SIN
"You should really have your daughter shut her mouth before she loses her fucking teeth," I said.
I took a slow, deliberate sip of my tea. My voice was flat, contrasting sharply with the frantic morning air.
"Are you speaking about my daughter?"
My stepmother's voice was loud, sharp, and laced with manufactured fury. She was standing next to me, breathing heavily. Her anger was clearly fueled by Safiya's account of our late-night encounter.
"You fucking pointed your gun at me and shot it! Imagine if there was a bullet!"
I tilted my head, setting the cup down precisely in the center of the saucer. I didn't even look at her. "From what I remember, you pointed the gun at me first. I was merely offering an emergency lesson in firearm etiquette, since your daughter clearly lacks the balls to use her own threats."
"I stand before you, and you still sip on that tea like I'm irrelevant! Even though I'm not your blood mother, I deserve every single respect you show your father!" she shrieked.
I didn't blink. I simply brought the cup back to my lips for another measured sip, letting the silence eat at her nerves.
Then, suddenly, the porcelain mug was flung out of my hand with a sickening clatter. I paused, my hand still mid-air, watching as the fragments scattered across the expensive table. My stepmother had slapped it off my hand.
"When I talk to you, you will respect me!" she spat, her face contorted.
I sighed, a sound of pure boredom, watching my preferred Ceylon tea stain the white tablecloth. I slowly…very slowly…pushed my chair back and turned to face them. My stepmother stood rigid, Safiya hiding just behind her shoulder like a whimpering shadow.
"I was drinking that, bitch."
"And I am talking to you, child."
"Step-mother…"
"It's Mother for you, you piece of filth."
"Step-mother," I repeated, my eyes locking onto hers with a chilling steadiness. "Ask your pathetic daughter behind you if she had a gun pointed at my head first. As I said, I was just teaching her how it's done."
"Do you know what could have happened? What if your gun was loaded and you didn't realize?" she demanded, trying to play the righteous mother.
I chuckled, a cold, dry sound that didn't reach my eyes. "Step-mother, you married into a house where a loaded gun was our first teething toy. I know when a gun is hot just by the weight. Your fool of a daughter just happens to be genetically stupid."
Suddenly, a heavy, hot slap landed across my cheek.
The force was enough to turn my head, but I didn't cry out. I stayed like that for a moment, letting the stinging heat blossom, before I adjusted my face slowly back to hers. I didn't look angry; I looked interested.
"That's for laying your hands on my daughter, you whore," she hissed, her breathing ragged.
"You don't want to do that again," I murmured, my eyes fixed on hers, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
"Or what? Or what, child? What can you do? Point a fake gun at me and expect me to flinch like some fucking pussy? Like you said, I married into this family. I am the Wife of the Caruso Don, whether you like it or not!"
The silence that followed was suffocating. I let it stretch until she started to look uncomfortable.
"Are you done now, Step-mother?" I asked.
More silence. They were staring, finally giving me their full, terrified attention.
"We have been living in this house under the same roof for years, and I have never involved myself in anyone's pathetic time. I'd like for that to continue, as I don't have the time to be pretending to be a saint, unlike your so-called daughter here."
She started to open her mouth to unleash another wave of abuse.
"I'm not done talking," I snapped. I didn't yell, but the sheer weight of my voice silenced her instantly. "Your daughter insulted my mother. There was no fucking way I was standing there and listening to her do that, whether I met the woman or not. And last: never, ever lay your hands on my face again. Father has never done that to me, as much as he hates me, and I wouldn't entertain a woman who he married for his own mere flesh satisfaction to think she has the right."
She chuckled, recovering slightly. "No wonder he gave you the name Sin. You're a disgrace to your blood."
I nodded, chuckling back. "Nothing I haven't heard before. But you know what I've heard? How's that man you have been fucking for the past few months, the one who isn't my father?"
I watched her eyes widen into dinner plates. I laughed, a genuine, relaxed sound. The shock on both their faces was delicious.
"You… you don't know what you're saying," she stammered, her voice a terrified whisper.
"You were loud not so long ago, Step-mother, and now you're suddenly fucking quiet. Shame." I chuckled, folding my arms and taking a deliberate, slow step forward. "Is Father that much of a bad fuck that you now get your satisfaction from someone else? Tell me, doesn't he please you enough, or when he fucks you, does he only please himself because he never gave a shit about you, like he never did?"
I watched her swallow hard, the blood draining from her face as the surrounding tension became undeniable.
"Says the whore herself, the slut! You fuck more men in a day than…"
"And do you have proof, dear Step-mother?" I challenged, cutting her off with a smirk.
"What about you, Sister?" Safiya butts in. "Do you have proof of my mother fucking anyone apart from Father?"
I burst into laughter. "You don't want to go there, dear sister. Trust me, you don't."
"You… you have proof?" Safiya whispered, terrified.
"Plenty of it." I smirked. "What was your famous word again, Step-mother? Oh yeah. 'Fuck me hard, daddy!'" I mocked, imitating the moan perfectly.
"You bitch!" My stepmother raised her hand to slap me again, but this time, I didn't wait. My hand shot out, clamping around her wrist with a grip that was instantly bruising. I didn't even break my smile.
"The first time was grace, Step-mother. The second time is a missing hand."