Chapter 22
Massimo
Iindulge myself in Evelyn for hours, lingering in the private haven of the suite with her in my arms. She drifted off to sleep a while ago, exhausted by the morning’s violent events.
Her hair is so soft beneath my fingers, and her sweet scent lulls me into relaxation. My eyelids grow heavy. I allow them to droop closed, just for a few minutes…
My mother’s elegant fingers handle the fruit with care, making sure not to bruise the precious product. She’s helping my father tidy the grocery store—something that the owner doesn’t mind as long as she doesn’t damage anything.
It’ll be another long shift for him, so she’s brought me to see him. I’m old enough now to understand that she misses him when he’s away, and she’s eager to help at the store so that she can spend time with him.
My fingers tighten around a peach as resentment coils my muscles. I can hear boys laughing outside.
Laughing at me?
My cheeks heat. Whatever amuses them, I’ll never know. I’m an outsider, a pathetic weakling.
I’m constantly under my parents’ watchful eyes, never allowed to interact with the other boys in the neighborhood.
My mother insists that it’s too dangerous, and I need to dedicate myself to my studies at home.
She tells me that an education is my way out, and if I keep my record clean, I’ll be able to move away from Le Vele one day.
While the other boys are out enjoying their freedom and learning how to become men, I’m sheltered.
I watch them from the window in our dingy studio apartment that my mother tries to make into a home for us.
They’re growing tall and strong, while I’m skinny and too short for my age.
My father promises that I’ll hit my growth spurt in the next couple of years, and I shouldn’t worry about such things at the age of eleven.
I shoot a furtive glance at my parents. They’re having a quiet conversation near the check-out counter, where my father is stationed. He grins, and she tucks her hair behind her ear with a shy smile.
I roll my eyes. They’re so in love that it’s nauseating.
A real man shouldn’t be so devoted to his wife that he does whatever she says.
My father could be out earning real money to support us, but he remains in this dead-end job at the grocery store because it makes her happy.
We barely have the resources to put food on our own table, but he sells it to others. It’s a joke.
They’re so lost in their little flirtation that they might not notice if I slip away. I can still hear the boys, jeering and laughing.
I peek through the glass door and note five of them outside.
The biggest one leans casually against the wall of the building across the street.
He tips back a bottle of clear alcohol and takes a swig, barely grimacing as he swallows down the cheap liquor.
One of the other boys holds out his hand, demanding his turn with the drink.
The biggest one—clearly their leader—cuffs him on the back of his head and snaps something, nodding at the other three. They’re all clustered around a motorbike.
The bike roars to life, and they cheer.
I’m not stupid; I know it doesn’t belong to them.
They’re one of the baby gangs that terrorize Le Vele. They take what they want and live lawless, adventurous lives. If they’re lucky, one day they’ll become camorristi, and they’ll escape this hellish neighborhood.
The leader glances around furtively to check if there are any witnesses. Dark eyes pause on me, narrowing with suspicion.
I swallow hard but tip my chin back. My fists clench at my sides as I try to make myself look as big as possible. These boys only understand strength, and any show of cowardice on my part will probably end in a beating.
If I impress them, they might ask me to join them outside. They might let me have a taste of the wild freedom they enjoy.
The big one straightens, and the others snap to attention. They stroll across the street, approaching the shop. I stand my ground, waiting for them.
“Massimo!” My mother’s voice is more frightened than chiding. She grabs my upper arm and drags me back from the glass door.
I try to remain staunchly in place, but she hauls me behind her.
My face burns with embarrassment, but I’m too weak to resist even my slender mom. She’s humiliating me, and I scowl at her.
“Let me go. You’re making me look like a pussy.”
She gasps. “Where did you learn that word? You know better.”
“Don’t talk like that around your mother.” My father snaps at me, but a note of fear makes his voice hitch too.
The bell above the door chimes, signaling the gang’s entrance. I struggle to step around my parents, who are trying to shield me with their bodies.
But I’m not a child; I won’t hide behind them. If I do, the other boys will tear me to pieces out of sheer contempt.
“What are you looking at?” the leader demands.
“Nothing,” my father insists. “We don’t want any trouble.”
I manage to edge around my mom, so that I can at least see what’s happening. The boy’s eyes are so dark that they’re almost black, and they narrow on me.
“Are you telling me that little shit,”—he jerks his head at me—“didn’t see anything? Because I think he did. He was watching us like some kind of freak.”
I look him dead in the eye and say, “I didn’t see anything.”
I don’t say it out of fear, and my voice rings out clear and calm. I won’t tell anyone about the theft I witnessed. They can trust me. I could be one of them.
My father tenses, his bulky frame seeming to expand to fill the space between us. Despite the muscle that ropes his body, I know he won’t step up and fight. He’s a self-proclaimed pacifist, a pitiful value he’s tried to instill in me.
The gang doesn’t know that. They see a threat, and they act without hesitation.
The leader draws a gun from his belt in one smooth, practiced motion. The shot rings out before I can shout a protest. My father falls, a crimson stain blooming on his crisp white shirt.
A red haze descends over my mind, protective fury overriding fear. They’re attacking my family. My mother is screaming.
As she throws her slim body over my father’s in an attempt to shield him from further harm, I grab a bottle of beer from the shelf beside me. The glass smashes against the metal shelf, creating a jagged weapon in my hand. I launch myself at the leader, slashing in wild, feral rage.
Three gory gashes shred his face. Another shot booms as he shouts in agony.
The other boys grab their broken, sobbing leader and drag him away. I stand my ground, breathing hard. The broken bottle is still gripped in my fist, my enemy’s blood dripping onto the cream tile floor.
“Massimo.” My mother says my name in a broken whisper.
I round on her, my body still thrumming with violent energy. I should go after the motherfuckers who’d threatened my family. If I don’t make them pay, they might come back. They’ll kill my father, and…
His light blue eyes are glassy, staring up at nothing.
My mother’s body is draped over his. She reaches for me, her blood-soaked hand shaking as she removes it from the bullet wound in her belly. A red stain grows on her sunshine yellow dress, soaking the material until the blood spilled over to pool with my father’s on the floor.
Her caramel eyes are tight with agony as she stares at me, taking in the weapon in my hand.
Massimo. Her lips form my name, but no sound comes out except a wet death rattle. Her eyes are as dull as my father’s, but her jaw remains slack with horror, my act of violence the last thing she’ll ever see.
She’s utterly still and forever silenced, but I hear my name in her pained whisper over and over again. It echoes through my mind, shredding me.
“Massimo. Massimo, wake up.”
Soft hands grasp my shoulders, shaking me gently.
“It’s just a dream.” Evelyn’s melodic, soothing voice promises safety and warmth.
I turn into her and bury my face in her silken hair, breathing in her addictive scent. She presses a tender kiss to my chest and murmurs my name again, the sound layering over my mother’s final, horrified rasp.
I gather Evelyn into my arms and hold her close, allowing her gentle warmth and sweet scent to ground me to reality.
I’m not a scrawny little boy anymore. I’m strong enough to protect this fragile woman. No one will harm my delicate little butterfly. I won’t fail again.