I knew better than to disobey my father’s orders and so I remained motionless for what felt like days, but were probably only minutes. The bad man began hurting Dad and the prospect who was still alive. I couldn’t watch anymore and so I closed my eyes so tightly my temples throbbed. I pressed my forehead to my arms. My chest and arms were warm with blood and my pants were warm where I’d peed myself. Everything stank of pee and blood, and I held my breath, but my chest hurt and so I had to suck in a breath. I started counting the seconds, tried to think of ice cream and fried bacon and Mom’s Key Lime Pie, but the screams were too loud. They pushed all the memories out of my head.
Eventually silence settled around me, and I dared lifting my head. My eyes watered as I looked around. There was red pooled and splattered everywhere with pieces of flesh. I shuddered and threw up, bile making my throat feel all raw, then froze, terrified the bad man was around to kill me as well. I didn’t want to die. I began to cry but quickly wiped the tears away. Dad hated tears. For a while, I listened to the pounding of my heart that rang in my ears and vibrated in my bones until I felt calmer and my vision became clear.
Finally, I looked around for the man, but he was nowhere. The front door was open, yet I still waited a long time before I finally crawled out from under the sofa. Despite my clothes being dirtied with pee and blood, and my body screaming for food and water, I didn’t leave. I stood in the middle of the torn-apart bodies of men I’d known all my life, men who had been the closest thing to a normal family I’d ever had. I hardly recognized any of them. They were too disfigured.
Dad’s body was the worst. I didn’t recognize his face. Only his tattoo on his neck—a skull spitting fire—told me it was him. I wanted to say goodbye to him, but I didn’t dare go closer to what was left of his body. He looked terrifying. I finally stormed outside and didn’t stop running until I reached the house of an Old Lady. She was the treasurer’s property. I had visited her a few times before when she’d baked cookies for me. When she saw me covered in blood, she immediately knew something was horribly wrong.
“They are dead,” I whispered. “All dead.”
She tried to call the phone of her old man, then that of Dad and other brothers from the club but no one answered. Eventually, she called my mother for me and cleaned me while I waited to be picked up.
When Mom finally arrived, she looked white as a sheet. “Come on, we have to leave.”
She took my hand.
“What about Dad?”
“We can’t do anything for him anymore. New York isn’t safe for us anymore. We have to leave, Maddox, and we can’t ever come back.” She dragged me toward our old Ford Mustang and sat me down in the passenger seat. The car was stuffed so high with bags that I couldn’t look through the rear window.
“Are we leaving?” I asked, confused.
She turned the key in the ignition. “Didn’t you listen? We have to leave forever. This isn’t Tartarus territory anymore. We’re going to live with your uncle in Texas now. It’ll be your new home.”
My mother immediately called my Uncle Earl, asking for help. She didn’t have any money, which Dad had always given her even though they always fought and didn’t live together anymore. Earl took us in and so we moved to Texas, and eventually Mom became Earl’s old lady and they had my brother Gray.
Texas became my temporary home, but my heart always called to return to my birthplace, to claim my birthright and seek revenge.
I didn’t return to New Jersey for many years, but when I finally did, it was with one purpose in mind: kill Luca Vitiello.
Five years old
I perched on the edge of my bed, my legs bouncing up and down. My gaze was glued to the door, waiting for it to open. It was already seven. Mom always woke me at that time. The clock turned to 7:01, and I began to slide off the bed. Would Mom be late today?
I couldn’t wait anymore.
The door handle moved down and I froze, sitting back on the mattress and watched as Mom poked her head in. Upon spotting me, her face lit up and she laughed. “How long have you been awake?”
I shrugged and hopped off the bed.
Mom met me halfway and hugged me tightly. “Happy birthday, honey.”
I squirmed in her hold, desperate to go downstairs. Pulling away, I asked, “Can we go down now? Is there a party?”