worse.”
I could have predicted my sister’s answer. It was another thing that Phoenix had in abundance. Positive attitude. In general, I looked at the world through rose-colored glasses, but Phoenix went beyond that. She could see the good in even the most terrible situations.
“Are you worried about Papà?” My sister’s inquisitive gaze drilled into me. It was ironic, really. She worried about me, and I worried about her. I’d kill for her, and I knew she’d kill for me. It was almost as if Mamma had the same talk with Phoenix as she did with me.
My heart clenched at the thought, hoping she hadn’t put that burden on Phoenix. She shouldn’t have to bear that—neither of us should.
“Maybe a little bit,” I admitted. He was the last parent we had, granted he’d been mostly absent for over a decade. “Do you feel like he’s been acting differently?”
“Maybe.” She tilted her chin pensively. “He loves us. I just don’t think he’s good at showing it.” I nodded my agreement. “Then there’s this promise that Grandma holds over his head.”
“Do you know what it is?” I’d been curious about it for years, but getting Grandma to spill the beans was like trying to drag it out of a corpse.
My sister scoffed. “You’re joking, right? Grandma would sooner put a bullet in her own skull than tell me.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Did you actually ask her?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes. She told me to mind my own business. I even threatened to let Papà’s underworld activities slip to a newspaper. It didn’t work.”
My eyes widened. I knew Phoenix could be a badass, but this I did not expect.
For a good part of our childhood, I watched the news, holding my breath and expecting to see our family featured in it. It never happened, but it was still a worry somewhere in the back of my mind. Even though we didn’t see him a lot and he wasn’t an active part of our daily life, I didn’t want to see him behind bars.
In today’s day and age, people looked at the mafia in a romantic light, but that was certainly not the way the news reported it, nor was it the way it was in real life. After Papà's first and only outburst where he’d raised a hand at us, I snuck a peek at Grandma’s surveillance footage from earlier that day.
My heart still shuddered remembering the video. The way Amon was cut by a stranger who broke into Grandma’s house. He could have been shot. Papà was. I wished there were a way to hear what Papà, Dante, and Amon discussed afterward, but the surveillance didn’t have audio.
Yeah, there was nothing romantic about the underworld. People got hurt; businesses burned to the ground. Lives were affected in a very real way. Maybe I wouldn’t care if it hadn’t cost our mamma so much, or our relationship with our papà was solid. But it was rocky at best.
Besides, I was fairly sure it was Papà’s connection to the underworld that drove Mamma to commit suicide. She experienced a trauma, and I still didn’t dare to think about the extent of it. Grandma and Mamma were part of a different world—the one filled with lights, camera, and action. Not darkness, blood, and threats.
It cost Phoenix and me our mother. It almost cost the boy with galaxies in his eyes his life. And it was then that I knew it’d devastate me to lose Amon, even if he wasn’t mine.
A soft palm cupped my cheek, stilling my movement. Phoenix signed, “Reina, you have to stop worrying.”
“I’m not worrying,” I reasoned. “I’m stretching and letting go.”
While Phoenix stuck to a Baddha Konasana pose, I shifted to Bakasana. It was better than keeping this conversation going. But unless I kept mine closed, I couldn’t avoid my sister’s eyes.
“You’re not letting go.” Her deep frown told me she didn’t believe shit I told her. “And don’t think I’m happy about those hearts you have in your eyes for Amon Leone.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever,” I muttered. This was not relaxing at all. If anything, it was more stressful than not doing yoga at all. And that was saying something.
“Don’t you whatever me, Reina Romero,” she scolded. “I’m your sister. Not Papà. Not Grandma. You don’t have to hide from me.”
I sighed heavily, giving up on relaxation and yoga as a whole. Getting back into a sitting position, I pinched the bridge of my nose before responding. “I caught Papà and Grandma whispering in the kitchen earlier,” I admitted. “It seemed important.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, the underworld is important, I imagine.”
“Papà would never talk to her about his criminal activities,” I pointed out.
“Good point,” she agreed. “Then what? Maybe they were discussing plans for your birthday party.”
I cringed. “That’s… not good.” I stood up and shook my hands and legs to loosen my muscles. “If they ask you anything about it, tell them we’re busy. My classes and all.
“Does it bother you?” I asked her for the millionth time. “That Papà is a criminal.”
“He’s not a bad man,” she replied, then winced. “Well, he’s not a terrible man.”
