Chapter 11
I hear her cries.
Her begging and pleas fall on deaf ears. The men around us laugh at her despair and mock her for showing any emotion in a dire and scary situation, taunting her for feeling anything. The words come to me slowly. They’re harsh and deliberate, but I still can’t make them out entirely.
Though my head is hung low and hurts from when I was hit with the butt of the gun, I allow it to loll to the side. The pain that vibrates through my head from my slow movement intensifies as I open my eyes. Slowly, I take in my blurry surroundings, forcing myself to try and focus on something – anything – until my vision is clear.
I feel sick.
Nauseated beyond what I’ve ever felt before, a hotness sits in my throat. Thick and curdling, waiting to be released by its own volition. My body spurs itself awake abruptly, and I cough. Taking in too much air, before I can stop myself, my stomach contents betray me, and I lose them on my half-clothed body.
Without having to check, I can tell all eyes have turned to me. The room also grows quiet as I struggle to compose myself to the best of my ability.
A tsk close by reaches me. “Ah, look who’s up.”
Tommaso’s familiar voice rings in my ears, and I hear his footsteps as they draw closer to me.
I shudder from disgust and fear, memories of his touching me making me shake and feel queasy again. I try to look up at him but can’t.
I have no energy.
Everything hurts.
Rough hands grip my chin, forcing me to look up. “Hey there, precious.”
He chuckles. His thick, sausage-like fingers dig into my chin. “How was your nap?”
Forcefully, he pushes my face away.
My chin lowers from my depleted strength, and I breathe. Drool mixed with vomit falls slowly down my chin to where it pools on my thigh, then drips down to the couch. Everything is still blurry but beginning to come into focus. “Gaia?”
I hear my mother’s cries. “Leave her alone, Tommy. This is between us.”
She’s trying to sound strong and is failing. From where I’m sitting, slumped on the couch, I can’t see much unless I sit forward, so I try to. I will my body to gather what little it can and force my head up. My heavy eyes blink several times until some figures around me come into view, and I see Tommaso and his men. We’re in the living room where we were watching a movie for our traditional family night when they bombarded our home.
From what I can see, my father is still on the floor. His body is askew, his arms on one side while his legs seem to have flailed to another. I’m unsure if he’s unconscious or dead. He’s facing away from me, and I can’t tell if his breaths are shallow or he's not breathing at all.
My mother is next to me on the couch. Her arms are wrapped around her upper body as she rocks back and forth. The only person I’m looking for, I don’t see.
Gaia.
My heart starts to flutter uncontrollably as I look around the room more. My jerky actions are forcing my head to hurt more, but I don’t care. Then I remember why I was hit with the gun.
One of the men had dragged Gaia to the back room, and I had lost my shit.
“Where’s Gaia?”
I take a chance asking.
My mother looks at me and shakes her head. “Listen to me, Echo, don’t cause any trouble. Don’t say anything. I can talk to him.”
Flustered by her words, I frown. Pain shoots across my face due to the swollen, painful bruises and cuts. “Tommy, where is Gaia?”
I ask instead of listening.
Though my parents have never claimed favorites, I have always been my mother’s, leaving Gaia in the dust. But my younger sister has always been like my baby, even though she’s only four years younger than me. We have done everything together since she could walk.
Tommaso’s bright eyes cut to me, and he smiles. Through the magnetic smile that used to make me blush before I met Aldo, I see ultimate evil and anger. He shrugs. “She needed her rest, too.”
“Don’t touch her.”
Anger surges throughout my body, igniting my core and setting me on fire. “She’s a baby.”
Tommaso laughs, and a moment later, his clown goons follow behind him. “She didn’t seem like a baby to Reynaldo. Right, Reynaldo?”
My eyes sharply cut to Reynaldo, and I growl in anger– A guttural sound I’ve never heard comes out of me. He’s an older guy, even older than Tommy and Aldo. His thin, greasy, and graying hair is combed to the side like he tried his best to cover the bald spot beginning to peek out from his scalp. His body looks tall and wiry, but his potbelly protrudes in a disgusting way that makes me imagine him forcing himself on my baby sister.
My best friend. My baby. My Gaia.
Moving in closer to me, Reynaldo smirks. “Babies don’t suck dick that good.”
To prove a point, he adjusts himself in his pants.
I scream, rage consuming me, and they laugh, fueling me more. I stare at the man. “If you hurt her, I will kill you.”
Something rough yolks me out of my dream - Nightmare. “Hey, hey.”
Rough hands envelop me against something hard, but I resist.
My arms that are trapped in a strong vise bend in towards my body, contouring to my curves as I go limp. With as much strength as possible, I push up when I have space to, tucking my chin. My head connects with something hard, a chin, I assume, and it takes a second to be released. With expertise, I propel myself back and roll off the bed. My foot catches in my pants I took off and carelessly threw on the floor before going to bed, and I stumble. The wind leaves me as I fall and hit the floor.
“Echo?”
Reality sets in, and I open my eyes, allowing things to return. Our room is dark except for the illuminations of the television I fell asleep watching while I waited for Damiano to come to bed.
“What the fuck was that?”
He asks, then I see him stand over me. His hand is gripping his chin, but the look of worry overpowers any anger that seeps through his tone.
I exhale, unaware that I was holding my breath. My head falls back on the plush carpet, and white shadows creep into my vision. I cover my eyes. Hotness crowds the back of my eyes as tears build in my eyes, and I let out another deep breath.
I can’t cry in front of him. I won’t.
I haven’t cried in years or allowed myself to embrace those raw emotions I felt that day in forever. Since they told me that some fucking disgusting shitbag had raped my baby sister and then when she wouldn’t stop screaming, had beat her to death with her dance trophies.
Trophies that she had been so proud of. Trophies that I had been proud of.
My little sister had been my best friend, my sole motivation to do better in a life I felt trapped in because my parents hated each other but stayed together. We had promised each other that we would always be there for one another, that no matter what, we would always be together.
Only they had taken her from me.
Reynaldo had taken her from me.
I groan into my hands as more emotions flow forward and bang my head back against the carpet, which fails to distract me with pain but instead cushions my blows. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I mutter muffled obscenities.
Breathe in.
Hold.
Three, two, one.
Breathe out.
“A nightmare?”
Hidden behind my hands like a coward, I peek between two fingers at Damiano, who is still standing above me. “What gave you that idea?”
I breathe in deep, hold it, then release it.
Nightmares are becoming more frequent. Whereas I would only have them once every few months, now I can have mere days between them. What’s worse is that they're always random. I can be in the middle of an unrelated dream that will merge into that day's memory.
I’m always consumed with the repetitive emotions of being helpless and unable to do anything. Praying that my dad would find the strength to get up off the floor rather than allow himself to succumb to the reality that his wife, my mother’s infidelities, had finally led to our demise. I wish that I had stayed at the mall with Gaia and we had met up with my friends. I hadn’t gotten sick because my hidden pregnancy at that time was taking more out of me than it was giving me.
Then I cry, or scream, or lash out in my stupor. Unaware of where I am until it’s too late to control myself.
Blaine had seen me in a fit once after I’d passed out, and he had held me.
After my parents’ deaths, my foster parents helped me confront my weaknesses and vowed to help me never feel that way. Only they’d been taken from me. Sean had always held me through the nightmares, comforting me through them, accepting my tears, and loving me through them. After him, I had started only to have one night stands when the need arose, never allowing myself to get close to anyone, never staying in one place longer than I needed to.
Until Blaine.
I had been in town for over a year, gathering intel on the Rossi’s. Since I hadn’t had a place to stay initially, I had lived in the storage unit left to me by my foster parents under a pseudonym. That had given me time to familiarize myself with the equipment they had left, separate the money, and have some in accounts I could later move around, so it seemed like I was living an everyday life.
Once I had gathered enough information and emerged from the underground, it took nothing to get close to Blaine. As an analyst, he was overlooked by important men. I had planned to obtain his credentials, useful information, and escape, but I had become comfortable and too close to him.
I knew I wasn’t in love with Blaine, but he held a soft spot in my calloused heart because he was genuinely sweet. Plus, the kinky side of Blaine outweighed all the selfish one night stands I’d had over the years.
So, I overindulged in him. He’d been like a craving I had finally accepted, needing to go back more and more. It didn’t help that he’d looked like a bookish nerd but fucked like an uninhibited God.
“Is it from–”
Damiano hesitates, “You know?”
Seeing him murder Tommaso’s man?
“No.”
I sigh. He has no idea how warped of a person I am. “Shocked as you may be, I’ve seen worse.”
For a brief second, I see sympathy in his eyes and realize he’s thinking of my family while I’m thinking of the people I’ve killed. “Come on, get up.”
Damiano outstretches his hand to me, and I take it. He pulls me up to my feet effortlessly, and we stand staring at each other for a long time. In the quiet night surrounding us, where our breaths mingle, I can hear his heartbeat and almost sense his intentions before he can.
My hand moves to his chest, and I close my eyes briefly as he breathes in and out. Our breathing syncs. I’m drawn to him, as usual. I want to feel his touch, attention, or anything that will help me alleviate this sense of dread that I’ve been living with for the past ten years. I wish my life were more manageable and I could get lost in him like I want. But I can’t right now.
On top of that, I want nothing to do with him.
While it isn't surprising that Luca’s funeral was postponed due to unforeseen circumstances, it’s all the more annoying that Damiano hasn’t told me anything about his plans for Tommaso and Aldo. I’ve been waiting for him to tell me something, but I’ve gotten no news.
Nothing more, nothing less. I’m no closer to finding anyone than when I met Damiano at that bar.
Being with him is starting to feel like a waste of time and a distraction. My mental hostility is at an all-new height, and being trapped in this house isn’t helping me. I need to get out. I need to do something– Kill someone.
Thus, why the nightmare.
“Was it about your family?”
I nod. It would be pointless to deny the truth. But I won’t divulge any details. He doesn’t deserve to know anything right now.
Damiano’s hand moves up and down my arm in what I assume is supposed to be comforting. “They’ll get easier.”
If they haven’t by now, they never will.
“Thanks.”
I attempt to step back from him, but he gently takes hold of my hand.
I follow where he touches me until I reach his eyes, which are shadowed by the darkened room and lowly lit television. “Are you okay?”
I want to let his concern warm me, but at this point, I’m hardening myself against him. He’s not who I thought he would be, which frustrates me more than anything.
I want to kill Tommaso, Aldo, and their men. I don’t want to wait anymore. I don’t want to patiently watch as he schemes out a plan that has taken him longer to concoct than my family has been gone.
I won’t wait anymore.
“Yeah.”
I retract my wrist from his hold. “I’m sure it won’t be the last time, and it won’t be over until they're all dead.”
Damiano crosses his arms over his chest, looking at me as I walk back to the bed. “I’m working on that. It’s deeper than just ambushing people and riddling them with bullets.”
Covered by the soft sheets and comforter, I lean against the pillows and look at him. “Politics.”
I wrestle with cushiony blankets until I’m comfortable. “I get it.”
My agreeing doesn’t seem to sit well with him. He steps towards the bed. “Do you?”
I sigh and look at him. “Yes, Damiano, I get it.”
A scoff-like chuckle echoes through the room. “You have an empire to take care of, a legacy to create. My wishes come last. I know how it works.”
He bristles at my words, making it seem like I’ve slapped him. His hands dig in his pockets, and he curses under his breath. “What would you have me do, Echo, huh? You would have me wage an outright war without any cause? You would have me give you the gun so I can watch you get yourself killed to start this movement you are set on? Let you leave so I can hear that you were murdered at the hands of Tommaso’s thugs?”
“No, I wouldn’t,”
I say calmly.
Inside, I’m raging. I want to yell at Damiano. I want to scream that I want him to be open and honest with me, to tell me his plan so I don’t have to sneak around the house and listen through walls and plant devices that give me intel. I want him to stop seeing me as a frail female incapable of thinking for myself.
He sighs. “Then why are you pulling away from me?”
What?
Now I’m shocked. Why does he care whether I pull away or go to him? “I’m giving you the space you require.”
“What space?”
I look at him but know he can't entirely see my face. “You stopped coming to bed, Damiano. You. You baited me out to dinner, took some men, killed them, and stopped talking to me.”
My tone is still calm. “I’ve been here this entire time, the last few days, just waiting for you. Which begs me to question why are you pulling away from me?”
For a moment, he’s quiet, with no words escaping his mouth, no expression on his face, and then he leaves the room. I debate if I want to chase after him for an answer I already know but don’t bother.
I don’t care.
Damiano Bianchi is starting to have feelings for me, feelings other than anger or lust, and that makes me happy.
Even broken men can have beating hearts.