Bury My Love in Blood
279 Views · Ongoing · Coralie Sullivan
Five yeas ago, we were hosting a family dinner when I walked into the study and found my father with his mistress.
He looked at me, voice flat and cold: "Alice Russo, you don't tell your mother about this. Trust me, you can't handle the fallout."
I didn't listen. Ran straight to my mother in tears and told her everything.
That night, Mother had her people remove the woman from the property.
The next morning, the woman's daughter Anya ran my mother down with her car at the docks.
That's when I realized, I was completely alone. Because my dad is taking his bastard daughter's side.
I called Victor Castro, my husband, 99 times. He never answered once.
I had a breakdown at the family tribunal. They physically removed me and had me committed to a psychiatric facility in Sicily, the worst kind of place you can imagine.
Five years later, Victor finally spoke to me.
The transport stopped outside the facility that day. Sunlight hit my eyes.
Two guards helped me to the car. My father stood there with a line of his men behind him.
In the crowd, I recognized Peter Thompson, one of my mother's most loyal people.
He gave me the smallest nod. Something flickered in his eyes.
I kept my expression neutral and got in the car.
The door closed. Victor sat across from me.
He lit a cigar and said it without any preamble:
"The day Anya ran your mother down at the docks? I paid for her legal team. I provided the witnesses. I signed the autopsy report myself."
He looked at me, voice flat and cold: "Alice Russo, you don't tell your mother about this. Trust me, you can't handle the fallout."
I didn't listen. Ran straight to my mother in tears and told her everything.
That night, Mother had her people remove the woman from the property.
The next morning, the woman's daughter Anya ran my mother down with her car at the docks.
That's when I realized, I was completely alone. Because my dad is taking his bastard daughter's side.
I called Victor Castro, my husband, 99 times. He never answered once.
I had a breakdown at the family tribunal. They physically removed me and had me committed to a psychiatric facility in Sicily, the worst kind of place you can imagine.
Five years later, Victor finally spoke to me.
The transport stopped outside the facility that day. Sunlight hit my eyes.
Two guards helped me to the car. My father stood there with a line of his men behind him.
In the crowd, I recognized Peter Thompson, one of my mother's most loyal people.
He gave me the smallest nod. Something flickered in his eyes.
I kept my expression neutral and got in the car.
The door closed. Victor sat across from me.
He lit a cigar and said it without any preamble:
"The day Anya ran your mother down at the docks? I paid for her legal team. I provided the witnesses. I signed the autopsy report myself."
