CHAPTER TWO

DALIA

"Do we really need to do this every week, Dom?"

My brother narrows his gaze at me, "Two options, pipsqueak. Either you practice shooting every week or you come live with one of us. If you choose to continue to live on your own, you have to be able to defend yourself."

He smirks at me as I roll my eyes at him, "I'm not moving in with you and Giada. That's never happening."

Dom glares at me, "Then pick up the fucking gun, Dalia."

I gasp loudly because he never calls me Dalia, and it stings almost like he slapped me across the face.

"Dalia?"

The stupid gun sits in front of us on a table, my brother crosses his arms over his chest, "Yeah. You're pissing me off. This is for your protection. Do I need to remind you what happened to you? What happened to Mom? And Dad because of it? Do you need to see the videos to remember what they did to you?"

A tear rolls down my cheek as I stare at the floor, because I can't look at my brother knowing he saw the videos.

"No, Domenic. I don't need a reminder. Do you really believe I don't remember on my own? I live with it every single day. Sixteen fucking years later, I still have nightmares. To this very day I feel them invading my body. I hear her crying, per favore, non ferire il mio bambina."

She cried, "Please don't hurt my baby," over and over again.

"It haunts me. Mom crying while being brutally raped, not crying for herself but begging them to not hurt me. That fucking haunts me. So no, I don't need help recalling the memories. They are etched in my very soul."

"Pipsqueak," he murmurs as he pulls me into his arms, tight against his chest, nearly squeezing the life out of me, "I'm sorry. This is the only way I know how to protect you so please stop fighting. If you don't shoot for a long time you could lose that accuracy. I never want you to be in a situation where you can't protect yourself. If you insist on living alone, you must be able to defend yourself."

I've had this very conversation with all four of my brothers. None of them like me living alone but I'm not moving in with any of them. They are all married now and I like my independence. I know they worry, because being a female in a mafia family places a fairly large target on my back. Not all the families would take a woman or child for revenge but some would. They all do bad things, illegal things, even my brothers, but many draw the line at hurting women or children. My brother Domenic is known as the devil because he killed the men that hurt me by feeding them to rats, while still being alive. However, all four are equally dangerous. None of them have clean hands. They're lethal but treat me like gold and constantly worry about my safety. I'm aware the danger exists, I'm not as delusional as my brother seems to think I am but I choose to not live in fear. Mostly.

I push him away from me, "Get out of my way, you big ogre, I'm trying to shoot a gun."

Domenic, as well as my other brothers, seems to believe a gun will mean nothing bad will ever happen to me. Yet, Damian had a gun when he was taken by that Wolf guy. I don't believe for a second that if my mom had a gun that day that we would've been safe.

I step forward, pick up the weapon, grip the cool metal in my hands as I hold it up pointing it at the zombie target and my brother asks, "What part of the body do you aim for?"

"The head. Instant death."

That may not always be the case but usually a shot to the head is instant, whereas any other part of the body may give your attacker time to take you out before you take him out. This has been drilled into my head for as long as I can remember. However, the longer it goes with nothing happening the more intense my brothers get with worry. It's like they are simply waiting for tragedy to strike.

I fire the gun, the bullet pierces the zombie right above the skull. Shit.

"This is why we practice. If that were an attacker you'd be dead right now because you missed him, even if he was standing still which he wouldn't be."

This time I pull the trigger and shoot a hole into the zombie's head.

"Perfect," Dom says, "Again."

I keep shooting until the clip is emptied, and a large gaping hole is left in the piece of paper, "Good job," he murmurs.

I set the weapon on the table and reload it before putting it back inside my purse. We've done this enough times that I know my brother always wants the gun loaded and ready to fire.

He continues quizzing me as I zip my bag up, "What's the most important thing before pulling a weapon out?"

I roll my eyes because we've done this so many times, "Don't pull a gun on somebody unless you're prepared to shoot."

He grins, "And when should you be prepared to shoot?"

"Ugh! You're so annoying. I should always be prepared to shoot if I think my life is in danger."

Domenic chuckles, "I'd rather be annoying than to be burying my baby sister."

I throw my purse over my shoulder, "I'm your only sister."

He throws his arm over my shoulder and we walk to the stairs, "Thank God for that, I don't think I could handle more than one of you."

I jab him in the side with my elbow and he feigns a grunt of pain, "Ow!"

We're both laughing when we walk upstairs to the delicious aroma coming from the kitchen. Sundays are family day, one of them shoots with me and then we have dinner. We tend to have Lasagna every week because Giada isn't an amazing cook to say the least, but she does well with this meal. I gave her mom's recipe a year ago, and ever since it's been her go to every Sunday. My mom always made her recipes her own, the extra cottage and ricotta cheese makes the difference.

Damian sits with Kat at the dining table, next to them is Dante and Drake with Natalia sandwiched between them. Finding out my two brothers were sharing a woman was bizarre at first, but they seem happy so who am I to judge? I walk into the kitchen to wash my hands before we eat. Domenic drilled into me at an early age that, after shooting we always want to wash off the gunpowder, and of course I don't want to taste the metal from the casings. I spot Giada finishing a green salad, "Where's my baby?" I ask her.

She giggles, "He's sleeping."

My nephew is the absolute apple of my eye. I never imagined I'd be a baby person. You know that annoying person cooing at an infant, living for their every smile, that's me. Little Domenic Junior is the brightest spot in my world. I'll never have children, so this is as close as I'll get to being a parent. I wish I could be a mom one day but it's not possible. I don't want to raise a child alone and I don't date. Ever. So I'll never have children. I'm okay with that though, I'll be the best damn aunt my nephew could ever have. Is it a little bittersweet with Natalia and Giada both pregnant? Yeah a little, but I'm happy for my brothers, although I think Dom should've given Giada a little time before knocking her up again. After all, Dom Junior is only six months old but she seems happy about it.

I take my spot at the table across from Domenic and Giada, Kat is on my left in her usual spot. Dom kisses his wife on the cheek, "It smells delicious, Bellissima, thank you."

Drake whispers something in Natalia's ear, no doubt something about eating because she has food issues, due to her now dead abusive sister constantly telling her she was fat. Her getting pregnant has only increased Drake's orders around her eating habits.

The burn of jealousy gnaws at my chest as I glance around at the table, Domenic, Drake, Dante and Damian are all happily married. People might think I could have what my brothers do. I want it but I just can't. I will never be able to trust men outside of the ones sitting at this table with me. This violent world I was born into taught me men cannot be trusted. I personally know women that have been through a hell similar to my experience, and have gone on to get married to good men but that won't be my story. There is only one way to protect myself from being hurt or worse. Never let anyone in. As a therapist, I'm aware that isn't considered healthy, but I will protect myself at all costs. The only way I'll ever get married is if my brothers force me to, and they would never do that.