“Hush, Lyov,” Mommy scolded, swatting his arm playfully.
He grumbled something that I couldn’t understand and then stood up. He pulled Mommy off the couch and then sat down, pulling her onto his lap. He nuzzled her neck and I heard her giggle.
I stared at them, shaking my head with a sigh. I had been forgotten again.
I went back to my puzzles. Mommy and Papa were talking quietly while I played. I didn’t know how long we stayed like that but the phone started ringing after some time. I looked up and saw Papa answering the call.
He looked frustrated and I heard him growl angrily. After a few seconds of listening to the other person from the line, he hung up.
“What’s wrong?” Mommy asked, rubbing his chest soothingly.
“I have to take care of some stuff,” he said, shaking his head.
“Oh, okay then,” Mommy murmured, and then clumsily got off Papa’s lap. They both stood up and Papa wrapped his arms around her, hugging her as best he could with her big stomach in the way. He leaned down and kissed her again. A long, deep kiss.
When he leaned back, I heard him whisper, “Love you, Angel.”
“I love you too, Lyov,” she whispered back, her voice a little hoarse. Was she crying?
My heart twisted a little. I didn’t want her to cry. Papa placed a kiss on her forehead and then turned to me. “Alessio, come here.”
I quickly got up and went to him. He crouched down and then stared into my eyes. “I have to go for a while,” he said.
My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Again?”
“Yes. While I’m gone, I want you to be a good boy and take care of your mommy and princess, okay?”
I nodded my head. I was a big boy now. “Yes. I will.”
“Good,” he said, placing a kiss on my forehead and standing up. He nodded at Mommy and then walked away.
I heard her sigh. She sat back down and rubbed her eyes. “Mommy, why does Papa have to go away so much?”
“It’s his work, baby. Your papa is a very busy man. He has a lot to do.”
I went to Mommy and climbed on her lap again. Laying my head on her shoulder sleepily, I sighed. “I want to be like Papa. He is so strong. And everyone listens to him. I want to be tough like him.”
Mommy shook her head. “No, Alessio. You aren’t like your papa.” She palmed both of my cheeks and then continued. “You are not ready to fight the world. You are my sweet boy. My sweet gentle boy. And I want you to stay just like this.” Placing a kiss on my forehead, she whispered, “Let your papa do the fighting.”
I didn’t say anything else. Mommy always knew how to make me feel special. I would always be her sweet boy. That would never change.
Nodding my head, I closed my eyes. Mommy was rubbing my back soothingly, and in no time, I had fallen sleep. And my dream was riddled with a black-haired angel. She had green eyes.
I didn’t know this would be the last time that I had a peaceful sleep. Our lives would change forever.
***
10 years old
I walked into the cold basement, closing the door behind me quietly so that nobody heard me. A man was strapped to the chair in the middle of the room. His face and clothes were bloody. He was sagging against the chair and from where I was standing, I could hear his whimpers of pain.
Looking at him, I felt red hot anger coursing through my body. Murderous anger.
Kill. Kill him. Spill his blood. Make him pay, my mind screamed as my body started to shake with the force of my fury.
He was one of them. An Abandonato. The Italians. I still remember his face from that night. His laughing face as he tortured my mother with the others.
Walking forward purposely, I came to stand in front of him. He looked up, and if possible, his swollen eyes widened.
He opened his mouth to say something but only a gurgling sound came out through the gag. My hands tightened in a fist and I punched him hard in the face, his nose making a crunching sound as my knuckles came in contact with his face.
He screamed and I laughed.
His pain made me feel good. My heart soared, but I needed more. I needed his blood. I needed to see him suffering.
I needed to kill him.
Only then would I be satisfied.
Walking to the table at the back of the room, I looked at all the weapons laid out. There were so many. Different style. Big and small. I had never been to the basement before, but I heard the rumors around the mansion.
Taking the big knife with the spiral blade, I walked back toward the man. The man I loathed with all my being.
He whimpered in fear and started to shake his head and tried to move away, but he couldn’t. He was strapped to the chair at my mercy.
Actually, I wasn’t going to show him mercy. Mercy was no longer in my vocabulary.
Holding the knife tightly in my hand, I pressed it hard against his cheek. Pulling it down, I made a big gash. He tried to scream again.
I stared at the blood and my heart pumped faster. Adrenaline filled me and my mind begged me. More. More. More.
I made another gash on his other cheek. And then on his arms. Big, long, deep cuts. Blood was everywhere. Then on his chest. So deep that I could see his bones.
He couldn’t move anymore. His head was hanging down as he bled. I could see that he was quickly losing consciousness.
But I wasn’t done yet.
He was still alive.
His heart was still beating while my mother’s was not.
He needed to die. He needed to feel the pain.
Roaring with anger, I pulled the knife back and then plunged it deep into his heart, twisting it painfully. Mercilessly.
His head snapped back and he thrashed against the chair. His painful eyes started to go dull, slowly losing all signs of life.
A few seconds later, he was no longer breathing. His dead eyes were opened, staring at me.
I pulled the knife back from his chest and looked down. My hands were covered in blood. There was not even an inch of my skin that was clean. Blood. It was everywhere. On me. On my clothes. It blinded me.
I gasped as I realized what I had just done. But I didn’t feel any remorse. I felt alleviated and satisfied.
But not full satisfaction. The others still needed to pay.
And I was going to find all of them, one by one, and I was going to kill them all.
I heard the door open behind me with a bang. I swiveled around to see my father running in with a few of his men. Their eyes went wide at the sight of me and I heard my father’s shocked gasp.
“Alessio!” he screamed, running toward me. He stopped in front of me and snatched the knife away, throwing it on the floor next to the bloody dead man.
“What have you done? Oh, Alessio, what have you done?”
I stared into his eyes. “I will avenge my mother,” I said, my voice scratchy.