Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
The Past
I didn’t know how many hours of physical abuse I could endure. It’s not something I ever wanted to find out, but my husband has been beating on me for hours now. I know this is going to be the end of me. I know I’m not going to kiss my children again. I won’t get to watch them grow up. I won’t get to comfort them when they’re hurting.
I should have fought back. There are a million things I should have done differently. It’s funny how you never realise those things until it’s too late.
Please, God, let them be okay. Please watch over them. May they grow into men, kind men. May they find happiness. May they find love. Because you and I both know, if I’m taken away from them now, they’re not going to know that their mother loves them.
My prayer is silent. I can barely keep my eyes open as the ground beneath my feet spins.
“You want to leave me? The only way out of this marriage is death,” Giovanni hisses, his breath and spittle hitting my face. “Which is exactly how you’re leaving.”
Cold metal presses into the side of my head. I won’t beg him again. I won’t plead anymore. This is it. I’m done. At least I won’t feel the pain anymore. Because I won’t feel anything.
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Your sins need to die,” Giovanni says. “I’ll never let you take them.”
The barrel pulls away from my skin, and my breath catches in my chest. Then the sound of gunfire rings out and my body hits the floor. Hard.
I don’t feel it. Where is it? The bullet wound. I don’t feel it.
Giovanni’s hands wrap around my hair, lifting my head from the ground so he can look me in the eyes. “The problem is… death would be too kind for you. You’re exiled. If you ever try to come back, if you try to contact the boys, it won’t be you who I’ll kill. It’ll be them. One by one, I’ll cut their throats right in front of you. I’ll make you drink their spilled blood. I’ll make you bury your own children, knowing their suffering is on your hands.”
I shake my head. “No. Giovanni, no. Please don’t do this.”
This is something I will beg for. He was right. Death would be kinder than living in a world where I can’t see my boys. My head is slammed against the ground, followed by a sharp pain against the back of my skull. Then nothing. Blackness takes over.
* * *
Present
The door creaks open. I don’t bother to open my eyes. I don’t need to. It’s only going to be one of two people. Tommy or Esther. No one else comes in here.
“Babe, you need to get out of bed,” Tommy says, opening the curtains.
“I can’t,” I groan.
“Yes, you can,” he tells me.
“They hate me.” Tears sting the corners of my eyes.
“They don’t know you. They hate the situation, not you.” Tommy sits on the side of the bed. I don’t know how I got so lucky to find him or how he found me. I just know that he loves me.
For a long time, I didn’t even know who I was. But this man was so patient, so kind. He helped me heal, and over time, my memories started to come back. The first years were hard. I wanted to find them, but I couldn’t figure out their names. All I saw were faces.
Not that it mattered, because when I finally did remember, I sank to my lowest. I couldn’t get to them. I sat out front of the house, the one I once called home, and I couldn’t do a single thing. I couldn’t go inside and demand to see my own children. I knew that Giovanni would follow through with his threat. And I refused to be the reason my boys died. Instead, I would bear the pain of not knowing them to keep them alive. So that’s what I did.
I watched from a distance. Tommy would bring me photos, tell me stories about them now and then.
“I’m their mother and I left them, just left them with that monster. I deserve every ounce of their hatred,” I tell him.
“You had no choice. You did what you had to do for you all to survive,” he insists.
Did I? Or did I just hide? Did I give up too easily?
Tommy offered to try to get them. He would have died trying, though. He might be the president of a motorcycle club, but he’s no match for the De Bellis Crime Family. The reach my husband— ex-husband —has is huge.
Giovanni De Bellis owned Melbourne, and now my eldest son is sitting on that throne. When I saw them, Gio and Santo, I couldn’t believe how grown they were. How much they looked just like him. Their father. Gio wouldn’t even glance in my direction. I don’t blame him. I left him. Santo did, though. And I saw it. The hurt, the confusion, the questions.
I want to talk to them. I want a chance to tell them how much I love them. Even if it’s something they’ll never believe.
“Mum, can I take your car?” Esther barges into the room.
“What’s wrong with your car?” Tommy asks her.
“It has a flat. I don’t have time to deal with it,” she says.
“Take mine,” I chime in while sitting up in bed.
This girl has been the reason I haven’t completely drowned in my depression. I know I shouldn’t use my daughter as an emotional crutch. But Esther and Tommy are my reason for living. She is my reason for living.
The boys would have been better off never knowing I was still alive. I can only imagine the thoughts going through their heads. No child should know that their mother left them behind.
“Thanks, Mum. Try to get out of bed today. After school, maybe we can go get our nails done,” she asks me.
“Sure. Have a good day at school, honey.” I smile at my daughter. She’s seventeen. I got pregnant two years after Tommy found me, after he took me in, not knowing who I was.