(Important chapter ;) )

AMBER RAIN:

"Death is not beautiful."

   The first time I ever saw a dead body wasn't in person. I was about six at the time and hadn't really taken in the full extent of what I was seeing. I was such an imaginative explorer type when I was younger and my family moved houses every couple of years (or less) because of my dad's company, which just added to my little adventures. Each house was different, ranging from an average suburban to small mansions. I was an only child and my only stable, reliable friend was myself for the majority of my childhood. I spent hours, days even, exploring every inch of my new homes, the neighborhoods, and the landscape around them. I loved clever hiding spots and I loved the history that came with new homes. The past was engraved into the walls and floor, the architecture dripping with the emotions and lifestyles of the previous owners. It made me calm, it made me feel safe in the unknown, oddly.

   One day, about three days into our new home along the outskirts of New York, in the countryside, I had began to explore like usual. Ithaca, New York was one of my most memorable homes. It had such a naturally stunning environment, was on the more secluded side, and was seeped in local culture. Our house was definitely on the larger side. Even at such a young age I distinctly remember always comparing it to a small castle where I could play the part of a beautiful princess.

My mother wasn't around as much when I was little but less and less as developed into a teenager. She was always away in different parts of the world because she was a commercial pilot. My mother wasn't the abusive type, hardly had a mean bone her body. She always was around when it was necessary; occasions like Christmas and Easter she always made time for. I knew she loved me, but I also knew she didn't want to be around. Nova Rain was always on edge, one could see she was always looking off into the distance as if some part of her was vacant. Her hands were always entwined as she twiddled her fingers absentmindedly, and her left foot tapped at an erratic pace when she was forced to sit at a spot longer than ten minutes. I remember staring at her when I was younger, her jittery behavior reminding me of the exaggerated animations on TV that showed people moving six times the speed of a regular human. She was merely something I observed in curiosity. When I was younger, I was truly blind to the terrible things she was facing behind closed doors.

Jax Rain didn't mind distance. My father seemed more at peace, more free when my mother was gone. I couldn't ever tell if their marriage was on rocky grounds, if he was truly just a more independent soul, or he was just hiding something. . . something he didn't want to be exposed.

As a naive six-year-old I was very observant but very ignorant, which I understood after I met Caden. Jax Rain was completely two-faced, completely off from reality, and a toxic danger who ruined everything he touched.

When I began exploring the beautiful new mansion in Ithaca I new I wouldn't be able to stop, due to the excitement seeping through my fingertips, unless the whole palace was under my eye and I memorized every feature.

I was clad in a frilly pink tutu that had long strands falling just below my wobbly knees. I wore a stained white T-shirt designed with a sparkly outline of a pink tiara right in the middle. My white converse- now almost completely brown and practically decomposing from my constant 'adventures' outside- squeaked against the polished wood tiles as I skipped through the mansion halls.

My uncoordinated fingers had tried to throw my dark curls up into a crisp bun, the kind my mom always had, but it was extremely sloppy. The bun rested more on the left side of my skull and the band only captured about half my curls, the other half falling around my chubby cheeks. I still couldn't help my toothy smile.

My room was already one-hundred-percent pink-ified. I forced mommy to paint the walls bright pink, order me a plush, pink carpet for the floor, and buy me a huge, comfy (you guessed it) pink comforter for my queen sized bed. The bed was covered in all my favorite stuffed toys. I had unicorns, butterflies, puppies, rainbows, and pegasus' to keep me company when no one had the time to be around.

But, being so restless, my room wasn't enough fun in the new place. I wanted to see each and every bathroom, every extra bedroom, all the offices, and every living room. From my experience in many other new homes, I already knew each room would have their own story to tell and be decorated in their own unique way.

After an hour of exploring the majority of the house, I had seen almost everything. The bathrooms were large and extravagant. The bedrooms were all equally gorgeous and cozy. The offices were more on the bland side, equipped with some selves of books or antiques. They had a plain desk inside with a lamp on them and some generic pictures framed on the walls. Too boring for me. The living spaces had hand-crafted fireplaces and the most cushy couches I could bounce on.

The only thing I couldn't find was daddy's workspace and my parent's master bedroom. I had only explored the more open areas of the house and surprisingly my father was no where to be seen.

Being incomplete bothered me. I tried to sit still on one of the comfy couches and watch some cartoons on the large plasma television but my mind was buzzing with numerous questions. Where was my dad? Where was his stuff? Was he hiding something? Would he be mad if I tried to find out the answers to my questions?

It was time to find out more.

Daddy was never mean to me, he never yelled or hit me. He really loved me! He wouldn't get mad, right?

Pushing my anxiety over the situation aside, I jumped off the couch. I smoothed my tutu down my thighs and brushed some of my stray curls behind my tiny ears.

I started back on my adventure, rounding the large doorframe and skipping down a relatively unfamiliar hall. Peeking into rooms with open doors, I frowned in annoyance over the fact that I had already explored this area of the mansion. Crossing my arms, I began to think of where I haven't been when a the shrill sound of telephone rang out amongst the quiet house walls.

I uncrossed my arms and headed toward the sound. After a few moments the loud telephone noise ceases and I hear my father's clear voice speak.

I reached two large French doors, growing nervous at the way they were sealed shut. I was always by my parents to never pry in places that weren't open. Closed off areas represent being unwelcome and I always tried to listen and respect what my parents said.

But, the muffled conversation between my father and the person on the phone was intriguing me. My father sounded different. His voice was twisted, mangled as it rolled off his tongue. He sounded harsher than the way he spoke to me and I wanted to understand more.

I lightly placed my small palms on the wooden doors and pressed my ear against them, careful to not make any noise.

"No, fuck that I owe you nothing. Do you hear me?" My father screamed into the phone. "Things have changed, Randall, you owe me. Hear that? I OWN you!"

I felt a shudder of fear ripple through my body, causing goosebumps to rise along my arms and behind my neck.

Silence followed my father's threat. "Oh, think you can take someone bigger down? Try me. I'll be running their family by tomorrow."

More silence.

"Without a leader they'll fall to the ashes. Word of this will get out. . .how? Think I won't tell anyone about this? Are you fucking delusional? I've been planning this for years, Randall. No one will stand in my way."

My face was scrunched in confusion as I listened to the horrible words and sentences my father was spewing from his lips. What was he talking about? What was he planning for years? My heart was pounding so fast.

I snapped out of my own thoughts when my father resumed his conversation.

"You think that little cøcksucker can stand against me? You fucking are delusional. The spoiled brat is fourteen. He'll be the first one with his throat cut when we take them down, understand?"

I pressed my cheek harder into the wooden surface, trying to hear any type of response from whoever was on the receiving line, when my balance wavered. I fell forward and my hands banged against the doors, a loud sound echoing through the hallway.

Oh no.

"Hold on, I'm going to see who that was. My daughter knows better to stick her nose in shit that isn't about her."

I scrambled back and pressed my little self against wall hoping the doors would block me from being exposed. The French doors were pushed open with force, one stopping centimeters from bashing against my face. I sucked in a sharp breath.

My father exited his office in long strides as he headed for the main living space, thankfully without turning his head in my direction. When his tall figure rounded the corner, out of my view, I released the breath I was holding.

I took a few steps forward and stopped in my tracks, debating my two options in my head: I could either enter his office and try to piece together what was going on (which I know being caught would equal a bad consequence telling my father's scary voice) or I could leave and let it all be.

I think everyone knows which option I chose.

Shutting off my mind I turned and walked into his office.

I was instantly stunned by the extravagance of the decor in here versus all the other rooms of the house. Sure, each room was beautiful but his held the absolute persona of wealth and power. For one, the room was triple the size of the other office rooms. Two, the furniture was all black leather and bigger than normal sized furniture. Big black drapes hung over the windows, blocking out all sun. Bookcases towered over me like giants and the pictures that littered the wall space depicted gruesome images. I felt frightened as I stared at the bloody works of art.

Women had tear-stained cheeks, men were missing limbs, children were holding on to the remains of their dead family members and pets. I practically went numb and fell straight on the floor face first at the terrible sights.

So this is why his door has remained shut for the last few days. . .

His black wood desk had files and paperwork overflowing the sides meaning he was definitely working on something big.

I quickly walked around his desk to see if I could find anything to answer my numerous questions. As quickly as I got here I just a quickly realized that my tiny legs could never reach me up high enough to find what I was searching for.

Turning around, my big brown eyes landed on my father's black leather chair. That will work.

I reached out my skinny arms and grabbed the thick arms of the chair, hoisting my self up on the seat. My exposed thighs instantly chilling against the cold leather exterior.

Still being too tiny, I grabbed onto the wooden desk corners and pulled myself to a standing position on the chair.

I smiled at my little accomplishment and my eyes began scanning the paperwork. Slowly my smile fell as I read different sentences and saw different photographs.

Oh my god. What was this stuff!?

I saw numerous articles and letters with words I couldn't quite understand.

23 Members of Pronounced "Russian Mob" Found Dead in Gruesome Blood Bath. Black Market Exchanges Gone Wrong?

Successful Entrepreneur Eduardo Moretti Opens 18th Hotel Across European Union, Set to Open First in the States Next Month.

Talk of Russian and Italian Relations Causes Fear Among Citizens.

My eyes scanned from news articles to stained letters, each word written in beautiful cursive. Luckily, I had just perfected my cursive writing last school year.

I picked up a letter quickly and quickly read over different paragraphs. Some of the sentences seemed to be in a different language so I pushed those aside.

One English formed letter caught my eye, however.

Killing my men is the last mistake you could have done. You've started a war between my men and your Italian cowards. I was trying to keep peace, stay separate from your business but you're a greedy man. You and your family will pay. Starting with the little pussy you call boy. You will fall and we will steal everything you own, fuck every whore you love, and murder any member who stands in our way. Prepare, Moretti. We're coming.

Other letters held similar threats and warnings. I wasn't sure who this Moretti man was but clearly he has upset someone. Why would my father have all this? Did. . .did he write this?

My eyes landed on something smeared in a red substance. It was dried and crusted now but I couldn't help but think: is this blood I'm seeing?

What a beautiful daughter you have. What a beautiful home to match. Call my son a pussy if you please but he wasn't afraid to enter your home alone. His brain remembers all, he may be young but not so that he doesn't know what your wife wears to slumber, how your daughter sleeps with a stuffed unicorn, and the fact that you hide your 'collections' behind locked doors. Order your men to stay the fuck away from my family, I'm sure your child with such a angelic face wouldn't be so pure missing the eyes and tongue. Last warning, R.

Was this about me!? Who was in my house? Who watched me sleep?! My throat started to choke up and my eyes began to water. What was I reading? How come my father allowed this? Who was my father!?

Just when my fear and confusion was reaching its peak, I heard loud footsteps and my father's booming voice again, and it was coming back in my direction.

I sucked in a breath and scanned the room for somewhere to hide. This wouldn't end good if my father came in and caught me rummaging through his personal (and rather terrifying) paperwork.

I didn't want to know what he would do to me.

Noticing the desk wasn't see though, I realized the space underneath it was my most reasonable option at staying unnoticed.

"No, one was in my house. If those mafia motherfuckers tried to step foot in my home I'd blow their brains out. I don't care if Amber sees." My dad's voice growled out, sounding very exasperated.

About to jump off the large chair my eye caught a particularly gruesome photo slightly hidden beneath more papers.

I could distinctly see a smooth, tan face facing the camera. A man, probably in his mid-thirties/early forties, lay, his eyes vacant of any emotion. His jaw open and slack in an  never-ending expression of fear. His head resting in a bloody puddle. He was dead. The man was extremely handsome I could tell even though I was so young. He had striking blue eyes and thick, slicked back raven colored locks. He had a pointed nose and high cheekbones and I found myself saddened of why such a beautiful man was deceased.

Unfocused on my father's return due the horrible photograph, his angry voice startled me from right outside the office.

I hastily grabbed the photo and jumped down under the desk, shadows hiding me.

The French doors slammed. Jax Rain was in the room with me. I felt an odd twist of fear ping into my stomach. I had never been afraid of my father before. But, what I had just seen was changing my view of him. He was hiding a bigger part of himself then he ever showed.

"I don't give a flying fuck, Randall, get it done. You and your family belong to me now. I want you to move into HQ, no complaints, after that you become my personal pet, got it?"

After this Randall man responded to my father's harsh words, my father muttered an "okay" and hung up his cell, slamming it down on the wooden desk, causing my heart to flutter in anxiety.

I could hear my father pacing around the room in quick movements.

I released a quiet and shaky breath, pulling the photograph away from my chest where I was squeezing it tightly. My eyes had adjusted to the dark fairly quickly and the I could see the picture almost completely in focus.

The man was lying on his back, his body clad in a black suit. He was very professional looking, he seemed like he was important and powerful. Is that why someone would want him dead?

His wrist shined against the flash of the camera. A watch. The clock part rested on a black, leather band. The clock part was encrusted in a shining silver and had beautiful intricate parts inside of it. It was clearly expensive and it must've been important to the man if he was wearing it. I didn't know him however so I couldn't guess too well.

The man had a large gash on the top of his head, a little to the right of his hairline as if a hard object had been used to render him dazed and confused. Whatever was used clearly had killed him.

The picture, even if I didn't know the subject, saddened me. No one deserves to die in such a horrible way and then be photographed as if he didn't mean anything. The picture was a trophy, but why? Who would want to capture such a tragedy. I was disgusted.

Just in that moment, something in my brain began forming my father in a more sinister light. There's a reason he has those articles, those horrible letters, and that vile photograph. Something deeper than I could imagine as a six-year-old; something was off with my whole family and I was blind for so many years.

Luckily, my dad left his office a few minutes after his phone call ended to go to his room. After I knew the cost was clear, I carefully crawled out from beneath the desk, placed the picture back in its original spot, and left the intimidating room.

My excitement was all gone, replaced with fear, sadness, and millions of questions.

Years passed and I mostly forgot about that little incident with my father, but the memories all came pouring back when I met Caden Moretti. And trust me, things just got worse.

•          •          •          •          •          •        •

Omg hello, readers!! I'm back wooohooo!!

Reading all your sweet comments made me gain the motivation to continue this story and I'm so excited to begin writing again.

I know this chapter was boring but believe me it's SUPER important to the storyline so DON'T SKIP THROUGH THIS!!!

I love you angels.