After the time I tried to kill him, I never attempted it. We still weren’t on the best terms, but I tolerated him for my mom. I liked making her happy and never wanted to hear her call me the son of the Devil again. She loved me more when I was good, and my father loved me more when I was bad like him. So I learned how to share different parts of myself with my parents.
I strolled toward my mother, the stupid boat shoes she insisted I wear slapping the floor. Her head snapped in my direction, a smile gracing her red lips. She wore a shade of lipstick that was so vibrant it looked like blood. I liked that color.
That morning, she laid out a pair of black cargo shorts and a navy blue and a white striped polo shirt on my bed. She insisted I wear more casual clothes since I preferred suits like my father. He even had Brioni make custom suits in my size, so we looked like twins.
“Luca,” my mother said with a smile. “Where have you been hiding?”
“I was helping Dad with something.”
I left out the part where I stuffed a wet cloth into a man’s mouth before my father beat the shit out of him for information. He never hid the violence from me. It had started when I was around five years old. When I was older, he involved me in the corrupt side of his business.
My mother climbed down from the ladder and patted the top of my head. “Have you been a good boy today?”
“No,” I admitted.
“Luca,” she sighed. “What did your father make you do?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
“You’re a child,” she groaned. “Go play with Drake Battle or Sonny Cormac. They’re your age, sweetie.”
I sneered at her suggestion. “I don’t like them.”
“Why not?” Mom ran her fingers through my hair, which I would have hated if it were anyone else. No one but my mother could touch me. “They’re nice to you. You should ask them to come over and go swimming.”
I shook my head. “No, I’d rather play with Dad. I don’t want to swim.”
“Honey,” she sighed, bending down to meet my height. “Your dad isn’t playing. That’s real.” Her fingers brushed my cheek. “Luca, you need to make some friends. Have a life outside of this house that doesn’t involve your father.”
I rolled my shoulders, unaffected. “I don’t need friends. I have you and Dad.”
Her eyebrows knitted. “And Marcello.”
“I don’t want him,” I snapped.
She blew out an irritated breath. “The two of you don’t always get along, but you are brothers. Blood is thicker than water. Promise me, mio principe, that you will take care of Marcello.”
She always called me her prince in Italian. My mother spoke English, Spanish, and Italian fluently. Her father was an immigrant from Spain, her mother from a small town in Italy.
“I promise,” I said to make her happy.
I found her two days later on the floor of her studio with her head turned to the side. Her lips were so blue I’d never forgotten the color of death. The stench of a rotting corpse. At that moment, I knew I had to honor her dying wish to protect Marcello. It was the least I could do for the only person who ever made me feel normal.
My father gripped my bicep, pulling me out of my memories of the past. I turned to look at him, my eyebrows lifted in question.
He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “If Marcello doesn’t make it, you need to marry her immediately. Do you understand me?”
I nodded.
“The wolves will come, and I’m not talking about the Albanians. We can’t allow our family to have a moment of weakness. Everyone will want blood.”
“Understood, Father.”
Alex
Drifting between sleep and consciousness, I fought against the nightmares commanding control of my body. I tried so hard, telling myself it was time to wake up. But every time I rolled onto my side, my eyes struggled to open, and I fell deeper and deeper until I couldn’t climb out from the darkness.
A group of men circled me, dressed in black cloaks with the hoods covering their faces. My heart pounded in my chest, beating so fast I couldn’t catch my breath. Someone moved behind me, shoved the black dress with gold trim off my shoulders one strap at a time. The fabric fell to the floor around my ankles, baring my naked body.
All the men dropped to their knees in front of me, their heads lowered. None of them attempted a glance. The man behind me gathered the hair off my shoulder and moved it aside. His fingers brushed my hot skin, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. He dipped his head down, his lips grazing my neck. I leaned back against his chest, closing my eyes as the scent of sandalwood and the sea filled the air.