Ciara was the second person I saw after Oliver, and she claimed to be my sister. She never left my side, making sure I stayed occupied, and unlike Oliver, she didn't try to bombard me with memories or demands in the hope of me remembering. She interacted with me as me now, and I couldn't be more grateful.
But one thing bothered me. Never once in all the pictures I was shown by her or our parents were we together.
“Wouldn’t you if you were me?”
She pretended to think about it, but then nodded with a laugh. “True. So… how did the visit with the doc go?” Shrugging, I took a tentative sip of the green tea with mint she’d brought and almost groaned in pleasure. Nothing was better for the stomach and taste buds than that! The only thing that made my mornings bearable.
“Fine, I guess. Three more procedures to go, and then we can think about plastic surgery.”
She worried her lower lip for a second. “Don’t worry, Vito knows some hot-ass surgeon. He’ll fix everything,” she said with conviction, while I cringed inwardly at her mentioning my uncle’s name.
The fierce mafia boss showed up here a few days ago with all his bodyguards and counselor to check up on me. After all, no part of thefamiliashould suffer, and he would see that I was as comfortable as I could be.
Needless to say, I was too shocked with all the information to even react. “I’m not sure I want his help.”
Ciara sighed heavily, knowing my feelings on the matter. I didn't exactly hesitate to share them with her shortly after Vito left.
“Babe, he isn't so bad.”
Raising my brow, I gave her a look that spoke,Are you fucking kidding me?
And she giggled. “Okay, okay. But seriously, he would never hurt you. You were his favorite. You were everyone’s favorite actually.” Her voice held a meaning I couldn’t catch. I didn't like it or the tone she used when she spoke about the past. Was I a bitch to her or something? Opening my mouth, I wanted to ask her about our relationship, when a nurse interrupted us.
“Angelica Rossi?” The nurse was a young girl, wearing a pink uniform, probably an intern by the nervous glances she kept giving the expensive room I was in. It had a flat-screen TV, beige painted walls, a brown leather couch and chair, a table with a vase of red roses, and finally the electronic bed with various functions. Not to mention the huge-ass bathroom with a shower and a bathtub. Why a patient needed all this was beyond me, but Vito insisted on the best. The girl was someone new, and only by the shaking of her hands did I notice she held a box making sounds as objects moved inside. “They had this at reception and wanted me to bring it to you. These things were found with you at the scene of the car accident. The police brought it after the investigation.” Blinking in surprise, I patted the empty space on the bed, and she placed it there. She tugged on her ponytail. “Would you like anything else?”
Shaking my head as Ciara waved her off, I opened the lid of the box with blossoming hope in my chest. Maybe it was like a magic box that held all the answers to my secrets or the key to those doors my mind couldn't open.
I sure as hell didn't expect to find only one thing in it, a cross with a heavy chain made out of steel too rough for a woman’s skin.
Wrapping it in my palm, I raised it to have a closer look, and a deep longing settled inside me. Ciara whistled loudly. “You became religious all of a sudden in the States?”
Still rubbing my thumb over the thing, I asked, “I wasn't before?”
“Nope. One of the reasons you had a fight about your study abroad program with Dad. He was livid that his Catholic, virgin daughter went on a cruise alone. That’s where you met Oliver,” she murmured, leaned forward to study the cross with me, and then frowned. “This is an Orthodox cross though.” Her voice sounded confused, and she rested her chin on her open palm. “Of all things, don’t let Dad see this. He’ll flip.” Despite her warning, I couldn't resist pulling it over my head. As it rested on my collarbone, a sense of peace overpowered me, as if a little bit of my soul was back, and I could breathe freer. Taking a deep breath, I covered it with my palm, pressing it deeper into my skin until it hurt, and a bubble of laughter escaped my mouth.
Maybe someday it would help me remember what the hell happened to me; until then, the cross wasn't going anywhere.
Charlotte, North Carolina
May 2017
“Angelica, the time has come,” Doctor Kit said softly, as his hands gently removed the bandage wrapped around my face. Layer by layer it came off, allowing the breeze to caress my skin and provide cooling sensations, which almost made me smile. “Are you ready?” he asked, and my hazel eyes clashed with his gentle blue ones as I nodded. Although truth be told, I was scared out of my freaking mind and kept wiping my sweaty palms on the sheet.
Kit and the local psychologist, Nia, had refused to give me any kind of mirror and had covered the existing ones in the room. Dealing with many such cases, they believed I had no business sitting and studying my imperfections. Only by my father’s disgusted snorts and Mom's worried looks, I understood that it looked really bad.
Clearing my throat, I finally replied, “Si.”
He chuckled, as we both had discovered I spoke in my native language only when I was nervous. I preferred English, and although my parents kept giving me speeches about my heritage, Ciara managed to shut them up quickly.
I seriously had no idea what I would have done without her during the last three months in this hospital.
Cutting one last piece of white gauze with scissors, Kit peeled it off, leaned back, and blinked a few times in confusion. He frowned, as if trying to place my face or something but coming up blank. Then he shook his head, smiled, and pointed with his index finger to the hand mirror on my lap. Exhaling a heavy breath, I summoned all my determination and raised it right to my face at the same time I heard Ciara and Oliver gasp.
However, I didn’t pay attention to them as all my focus was on my reflection.
Stunning was one word to describe me.
Long mocha hair fell down my shoulders, curling at the end. My smooth skin glowed and went well with my hazel eyes covered in dark, lush lashes that didn't seem to need any mascara. High cheekbones and full lips with no sign of ever having been touched by the fire.
