Prologue #2
His laugh deep, he shook his head, grasping my arms with a light squeeze.
“A man is not made by the names people call him but what he believes himself capable of achieving.” At my frown, he added, “you can be anything you want, Remo. To get there, you must believe and trust in yourself. It is the first and most important step to success. And if you fail, you don’t give up, you push even harder until you get what you want.
Today, you must not only show your mother that you’re the son of a respected donna but who you’ll be from the moment you accept the weapon she hands you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Slowly, I nodded, wiping my tears and forcing myself to be brave. “Strong like Mateo, daring like Lorenzo but the navigator of my own journey.” I remembered the words I once heard grandfather tell my brothers.
“That’s it, my boy.” He chuckled. “Take what you want and leave your mark while doing so.”
“Leave my mark?”
“Devono temere i tuoi occhi,” he said, stating that people should fear my eyes.
He palmed my cheeks. “Our eyes are transparent to our emotions, don’t let people see yours.
Show them the sweet innocence of this handsome face, but leave them uncertain about what to expect, leave them wishing they’d never crossed you. Capito?”
“Sì.” I climbed the stairs to the dark doors.
Just as I was about to enter the carvery, he stopped me. “Remo?” I looked over my shoulder at him. “Anger is a powerful emotion, boy, don’t let it rule you, make it your bitch.”
I wanted to ask how then I realized that the way I felt right now, I’d learn the answer pretty soon.
Inside, the carvery was eerie, almost like stepping into an old church.
Not even the scent of bleach could hide the metallic tang of blood.
Two dark walls were filled with weapons I’d only ever seen in horror movies, the ones my brothers forbade me from watching because of the nightmares I always had after.
The third housed two black steel doors cut into the middle of the wall.
Without opening them, I knew they led to an incinerator.
I’d heard the stories. Sometimes, mother fed bodies to the sharks and sometimes, she burned men, alive.
Thirty minutes later, Mateo’s body was thrown like a piece of meat ready to be carved, onto a slab of cold steel. The oath Mother asked me to repeat while they performed some ceremony to pronounce me a Made man, now forgotten with just how hard my heart thumped in my chest.
Instead of tears, I was upset. Angry with how they disrespected my brother’s body. Before I could lash out, Mother stepped forward, holding out what looked like a cross between a short sword and a machete. Dark grey with swirling patterns along the blade, it looked ancient.
Confused, I stared at it then remembered Uncle Frank’s words about who I was going to be from the moment she handed me a weapon. Biting my lip to keep my tears down, I took the large knife, it’s weight a rock in my hand.
“Show me who you are, Remo,” was all she said, returning to her seat, a detached throne that seemed strangely natural, for her, in a room where death worshipped the living.
As my feet neared the table and I lifted the machete to my brother’s neck, my eyes glazed over, my hand shook, my stomach twisted, and nasty vomit surged upward, burning my throat.
I couldn’t do this. I shouldn’t be doing this.
Mateo, a man many people respected, a brother who, in a home void of love, never failed to show it in everything he did. He didn’t deserve this. I wanted Lorenzo here, his strength would help me surpass my agony, give me the courage I needed.
As if in answer to my prayer, the door opened, drawing my gaze.
Instead of my brother, I met Frank’s gentle smile.
His soft nod reminded me there was no escape, that I couldn’t lose another brother, that I had to keep Lorenzo safe.
Taking a deep breath, I swallowed my pain yet still asked myself whether I could this.
I answered my own question by lifting the machete and bringing it down on my brother’s neck with a deafening slam of crunching bone and tearing flesh.
Shocked, I shuddered for a bit, my hand reverberating with the impact.
I swallowed repeatedly, choking on the bitter bile threatening to spill.
Coughing to ease the foul taste, my gaze strayed toward my mother.
Her expression blank, she merely stared at me.
I looked at Frank and he nodded his encouragement.
Before my insides threatened to become my outsides, I bit the inside of my cheek, lifted the machete and let it fall, meeting resistance as I moved down. I did it again.
And again. And again.
Movements mechanical, the sound of the slashing weapon the only noise in the room, my hand rose and fell. Ripping, slicing, hacking, I brought the machete down harder, faster until all I heard was the squelch of mushy flesh. My sorrow slowly replaced by rage.
I didn’t realize how far I’d gone until the handle slipped from my grip, bouncing off the cement floor with a loud clatter, distracting me.
Panting, I stared at the table, taking in what I’d done, studying the chunky pulp of guts, meat and bone, spilling onto the silver steel, garnishing it a thick, black red. Every part from the chest down no longer human, impossible to tell where one section started and where another ended.
I brought crimson-stained hands to my hair, pushing stray strands away from my sweat-drenched forehead and glanced down at my clothes covered in gore that used to be my brother.
My breath stuttered for just a moment before my gaze moved to his head.
Mateo’s face was still perfect, minus the splashes of blood and flesh.
His open eyes, glassy and devoid of emotion, stared at me as though they judged me.
Forgive me refused to push through my grinding my teeth and I bit my cheek harder, filling my mouth with the metal taste of blood, letting it coat my teeth in its fiery reminder that something dark, evil and downright scary had taken hold of my mind, body and soul.
Whether I had the courage to fight it, remained to be seen.
My heart a harsh drone, my pulse an erratic beat, my skin a mess of red sweat, I turned to face the queen bitch. “Satisfied, mother?” I asked, my anger-induced voice an unmistakable growl, catching her off guard.
Stunned, she stared at me, and I was sure a hint of hesitation passed over her face for just a second. “Such an innocent face yet your soul appears blacker than mine, Remo.” She stood. “Perhaps you’ll make a fine king one day, always serving your queen and the Rossi empire.”
Hate pissed through my veins, despising the insinuation only I’d understand. “Never! Lorenzo will surpass you in his reign.” The words sizzled out with a roughened bite I’d only ever heard him use on her.
She threw back her head, her cackle echoing through her murdering fort, reminding me of a witch’s coven.
Yet, when she looked at me again, there was no mistaking the underlying uncertainty.
Lorenzo was the only person who could unsettle her.
He never hesitated to challenge her, and I knew that one day, he’d take from her what belonged to us.
La famiglia.
Hadn’t she done the same thing, taking what belonged to Mateo after she killed my father and what in succession, would belong to Lorenzo. Perhaps that’s what she feared.
She crossed the room to my side and when her hand settled on my shoulder, I shrugged it off, my gaze pinned to hers, my sneer menacing. I caught her surprised flinch.
“The eyes are the windows to the soul, prediletto but yours…” Slowly, she shook her head, her expression thoughtful.
“They say nothing, not even a hint of remorse.” She glanced at Frank.
“Ho creato un mostro, fratello?” her voice lacked its usual authority, asking if him if she’d created a monster.
Then her gaze came back to mine, her expression unreadable before she walked away.
“Get rid of it,” she ordered one of her soldiers over her shoulder, not sparing my brother’s remains a glimpse.
Gaze still riveted on the door she’d exited, I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up.
Frank chuckled, slowly shaking his head from side to side. “You did well today, il mostro,” I heard the admiration in his voice, calling me the monster. “You scare her.”
Good.
Because the innocence she’d stolen today, replacing it with the devil’s spawn, would haunt her for the rest of her life. Because everyone knew I was her favorite and sometimes, favorites got away with murder.
“That.” Frank pointed to the machete I’d dropped. “Is Verità.”
“Truth?” I asked, frowning that a weapon had a name.
He nodded. “It belonged to your grandfather’s father and his father before him and allegedly, the second its victims saw the dark threat, they spoke the truth, mumbled it, screamed and begged the sword to believe them, to spare their lives. It never did.”
Intrigued, I bent down, picked up the weapon and studied it, my anger hazing my vision much like the design on the blood covered blade.
“Made from Damascus steel, a pattern created by forging different types of iron and steel together. It’s famous for its strength, sharpness and resilience, much like what I see in you, Remo.
” Frank crouched in front of me, grasping my arms. “Respect the blade, son and it will serve you well over time.”
Slowly, I nodded, my eyes drifting from him to the blade. “We’ll be partners for life,” I whispered, gripping the handle tight, welcoming its weight.
“Vieni, Remo?” Someone behind me asked if I was coming.
I glanced over my shoulder as Uncle Frank stood. Two men were clearing the last of my brother’s body. “Si,” I growled, wanting to see what they planned to do with it.
Later, I stood on the edge of mountainside at the back of the estate, my thoughts chaotic. Having just returned from watching Mother’s soldiers toss Mateo’s remains to the sharks, I begged my body to mourn, to cry, to show some kind of emotion.
It refused.
Inhales slow and steady, I stared down at my blood-soaked hands, a hypnotizing contrast to the dark waves tipped with white foam below. The red stain would wash off after a good scrub but the mark on my soul, that would remain indelible.
Then my lips parted in a slow smile and in that moment, I accepted my fate.
Sometimes a monster is created by the blood that binds him.