Fire can only consume and destroy. It burns flesh, killing anyone who it crosses. It will seem innocent and warm, but it is powerful and you can only hope some one can save you before the smoke fills your lungs and the fire scorches your skin. My house was burned to the ground when I was four. Romulus and two brothers escaped without a scratch, my mother and I though where not as important and where never reached. I saved my self by raking and jumping out the window into the water. From the third story up. My mother was never reached and died. As I say, I watched as my mother was burned alive. I still remember the frigid water as it hit my skin the gritty yet metallic mixture of dirt, blood and water in my mouth the smoke filling my lungs, the searing pain along my back where the glass and fire had scar it till it was an angry bright red that seemed to pulse with pain and blood. I couldn't swim and a maid that had escaped saved me calling 911. I was in the hospital for months, first for my back, any broken bones from the fall, smoke in my lungs and the trauma of watching my mother's skin turn to an ashen black as she screeched in violent agony and pain. It took a week for my father to even look at me. A month for him to speak to me. When he did all he said is how I should have died, not my mother and how I had betrayed him and my younger brothers. For a long time. I believed him. Two years after and my father is never home. I was six; my brothers where five and four, I practically cared for them. But I was nothing like my mother. My mother would paint and clean and cook. I could paint, but not as good as Feliciano, and I was band from cooking and cleaning. But I could sing, even from such and early age. So I did, I would sing to my brothers happy songs, sad songs, ballads and opera, anything I could find the words too. It was the only thing my father was proud of me for.
I knew my father was a Mafioso, where Italian after all. It's hard to believe that Feliciano and Marcello didn't learn earlier. The Vargas family though was struggling, where as the others around it seemed to be doing very well, so my father decided that would be sold like live to gain money. If any of his business partners had a child that could be married to me they could create a packet and join the families. I went to the highest bidder, who as my luck happened to have it was named Logals a tall creepy German with two sons. My fiancé and his kid brother, we would spend summers and breaks together, he was, okI guess, for a German. But the biggest problem was he couldn't speak Italian, and I refused to speak German, so we never did know what the other person was saying. He always would look so serious though, Romulus said he had to say the weird words right, but the kid was a stick in the mud. One son was blind, or something, I can't remember or seem to care. But that is my child hood, it sounds boring but now the real story can start