Page 2 of The Diávolos: Part One
THE REVENGE
“No matter how hard the past is, you can always begin again.” - Jack Kornfield
Purse,check. Phone,check. Keys,check. Pocket knife,check.
In the four years I’ve been living in Antium City, I have never left my place without protection. When I ran away from Cebrene at eighteen, I came to The Big A, and never looked back.
I was tired of the secrets, the lies, and thedeath.
I had my reasons for leaving, but they weren’t enough to override the persistent, gnawing feeling that I had done something wrong. We’ve all felt it. Guilt. That incessant throb in your heart telling you to apologize. My father made sure to teach me the importance of loyalty, obedience, and honor. And there’s nothing honorable about leaving your family behind to start a new life. Even though the family in question participates in rather dishonorable things.Funny, right?
As a mafia princess, I had to be loyal to my family, obey my father’s commands and wishes, and respect my elders. I had never truly understood the extent of what he was involved in, though. He had told me his job consisted in settling disputes in the family and keeping any threats at bay. But every time his shady business associates walked into our house, the way they would eye me from head to toe, even as a little girl, made my skin crawl.
I remember a particular incident when I ran into a middle-aged man halfway up the stairs to my father’s office. The curiosity mixed with hunger in his eyes as he looked over me had creeped me out. He was probably thinking of different ways to tear me into pieces and put me back together. The expression on his face had made me stop abruptly.
I had darted away from him, gone back to my room, and slammed the door shut, locking it behind me. With my back against it, I had pushed my twelve-year-old body into the door, as if my small frame could block the big, scary man from busting it down. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. I gasped for air. The clear image of mymamaappeared before my eyes. Her frail body curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed in her sweat-soaked nightgown, crying into her hands and choking on her sobs. I remember she couldn’t inhale as she clutched onto her chest to catch her breath. I faced the same struggle as I pictured one of her panic attacks. I stretched out my arms to her, but she wasn't real. So, I had reached for something—anything—that could appease the panic, and my fingers landed on the hair tie around my wrist. I pulled it back and let go, the snap against my skin hard enough to hurt.
That was the day I had my first anxiety attack. I’ve been wearing an elastic band on my wrist ever since, a coping mechanism I can’t do without.
A reminder that I can still feel. That I’m still alive.
My father’s presence still looms over me. I don’t know which is worse, the constant fear I was in while at home with him, or being here, almost 100 miles away, and feeling like someone’s eyes are always on me. It might just be paranoia, or a product of growing up in the mafia, but being the daughter of a prominent Godfather in the Greek mob means there is a constant target on my back.
There are five families who run the streets of Cebrene, the city where I was born: Petrakis, Vasilakis, Mastsouka, Cirillo, who originate from Italy, and us, the Kouvalakis family. We have been predominant in the Greek organized crime syndicate for decades, due to the many ties that my father has with other cities. We have always been known to bring in the most revenue, and we control the entirety of the importing and exporting done at The Port and Cebrene Harbor. Mybabainherited the business from his father, and my grandfather from his father before that. The Greek mob has connections with the Italian crime families in Cebrene and the Greek ones in Antium City. We own and control a major part of ‘The City of Brotherly Love,’ alongside the other families. Ironically, there’s nothingbrotherlyabout a group of men in a pissing contest to see who can rule the city the best. There’s definitely no absence of conflict.
A life in the mob was all I’d ever known. And everything I’ve been working against these past four years.
The only time I miss home is when I think of my two childhood best friends, Aria and Gianis. I don’t keep in contact with them as much as I would like to because I worry that I’ll be tempted to move back just to be with them. Aria visits me occasionally, but I miss talking to her everyday and listening to her gush about her latest crush. While in high school, we used to see each other daily. We were stuck to each other like glue. Soul sisters in every sense.
But things changed when she turned twenty-one.
Her father is forcing her into a marriage with one of his associates. Unlike me, Aria always believed in finding her true love, but with her upcoming engagement, she has lost hope in her happily ever after. I wish I could be there to support her.
Gianis, my oldest friend, now works for mybaba. Our families always got along well and never feuded. Damon, his father,is the Godfather of the Night for the Petrakis family. When Gianis turned eighteen, he was expected to join the business, even though he clearly didn’t want to. He had always dreamed of being a mixed martial arts fighter and had been training since he was a kid, but was never allowed to pursue it professionally. Despite the potential, Damon had never cared, and used his son’s talent as a fighter to do his dirty work. After a heated argument, Gianis had walked out, came to our house for solace, and was taken in by mybaba,who groomed him into the enforcer he is today. Somehow, my friend preferred working under my father rather than his own. Damon didn’t fight his decision.
Gianis has never come to visit though. With all the history and deep family ties between us, I’ve never asked him why. I always assumed that he had distanced himself because of mybaba.
The last time I saw him was the day I ran away. Gianis was at my house when I decided I was going to leave and never come back. I had gotten into a massive fight with my father and, as soon as he’d left, I ran upstairs to pack my bags. It was the same dispute we’d had time and time again. I’d had enough of the emotional abuse.
Gianis had overheard the whole argument.
“You’re just like your mother,”babaspat. “Never minding your own business. It’ll be the death of you too, Angelica.”
I never understood what his comments about my mother’s death meant. Even less what I’d done to deserve such treatment. He knew she was everything to me. Was it because I reminded him of her? Or was it my stubbornness? But her passing wasn’t the cause of the rift between us.
Before mymamadied, it used to be me and her against the world. I had never paid attention to my father’s ways because I had her to protect me. He was rarely around, anyway, constantly away on business trips, or meeting with associates. Though I know my mother was lonely, you’d never have guessed it by the way she always had a smile on her face. She used to say that my happiness was hers, but I was too young to understand what that meant. I never saw the strain in her relationship with mybaba,because she never let me see that side of him. The cold, heartless, dark side.
Mamamade sure I only ever saw the best in him, and I did. But as I grew up, I began to see behind the veil. My mother passed away when I was barely eight years old, so my father had to step up and take care of me. He showed me love by paying extra attention to my silly projects. He would pick me up from school, help me with homework, and had breakfast and dinner with me every day. He was affectionate and never let me go to bed without a goodnight kiss. I thought he was the bestbabain the world. I loved him deeply. Despite only having one parent, things were good.
Until they weren’t.
There’s a part of my childhood that I can’t seem to remember. A part consumed with darkness, and no matter how hard I try to put the pieces together, I can’t. I don’t know what happened during that time. It’s still a mystery.
I learned very quickly not to question my father. Once I’d start doubting his actions and opinions, he would become cold, withdraw, and emotionally shut down. Even with his own daughter. I was tired of the secrets and the lies.
The night I left, Gianis followed me to my room.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
