Page 4 of Revived (Lucky Ones #1)
Chapter two
Elena Rossi
I can feel the exact moment that sleep pulls Sully all the way under.
His entire body relaxes, and his mouth parts just slightly.
His dark blonde hair is cut close on the sides, but the top is long enough to flop over his forehead carelessly when he sleeps.
He and his brothers would argue until the ends of the Earth that his and Flynn’s hair is ‘light brown,’ but they’re men and don’t know what they’re talking about; it’s dark blonde.
His forever serious face is now a mask of relaxation and innocence.
He looks more like the ten year old boy who beat up Simon Hale in fourth grade for telling me my hair looked ugly, and less of the man who’s all hard lines and muscles when he’s like this.
Pushing his hair off his forehead, I can’t help but smile fondly at the monster of a man who right now is nothing more than a sweet tabby cat.
I’ve been in love with Sullivan Byrne since I was old enough to think boys were cute.
I know what you’re thinking. I know! I promise this isn’t one of those instances where there was some weird miscommunication that’s set us on the wrong path for eighteen years.
Sully and I are actually great at communication, but the world we both come from poses a danger that neither of us can look past.
You see, Sully is a mafioso. He is the son of the former leader and baby brother of the current leader of the BOCG. They rule the East Coast and as some would argue, the country as a whole. But I’m not innocent in this either.
My name is Elena Rossi, daughter of Theodore Rossi…
Head of the five families of the famiglia.
Our individual families come with enough drama and trauma to scare away any sane human.
Then you add them both together. Mind you, the relationship the two families share is strained at best due to Sully’s brother marrying my biological sister, who was adopted after she was kidnapped and sold into a trafficking ring at eight.
It’s all very dramatic, and every single event drove our confidence that we could be together just a little farther apart.
Until the day that it was completely blown to smithereens.
The day I almost died in Sullivan’s arms, we were in the middle of this war with a crazy bitch who thought Sully’s older brother was going to fall in love with him.
I watched as a gun was pointed directly at Sully, and I acted without thought.
I threw myself in front of him, and no sooner had the gun gone off than our friend Annie had thrown herself in front of me.
Annie died that day along with one of our best friends, Zach.
I survived only because her body was a shield for mine.
The scars that mar my body from that day are reminders that I’m living life not just for me, but also for Annie and Zach. The scars that mar my brain tell me that if I even step one toe into the pool labeled ‘Sully and Elle forever,’ the universe will come back and finish the job.
The day that our lives changed forever was also the day that Sully grabbed me by the face and kissed me like I held all the air in the world inside of my lungs. He promised me love, happiness, and forever. Then an hour later what we got was death, destruction, and pain.
After physically healing from that day, I threw my finally mended body back into the gym.
I’ve been a gymnast since I was five. My mother loved watching gymnasts perform.
She’d smile and say that it was the most beautiful thing she’d watched.
When I pointed at the screen as Carly Patterson was awarded the all-around gold in the Athens Olympics and swore to be her one day, my mom responded with a simple “And so you shall, principessa.” I was in lessons the next day.
She was never able to see me perform at the highest level. Early onset dementia took her from me and my Papa slowly over the years but physically took her the year before my debut. Now I compete because she loved it, and I love making her proud even in the afterlife.
I’ve been to the Olympics twice with a hope to go again this summer.
I spend forty to sixty hours in the gym weekly.
Training my body to defy gravity and the rules of logic.
Twenty-five is pushing it in age to go back to the Olympics, but thankfully those standards are starting to be reshaped since the greatest gymnast of all time was in her late twenties when she competed at the last Olympics.
I don’t have to be at the gym until later today.
So while the sweetest man that I’ve ever known sleeps away the hard shift he had, I’ll hang out in his bed and watch reality TV.
As long as his big arm is wrapped around my waist and his peaceful face is snuggled into my upper thigh, I have nowhere better to be.
Sully’s been asleep for a couple of hours when I hear the front door open and shut.
If I were a betting woman, I’d say Flynn Byrne has just gotten home and came directly over here to bother his brother.
However, I guess it could be Knox, Xavier, or Dom too.
We’ve been friends with them forever, and funny enough, we’ve all bought houses on the same street, and by “on the same street” I mean Flynn lives directly across from Sully.
My house is the next house to the left of Flynn’s, and Dom’s is to the right.
Knox’s house is the next house over on Sully’s right, and X’s is on the left.
This little stretch of street belongs to us. Six kids who pulled themselves from the grasps of their families less than legal businesses and became their own people. We were dubbed ‘The Lucky Ones’ over a decade ago, and we made damn sure to live up to the meaning of the nickname.
The door to Sully’s room pushes open quietly as dirty blonde hair and seafoam green eyes come into view.
Flynn peeks in to check for us, and I throw my hand up in quiet greeting.
He gifts me with a wide smile as he strides into the room and over to me.
He climbs into the bed on the opposite side from where his brother is lying and gets comfortable beside me.
“Hey, Elly-Belly. Whatcha doing?” He asks with playfulness shining in his eyes.
“Shut up, Flynnigan. You’ll wake him up.” I hiss while I elbow him in the ribs, causing him to grunt.
He looks over to watch Sully snoring quietly while wrapped around me like a koala.
“Hard shift?”
“A loss, and a kid.” I confirm and gently scratch Sully’s head. His body snuggles deeper into my thigh as he lets out a satisfied sigh.
“Dammit. He’s going to carry that with him for a while.” He shakes his head as he eyes his sleeping brother wearily.
“Tell me about it… How was your trip? I saw that goal in overtime last night. Sweet shot.”
“Thanks. It was alright. I played, I got on the plane, and I came home. Wash, rinse, repeat. When do you go to the gym?”
“I have to leave here soon. I won’t be back until late though.”
He nods before pushing himself off the bed. Flynn keeps everything surface level nowadays. He’s hollow since losing Annie.
I don’t even fully understand the relationship they had.
They weren’t together when she passed. We were actually shot by her boyfriend at the time, the abusive prick.
Apparently right before everything happened, while Sullivan was making his declaration of love to me…
Flynn was doing the same with Annie. That was the day it was all supposed to change for the better, until it didn’t.
“Tell him I’ll be back later. I’m going to go home and try to catch some sleep too. Sleeping on those planes is bullshit.” He leans over and presses a kiss to my temple, and then he’s gone.
A few hours later, after I’d quietly slipped out of Sully’s bed, I found myself stretching on the blue mats that cover the floors of the gym I train at.
Olympian Training Club, or OTC, is in small town Virginia, the next town over from where I live, and just fifteen minutes outside of D.C.
in Pine Springs. This is my home away from home.
Where everything and everyone takes a back seat.
They don’t give a single shit what my real last name is here.
They don’t care who my parents are or what world I come from.
No one asks about my connections to certain mafiosos or what my past holds.
All they care about is if I can make as many midair turns as I need to and that I stick my landings.
They care about the scorecards and what the judges think.
Most importantly, they care about team trials that are coming up in just a few short months.
I’m in my zone when my coach, Jordan Frost, takes up residence beside me, which pulls me out of my own head.
“Hey.” I offer her a small smile.
“You ready for today? I’m going to push you hard.” She lifts a challenging eyebrow in question.
“Good, I need it. I’ve got shit to work through.” I pop up to my feet and offer her a hand to help her up.
“Elle, you know better than to come in here with a busy mind and anxious limbs.”
“Everything’s steady, swear. I just need to work.” I hold my hands out to prove my point. “Look, surgeon steady. ”
“Yeah, I hear you, Rory. Now get your ass on the bars. We have work to do.”
So the last name I use in the gymnast world is his middle name, sue me.
Jordan Frost is a three time Olympic gold medalist. She’s been my coach for five years, and after this year I hope to follow in her footsteps both in medals earned and in coaching the next generation of gymnasts.
There’s so many amazing coaches that have been overshadowed by the bad ones.
I just want to make a difference for the next generation of competitors like she has for me and others.