Chapter 12
Massimo
The house is silent. Hollow. Suffocating.
Pacing back and forth in my office, my hands are in fists, the raw sting of my knuckles reminding me of the fight I had earlier. But no amount of blood on my hands can bring her back.
I saw it coming, and I did nothing, and now she’s dead.
The words loop in my head, carving into my skull, into my fucking soul.
My mother is dead. And I’m the reason.
I slam my fist against the edge of my desk, the wood creaking under the impact, but the pain does nothing to quiet the scream trapped inside me.
The whiskey bottle on my desk is half-empty, but I don’t remember drinking it.
I needed something to numb the pain of today.
How the fuck was the happiest day of my life, turned into the worst?
I don’t remember much of anything after the bloodshed. After her body fell. After the world fucking stopped turning.
I never should’ve married Maria. Loving her is exactly why my family paid the price.
The door creaks open behind me. I don’t have to turn to know who it is. It’s my wife, Maria. She’s the only one who would come, the only one who wouldn’t listen when they told her to leave me alone.
The only person I can’t face right now.
She steps forward, her voice soft. “Massimo...”
I squeeze my eyes shut, exhaling sharply through my nose, trying to hold myself together. She keeps moving, coming closer, I can hear her footsteps. “I’m sorry.”
Those two words snap something inside me. My body tenses, and before I can stop myself, I spin around, my voice sharp, raw, broken.
“It’s my fault she’s dead!” I shout, and Maria flinches.
But I can’t stop. I let the rage pour out, my voice shaking as I step forward.
“It’s my fault my father has lost his wife!
It’s my fault my sister will be getting married without her mother there!
It’s my fault my little brother has no mother now! ”
Maria’s lips part, her eyes becoming glassy, but I don’t let her speak. Because the worst of it is still inside me, festering like poison.
My voice cracks. “Even though I knew war would come, I still chose you.”
Silence. A thick, unbearable silence. Maria stares at me, and for the first time, I see it. Pain. Not for herself. For me, and that’s fucking destroying me.
My body finally gives in, the weight of the past few weeks, the loss. The guilt crushes me, killing me.
My knees give out, I hit the floor in front of her, broken, exposed. I never fall, not for anything or anyone. But I do now.
Maria, my wife, my angel wraps her arms around me. She doesn’t say a word. She just holds me.
Her warmth sinks into me, but it doesn’t heal the wound, and right now I feel as though nothing will.
My chest shakes as I bury my face against her, my hands gripping her tightly, as if she’s the only thing keeping me breathing. Because right now, she is.
Her warmth surrounds me, grounding me in the darkness that threatens to drown me whole.
“Massimo.” The voice is firm, steady, undeniable. I lift my head slowly, and my body tenses. My father.
He stands in the doorway, his presence casting a long shadow into the dimly lit room. His suit is crisp despite the bloodstains still darkening his cuffs. His face, stone cold. But his eyes, they’re haunted. How mine must look right now.
Maria quickly takes a step back, her wedding dress rustling as she does. This shouldn't have been her wedding day, she deserved so much more. She deserved the first dance, the party, the smile…and I took it from her.
My father doesn’t look at her. “Maria, Jo is waiting for you. I think—” He stops for a moment clearing his throat. “You should change out of the dress.”
Standing, Maria peer at me and I give her a nod, letting her know she can leave.
My father stares at me, straight through me. I know what he sees. A son who was on his knees. A boy broken by grief.
He waits for Maria to leave the room then steps forward, his shoes making sharp, deliberate sounds against the floor.
“This was not your fault, son.”
I clench my jaw so hard it aches. “It happened because of me.” The words burn my tongue as they escape.
“No, Massimo.” His voice is calm, but there’s a steel edge to it. “It happened because this is the life we live. Your mother knew that. We all did.”
“But she’s gone because I—”
“I know, son.” His voice is quieter now, but it hits even harder. “Your mother always had a soft spot for you.” He exhales, breathing slow and measured. “You and her… you were strong together.” His words cut deeper than I expect them too, because they’re true.
My mother was the heart of this family. She understood me in a way no one else did. She softened me without making me weak, and now…she’s gone.
He watches me, for the first time since the wedding, I see it in him. Pain. It’s quiet, buried, but real. It’s subtle. Buried deep beneath decades of discipline and control. But it’s there. And that somehow makes it worse, because I did this to him.
“Remember what she told you, Massimo.” His gaze sharpens, and it makes me straighten my spine. “It’s not your fault. And it’s not Maria’s fault either.” My father steps closer. “You have to remember that.”
I swallow, my throat burning. His next words are clipped, firm, a warning and a challenge all in one. “Now, son, this is the moment where you decide who you are.”
The air shifts. The weight in the room changes.
“Are you a boy who lost his mother?” His voice hardens. “Or are you a man who is going to show the world exactly who the fuck he is?”
Silence. The kind that crushes. The kind that demands an answer.
My father holds my gaze, waiting.
And for the first time since the war started, I feel it. The fire. Rising through the grief, crawling through my veins, burning through the weight of loss. Because he’s right.
I can break. Or I can rise.
I keep my eyes locked on my father. And speak with a steady voice.
“They’ll learn what it means to take from me.”