Chapter 12
Watching Robby grow into the funny, sweet, and beautiful one-year-old he is today has been more than I could’ve asked for. And with him, I grew up too. I had to. I had a child to take care of.
Having him and Matteo here with me has kept me sane. My father has only gotten crueler in the past years, and he’s not softened to Robby either. How could anyone not burst with love when that boy giggles?
I feel sorry his mother is in prison, missing him grow up. Sure, she gets her monthly visit, and I hate that Robby has to go to a place like that, but that’s her baby. I’m glad he knows her. I know I had my doubts about his mom being alive, but where else would my father’s men take him every month?
“Where are you, stinky butt?” I call, tiptoeing around as though I can’t hear his laughter under the table.
“Oh, boy, when I find you, you’re going to get so many tickles.
” That gets him rolling. “Oh, man, what is that noise, I wonder?” I creep around the table, pretending I can’t see his little legs right next to me.
“Could it be…” I pop my head down. “There you are!” He giggles.
“I got you!” I tug him out by his feet and he instantly jumps into my arms.
“Yav you.”
Yep, my heart just turned to mush. No one has ever loved me, except Ms. Greco. But this is different in a way. He’s actually my brother. My flesh and blood.
“I love you too, baby bro.” I hug him tighter. “We gotta get changed so you can see your mommy, okay?”
“No!” He giggles, running away from me as soon as I drop him down. “Oh, you can run but I’m gonna find you.” Then I’m laughing too, chasing him around, finally snatching him up, taking him to our room so I can change him.
It’s nice when my dad isn’t home. Robby and I can play without him screaming for us to shut up. He hates hearing that boy’s laughter. It’s like he’s allergic to joy. I’d be too if I was a sadistic piece of shit.
Over the past year, Ms. Greco has been my saving grace. She’s helped me with Robby more than anyone in her position would. And it wasn’t because she feared my father. It was because she wanted to. She adores Robby, genuinely. I’m glad he has us, especially while being exposed to my father’s temper.
A month ago, when Robby was coloring on the floor, he yelled so loudly and knocked over the crayons, telling that poor child he’d kill him if he did it again.
Robby didn’t understand the words, but he knew rage. He had to living here. His face broke with the saddest eyes, before he began to cry. It shattered me. I lost it. It was the first time I really stood up to my father.
“Look, Robby, this is a turtle.” I point. He just started saying words, and it’s stinking cute.
“Tootle.”
“Sure, let’s go with that.” I laugh, gliding a hand through his blond hair.
Ms. Greco just gave him a little trim, but it’s still so full and beautiful.
“How about we color it? What color should we use?” I ask, as I spill the box of crayons into a paper bowl.
“What about red?” I wag my brows playfully.
“Wed!” His eyes glisten with innocent joy and I want that. To feel this much for something as simple as coloring with someone I love.
“Do you mean red, silly?”
He giggles, his dimples popping out on both sides. “Wed!”
“Okay, wed turtle it is.”
“Tootle.” He looks all serious as he corrects me.
“Tootle. All right. Let’s color that tootle wed.”
“Yay!” He picks out the red crayon, sticking it into his mouth, sitting there on the floor, while I color the sun purple.
“Don’t eat it, silly!” I tickle his belly and the crayon rolls away. He wobbles to retrieve it.
The main door opens and my father struts in, my uncle Sal with him as I turn. “Hey, Aida,” my uncle greets.
“Hey, Uncle Sal. How are you?”
“I’m good, kiddo. Raquel says hi.”
“Tell her I said hi too. How is sh—”
“What the hell are you two doing on the damn floor?” My father’s voice booms like a crack of lightning pouring from the sky. Robby drops the crayon from the shock of it, his eyes frozen with a frightened stare at him.
“It’s okay,” I breathe. “Come here.”
He runs into my lap as my father rushes to us. Kicking the bowl, all the crayons rapidly scatter across the floor.
“Are you trying to get this damn floor dirty, you stupid bitch?!”
He grits his teeth, his nostrils flaring as he bends his face close to mine.
“We were just drawing,” I say in a calm whisper, holding on to a trembling Robby. I wish I could take him out of this place, but how could I run away without Matteo? I can’t leave him behind. My father will definitely kill him if I do.
“Pick up that fucking shit and throw it out. There will be no more drawing. And if you”—he points a finger at Robby, who dares a look at him—“ever draw on my floor again, I’ll kill you!”
Robby bursts into tears and runs off under the table in the next room. That’s his favorite hiding spot.
My heart pounds, my entire body breaking with seething rage, the kind that makes you dizzy, blood boiling, skin tingling.
I stand up, my jaw pulsating. “You sick, pathetic excuse of a man! How dare you tell a little child that you’ll kill him? What the fuck is—”
I don’t get to finish because the next thing I know, his hand is around my throat, squeezing hard.
“You’re done. I’ll fucking ruin you.” His fingers tighten and I claw. I fight. But he’s strong. Too damn strong. My lungs burn, my throat bursting with agonizing pain. I can’t catch a breath, my eyes rolling.
“Agnelo, let her go,” Uncle Sal says. “You’re killing her.”
“Shut the fuck up, Sal!” he yells. “Do I tell you what the hell to do with your own kid?”
My uncle backs away. Asshole. That’s what they all are. Every single one of my uncles is a monster. They have to be for killing Matteo’s father, for allowing him to be imprisoned.
If Ms. Greco was here today, she’d try to stop him, not that it’d do any good. My father would only hurt her. I’m glad she’s with her family right now.
I don’t know how long he keeps me hostage to his torment, but he finally drops me to the floor like a rag doll, spitting at me before he paces back out the door.
“Robby?” I call, my chest heaving as I cough. “Come here. It’s okay.” My hand falls to my neck as I fight the ache there. “He’s gone now.”
But he doesn’t come, and that only makes me want to die.
MATTEO - AGE 16
“Again!” Stan shouts as I kick the man on the ground, his face swollen so badly, you wouldn’t be able to tell if he has his eyeballs in there or not. His lip is busted up to the point that blood gushes out like a fountain.
The only good thing about being taken to the warehouse is that it gives me some time away from the chain, which is a relief, even while knowing the dirty things I’ll have to do when I’m out of it.
There’s nothing left of the man I’ll have to kill. My only purpose is to hurt the people they bring me. No questions asked. And I never have any. Not anymore.
I kick the man again and he doesn’t make a sound. “Check his pulse,” Stan tells me, and I do, leaning over, two fingers on his neck.
“It’s still there.”
“Good.” He kicks the man himself, just once. Then he removes a small flip knife from his pocket.
“Cut his fucking throat.”
I grab the blade from him. They’ve never had me use a knife before. Bullets are easier. Shoot and you’re done. This is more personal.
“Let’s go. Hurry up. I have places to be,” he snaps.
I kneel, opening the weapon, lowering it to the man’s neck. My hand’s steady. They don’t like weakness. They’ll punish her for my mistakes.
With a quick breath, I let the knife slice from one side of the man’s throat to the other. Blood oozes with thick drops, seeping steadily.
“You’re gonna fucking bleed out like a pig,” Stan tells the man, slamming his foot into his nose.
I drop the knife beside the body, hoping he’s dead already. This is more suffering than anyone should take. And knowing these people, I doubt he did anything at all.
“Take him back to the house,” Stan tells another, who’s already yanking me away.
Every time I hurt a man, I can’t wait to leave, needing to be with Aida. She’s the only one who makes the world seem right even as it crumbles.