Chapter 14
XIV. LIAR
Two months earlier
Sometimes life hits you so unexpectedly that you don’t know where it begins and where it ends.
I was adopted into a rich family, and some would think that for an orphan like me, this would mean a happy ending.
That I would live happily ever after. But this is not that type of story, is it?
I wouldn’t be where I am now if it were.
If I could rewind time, I would. I would find my younger self and hide him somewhere no one could ever find him. That’s the thing about hiding. You think it will solve your problems, but it only pushes them away until one day they come back and stare you in the face.
I had a few happy memories with my adoptive mother.
She used to patch up every scar my adoptive father left when he drank too much.
She called it mother’s love. I called it bullshit because if she really loved me, she would have taken me and run.
It was that easy. But sometimes it’s hard to leave the ones you think you love.
I know that now. No matter how many times the bastard hit her or me, she still believed he would change one day. But he never did.
Tonight, I got a call from a friend. Her voice was shaking as she told me what happened. He finally did it. My so-called father beat my mother so badly that she didn’t have the strength to fight back. And sometime during the night, she gave up and died.
That’s life, they say. One moment you’re here, the next you’re gone. And sometimes you can’t change what’s already written in your stars.
I said nothing to anyone. Not even to Peggy or Mia, who have been by my side ever since I stepped on this cursed ground. I took a boat to Livorno, then a train to Rome, even though I can’t call it home anymore.
By the time I arrived, it was night. The stars were bright, the air was cold. The house stood there like none of this had happened at all.
I opened the front door slowly. Most of the lights were off, as if the warmth had died with her. The staff were gone. No one moved, no sound came through the hallways. It looked like a ghost house, haunted by memories but empty of life.
I stopped at the center of the grand staircase. The door to my father’s office was slightly open, the only light coming from inside. I walked closer and saw the fireplace burning low. He sat in his high chair with a glass of whiskey in his hand.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.
“Hello, Father,” I said.
Without turning around, he muttered, “Oh, look who decided to come back.”
I walked closer. His hands were bruised, the skin torn and crusted with dried blood. They shook, but still clutched a full glass of whiskey.
“Why are you here?” he asked. “No one to see now.”
My fingers curled into fists. My jaw tightened. I moved fast, grabbed him by the hair, and yanked his head back. He only laughed.
“Look at yourself, boy,” he sneered. “Pathetic. Miserable. Coming back to dig up something you’ll never find.” He spat on the floor. “You’re a loser. You’ll never be enough.”
My grip tightened. His laughter turned to a growl. Then he threw the glass at my head. It hit hard, shattering across my forehead. Sharp pain exploded as shards rained to the floor.
I hissed and stumbled back, pressing my fingers to my skin. When I looked down, they were pieces stained with my blood.
“You are nothing,” he said. “And you will always be nothing.”
“Cazzo,” I hissed through my teeth.
He lunged forward faster than I thought an old man like him could move. His hand wrapped around my throat and slammed me into the wall. My spine hit hard. His face hovered inches from mine, the stench of whiskey and sweat filling my lungs.
“You think you can come here and talk to me like that?” he barked, spit hitting my cheek. “After everything I’ve done for you? You ungrateful little bastard!”
His fist hit my ribs twice, and each blow took the air out of me. I gasped, trying to pull breath in, but it burned like fire. My vision swam, but I could still see his eyes, the same ones that had haunted every nightmare.
I shoved back, shoved him across the table and onto it, climbed over him until I was above his face. He muttered something under his breath. The voice in my head answered him plain and clear, kill him, kill him, kill him.
“Do it,” he sneered. “You do not have the balls to finish what you started.”
Something inside snapped. I slammed my palm into my own forehead as if to knock the words out of me, but the voices only grew louder until I could not stand it, and I screamed.
I grabbed the lamp from the table and brought it down on his head. Again and again. The sound of flesh against metal kept time with my breathing. Glass and bone and blood flew and dripped. When his body finally stilled, I threw the lamp aside and stepped back, dizzy.
I sat in the chair across from him and spat onto his face. I pressed my palm to my forehead and dragged it down, wiping my face from jaw to hairline. Then I tasted blood on my fingers and licked it off.
Finally, the voices stopped.
Something in the room had died with him. Tears stung the corners of my eyes, but then I laughed, a high, brittle laugh that surprised me with how easily it came. I had no control over it.
Blood puddled and crept over the papers on the table. One sheet caught my eye. I picked it up, and my name was printed there. His last will. He had left everything to me, his only son.
I laughed louder.
I picked up the old black phone on the desk and dialed his lawyer. I wanted every penny moved into my name as fast as possible. Now that I knew what silenced those voices in my head, I would need the money.
“Sì, Mr. Ricci,” a man answered.
“Dante Ricci is dead,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “This is Oscar Ricci. I am his only heir.”
“I will make the arrangements,” the lawyer said, as if he had expected this call. As if my father had planned for this.
My father had always been a selfish man who wanted his line to continue. But what he didn’t know was that his line ended with him.
I said nothing more. I folded the paper, set it on the desk, and stood up. Then I walked away.
After a long shower, the house felt alive again. Some lights flickered on, and then a scream echoed through the hall. I knew that voice. Maria. The old housekeeper who raised me.
I walked out, and as she saw me, she ran forward, arms open, tears already in her eyes.1“Caro mio, your father…”
“Got what he deserved,” I finished for her, pushing her gently away. “He killed Mom, and now he got what he deserved.”
She shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. “What did you do, 2bambino?”
“Something that should have been done a long time ago,” I whispered, pulling her into a hug.
She broke down completely, sobbing into my chest, her cries whispering through the house. And then the voices started again, crawling back, louder, sharper, cutting through my head. I held her tighter. Tighter. Until I felt the crack beneath my hands.
Her body went limp. Her head fell back, mouth open, eyes wide.
“No, no, no,” I said, tapping her cheeks, desperate. “No.”
But she was already gone.
Tears finally fell my face. I screamed, the sound breaking out of me. I had just killed the only person who ever truly cared about me. And I did it with my own hands.
I let her body fall to the floor and ran toward the office. The voices screamed now, words blending into a single sentence: Love so hard it makes you die.
I froze. My hand gripped the banister, pressing hard until the wood bit into my palm.
The whisper came again, right behind my ear. “You killed her.”
My breath caught. “No,” I muttered. “No, it was an accident.”
I spun around, scanning the hall. Nothing. Empty shadows.
I stumbled forward toward my father’s office. The door was still open, firelight moving inside, painting the walls in shades of red and orange. His body was still there, slumped beside the chair, his face twisted into something almost like a smile.
“You’re dead,” I whispered. “Stay dead.”
But as the words left my mouth, he moved. Just a twitch.
I walked to the table, grabbed the phone, and dialed Enzo’s number.
“I need your help,” I whispered. “I need help.”
My palm hit my forehead, again and again, until my vision blurred.
My knees gave out. The world went black.
1. My dear
2. child