Sweet Fall (Sweet Home 2)

But a nineteen-year-old Chiara Stradi hadn’t known about twenty-six-year-old Luca Carillo’s drinking problem. She hadn’t known he was a slut. She hadn’t known that years later, she’d wake up dirt poor, in a doublewide in the worst part of town, her husband gone, having run away from his responsibilities, her dreams shattered, no family to help, and stuck with three growing boys to clothe and feed.

This song had lifted her spirits.

This song had kept her unwavering Catholic faith intact.

This song had kept her strong.

I prayed to God it’d make her strong now.

Moving back to see her lying peacefully, I almost broke down as her top lip crooked into a contented smile, even in sleep.

Tucking the faded quilt around her sleeping body, I tipped my head forward to my steepled hands, closed my eyes, and offered a silent prayer, “Dio ti benedica, Mamma.”

May God bless you, Mamma.

Gathering the dirty laundry from Mamma’s room, I headed out of the trailer to the Laundromat on the site. Passing several of my old crew, I kept my head down, ignoring the shitty looks they were casting my way. The only thing stopping them from shanking my ass was the fact that Gio’d let me out without repercussion. That and the fact that all the brothers were shit scared of what Axel would do to them if they even dared touch a hair on my head.

Bursting through the doors of the Laundromat, I ignored the coked-up junkie passed out on the row of plastic red chairs and loaded the washing machine, setting it on the quick wash. Leaning back against the heavy-with-graffiti wall, I tried to stop intense anger from taking me over.

How could Axel be leaving Mamma like this? While he’s out with his “family,” dealing snow and making green, Mamma was lying in a pool of her own piss, stinking of a week’s worth of sweat.

And Levi! Where the f**k was the little shit at nearly midnight? One thing was for sure. He wasn’t going to school. Meaning shit grades… meaning no football… meaning zero chance of him getting a scholarship to UA to play for the Tide.

My nails bit into my palms as my fists clenched so tight that I was sure I’d drawn blood. This f**kin’ gang was the bastard bane of my life. First Axel, then me, now Levi.

It was Gio.

All Gio’s fault.

He’d set his sights on the Carillos ever since we were kids. All of us were tall and naturally strong—intimidating. Perfect for Heighter life. Perfect for Gio’s personal protection, and we all fell into it like his f**kin’ devout sheep, following the wolf to slaughter.

Everything my mamma fought so hard for was gone. She was gonna die watching her sons falling right into hell.

“Fuck, Carillo. If football don’t work out, you could always become a damn maid,” someone said from my right.

Gritting my teeth, I lifted my head to find Gio in the doorway, smirking at me. Like a naked flame to a can of gas, I exploded and found myself tackling Gio to the floor, pinning him to the sticky tiles, and I began pounding my fists into his face.

“Motherfucker!” I screamed over and over as Gio lifted his arms to protect himself from my blows.

Arms grabbed me from behind and wrenched me back. Ripping myself free, I turned on the punk who’d pulled me off and came face to face with Axel.

I just saw red.

I slammed my hands against his chest, and Axel’s wide eyes stared at me as he fell back into the plastic chairs, the sleeping junkie barely acknowledging what was happening right on top of him, too doped up with whatever shit he’d pumped into his veins.

Axel scrambled to his feet. I saw his fist clench, and I smiled. Bring it on, f**ker, I thought. I needed this. It had been a long time coming between him and me. I was done with his dumbass ways.

“I’ll give you that one shot, kid, but try another and it’s game on,” Axel warned.

A fist blindsided me from my right, and I smashed back against the dryer. Straightening my back, I rubbed at my jaw and turned to see Gio being held back by Axel.

“You just signed your own death warrant, homie,” Gio spat, blood from his teeth spattering on the floor.

Lifting my hand, I flicked my four fingers under my chin and hissed, “Vaffanculo,” in a biting monotone voice. Gio’s eyes bulged at being told to f**k off in Italian, and he practically wrestled Axel back to get to me.

“Shit! Gio. Calm the f**k down!” Axel shouted as he pushed Gio out of the door. I began pacing like a damn bull taunted with a red flag. I wanted that motherfucker dead. I was pumped—pissed at Axel, pissed at Levi, pissed at Gio; hell, pissed at God!

The door slammed back open and Axel came storming through. Just as I was about to fly at him once more, Levi ran in behind Axel, pure fear on his teenage face. I had no sympathy for the little shit right now.

“Aust—” He went to speak, but I punched my hand out, pointed a finger, and ordered, “Home. NOW!”

Levi looked to Axel as if waiting for his permission. That just served to piss me off more, and I marched across the room until I towered over him. His eyes went huge and he fell back against the door in fear.

“Don’t you look at him and ignore me! You and me have shit to discuss, but right now, if you don’t get on home to look out for Mamma, I’m gonna knock you the f**k out and drag you there!”

Levi sprinted out the door, and I watched him go until I saw he was clear inside the trailer. Casting a glance around the park, there was no sign of Gio, so I slammed the Laundromat door and turned to face Axel.

“First, I defended you to Coach, only to find out he was right. You are dealing at my school. The dean is all over my ass over the snow being on campus! Then I find out you drafted Levi into the Heighters, pulling him into hell with you. But worst of all, you leave Mamma laying in her own piss and shit, the trailer like a f**kin’ bomb site, all so you can be Gio’s little bitch!”