Seventeen
DARIO
“What’s on your mind?” My mother’s soft voice reaches my ears, but it registers within me like an echo.
“It’s not this,” I say, indicating to her stomach, “I promise. I, I have a situation, and I can’t quite figure it out.”
She forces a smile. “We’ll put a pin in this,”—she strokes her belly—“and circle back to it. Talk to me about what’s on your mind.”
My mother is and always has been my confidant, the one person I can turn to when shit doesn’t make sense or I’m conflicted for whatever reason. Liana being a perfect shot is one of those ‘shit doesn’t make sense’ scenarios.
“It’s Liana,” I admit. “I knew there was something about her, but this is the icing on the cake for me.”
“Whatever she’s done, you can’t blame her for. She’s still adjusting here. I’ve been in her shoes, and I know it isn’t an easy task.”
I shake my head. “No, it isn’t that. I think she’s doing better than anyone could’ve imagined here, and apparently, she’s fitting right in.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I sigh, lowering my head into my hands. “I took her to Remi earlier this morning for her introduction and the basics of training, and she passed the gun range with flying colours.”
“That’s good though, right?” Her head tilts as she sits across from me.
“It should be good, but there’s something that doesn’t sit right with me. Cassian wanted to test her, to see how easily she can pick up on unfamiliar skills—you know how he is—and he chose a target he made himself. Somehow, she passed flawlessly. She hit every target twice, directly hitting the markers like it was an everyday thing. She did it with ease, and now she’s lying about it. Why would she lie?”
“What do you mean she’s lying about it?”
“She says she’s never held or shot a gun before.” I snap my head back to its previous position, my eyes flicking to find hers. “If she’s lying about something that holds no weight in the long run, what else is she lying about?”
“It could be beginner's luck,” she tries to convince me, her tone soothing. “Give her a real challenge and she’ll fail. You mustn’t be in your head all the time; it makes you think up these silly little scenarios. You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Dario, not if you want to make something out of your relationship with Liana and have children with her. It just won’t work.”
“We’re still learning about each other, Mama. Children come down the line—I’m sure you know that.”
She sighs, “I want grandchildren, Dario.”
“And I don’t want to replace the twins, but we can’t have everything we want, can we?” The words shoot from my mouth before I can even think them over, and hurt fills her face.
Her eyes droop as tears fill them, regret squeezes at my heart. “They’re not replacing anyone,” she says with a whisper-yell. “Your sisters are dead, Dario, and I feel that pain every single day. It’s something I have to live with more than you do. I carried them for almost nine months, I fed them, nurtured them and raised them until they died. They will always, always be my babies, but they’re gone, Dario and there’s not one thing you can do to change that. Nobody can change it.”
“Don’t you feel it’s repeating a cycle, though?” I ask in a hushed voice, a lump forming in my throat. “Two girls to take the places of the ones we lost.”
“I want you to know that nothing, not even these babies, will ever—and I mean ever—take their places. They were the babies of the family, even when Cass came along and that will never change. They might not be here with us anymore, but they will always live within our hearts.” She pauses for a moment to release a shaky sigh. “When the babies are born, they will have similar features to Scarlett and Serra and I don’t want any of you to hate them for it. I want you to love them anyway, as your father and I will. They will become their own people with their own personalities and I don’t want you to hold them in your sisters’ shadows.”
“I promise to try, but that’s the best I can offer right now.”
She smiles, cupping my cheeks in her hands. “I know you will, my sweet boy.” She places a delicate kiss on my forehead.
Rising to my feet, I embrace her, my jaw tensing in an attempt to numb the pain in my throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mama,” I say before exiting the living room and out the front door, back to my house.
∞∞∞
“What’s up your ass?” Liana’s soft voice reaches my ears.
Glancing up at her in my doorway, she stands there with her arms folded across her body, her anger still evident from earlier.
“Not now, Liana,” I answer, defeated. “It’s been a long and tiresome day. I want to be alone right now, so please, leave.”
She flinches at my request, her head recoiling backward. “D-did you want to talk about it? I’m a good listener.” She takes a small step forward, stopping on the threshold of my room.
“I appreciate the gesture, but not tonight. I need to be alone with my thoughts.”
“I know how you feel, but I really think—”
“You don’t know shit,” I accuse, my voice raising and again, she flinches, this time harder. “You don’t know anything about anything, especially not me or my family. So please, for the love of God, would you just piss off?”
I approach her in the doorway, and she steps backward, allowing me to close the door in her face.
She scoffs from beyond the closed door, and then stomps down the hallway to her room.
I’ll admit, it was a dickish move, but she’s a persistent little thing and I don’t need her prying into my deepest, darkest thoughts. Not when they’ve all become raw tonight.
Heading back to my bed, I collapse backward, my head hitting the pillow and my body sprawls across the sheets.
As I close my eyes to inhale deeply, their faces solidifying in my mind—their wide smiles, deep green eyes, Scarlett’s freckles and Serra’s red hair. While they were the spitting image of each other, they were their very own people. They loved with everything they had, always believing in second chances, and Antonio stole that from them. My sperm donor tore them apart on an emotional level, then recreated it physically.
I appreciate Liana’s offer to try and make me feel better, but nothing will ever fill the void they left in our lives—not my new baby sisters, not my niece or nephew, and not her. That hole is reserved for them. It’s a personal reminder that I won’t stop until that bastard is dead and buried so deep in the ground that not even the devils that walk the earth could find him. He’s a wicked, narcissistic, pathetic excuse for a man, and it will bring me great fucking pleasure to show him exactly what I think of him.
Opening my eyes again, their faces fade from view and a tear falls, rolling down my cheek. It carries sadness, anger and hatred, and I roughly thumb it away.
He’s somewhere laughing; I know he is. It’s been almost seven years without them, and while we’re in pain, he’s thriving; the thought of him living while they aren’t makes my heart squeeze and my lungs feel restricted.
Even after all these years, he’s still winning. He wanted to hurt my mother and in turn, damaged every single person who ever knew and loved my sisters. He’s created an army of people that want his head on a pike. But me? I want that shit as a trophy, a remembrance that while he wrecked my family, I ended his life. It’ll be a warning to those who wish to do us harm. If—no, when I kill him, I’ll rest easy knowing he’s dead. If I die in the process, so be it. I’d hate for my mother to lose another child, but if it’s necessary for the greater good, it’s something I’m willing to do. It’s something that I will die for, something I will achieve, even if it costs me my life.