CHAPTER 3 MAURO
Nineteen Years Earlier
I longingly look out the window at the garden next to our house. My gaze wanders over our estate's wide grass, the grove of rich green trees encircling it, and the flowering bushes our gardener had planted.
That unusual voice is here again. It’s calling to me, whispering strange but powerful promises into my ears.
It has been developing inside me for months and is getting clearer.
I close my eyes and run my hand up against the glass. The need… it grows stronger.
Out.
Go there!
Be outside!
Whenever I walk there, that grove seems to envelop me, swaying me gently in its green energy, but…
…it’s not gonna happen today.
Because… shit happened!
This morning Dad grew agitated when I kept stumbling while reading and had me stay inside until I could read Sicilian fluently.
Usually, Dad ignores how much time I spend in the grove.
He appears to understand me, but also emphasizes the need to study.
Though I can now read English fluently, he wants me to speak Sicilian just as well.
Since both of my parents' families come from Sicily, he thinks it's important to keep this tradition alive.
A deep sigh escapes me as I turn away.
Footsteps sound outside the door, so I quickly move away from the window, sit down at my desk, and open my textbook, pretending to study the reading passage with a deep frown.
Dad enters the room. It isn't an obvious expression, but there is definitely something bothering him. I have always been able to feel the things he tries to hide.
"Is everything all right, Dad?"
He smiles softly.
"Oh, Mauro. You know me better than anyone."
He looks toward the window with a wistful expression, then says, "I shouldn't be talking to you about this, but Father just got a phone call that your Uncle Tito was murdered today."
"Tito?" I mutter under my breath.
I suppose I should feel grief, make some kind of sad expression, but I can't bring it up inside myself. The problem is that I really didn't like Uncle Tito, and Dad didn't like him either, yet he still seems troubled by it.
"It was the Russians, right?" I ask. "They finally got to us?" I know from conversations I overheard between my parents that the Russian mafia has moved into my grandfather’s territory in several parts of the city, and tensions have escalated.
"We don't know. Your father only got a short text message from your uncle, Vincenzo."
I get up and walk to the window. I notice two soldati standing on the path near the front door. It surprises me. Ever since my father stepped away from actively participating in the family's ‘business’, we haven't had any special protection besides the camera system I like to play with.
"Is that why we have extra security?" I ask quietly and glance at him again.
"Yes. Just in case this turns out to be something bigger…" Dad adds in that voice I know so well. He is trying to make it sound like nothing, downplaying it so I won’t worry, but I’m sure he’s keeping certain things from me.
Dad hesitates, then takes something out of his pocket.
"Listen, it's not that I'm superstitious, but I have this… feeling that I should give this to you today."
I blink. "A feeling? That… you won't have another chance?"
Dad forces a smile.
"No, of course not," he assures, but I just know he is lying.
"This is something that has been passed on among our family members who have carried a particular unique gift. Uncle Renato asked me to bring it to you when the gift manifests itself."
"A gift… What gift?" I ask, even though I already suspect what he means.
Something started revealing itself inside me about two years ago.
Subtle at first, but becoming more and more obvious with every month.
It was difficult to describe, being more like this feeling in my bones, in my every cell.
Since then, I have had moments when I woke up and my hands were green, glowing slightly…
It disappeared quickly, but I knew something was changing.
My granddad, Silvio, once told me that our family was special. He called us ‘Silvari’ and emphasized that only one child in every generation was born with this gift. I asked him what kind of gift it was, and he said mysteriously, "You'll see soon enough."
Dad watches me for a moment, as if he wants to read my thoughts. Then he kneels beside me and presses a small pendant into my hand.
It is a golden leaf shaped like two halves of a heart. One half can be separated, probably creating a second pendant, but for now the two parts are joined together.
"Take this, and never part with it. One day, if you have children and one of them has the same gift, you will pass it on to them…"
I study the leaf. It is intricately decorated with tiny emeralds, green malachite, and a clear, pale-green agate.
Of course, at this point, I don't yet know the proper names for these stones, but with time, I'll learn what they're called.
The pendant seems old, very old… It almost vibrates between my fingers.
"Is it magical?"
"They say so. It can turn people into… trees!" And Dad winks.
I chuckle, since it sounds funny, but he turns his gaze away, looking pensive.
So I speak quietly.
"Is it me? Am I the one among my brothers who has this gift?"
Dad smiles sadly. "Correct. It's you, Mauro."
"And you? Do you have this gift too?"
"No. Uncle Renato is the one who has it, this gift doesn't pass down in a straight line. It can be inherited through uncles, cousins, and nephews."
"And it chose me?"
"Yes. It chose you."
He hesitates, then adds in Sicilian:
"Nui semu li Silvari, l'essiri d? voscu. Semu l'anticu pòpulu, li sò spiriti e li sò guardiani. D? voscu vinemu e ? voscu appartinemu cu tuttu lu nostru cori. Lu nostru sangu è pi sempri ligatu ? pulsu virdi di l'essenza eterna d? voscu."[1]
I stare at him, gaping in shock. I understand the words, but the true meaning behind them eludes me.
Dad wants to add something else, but suddenly his brow furrows.
He turns toward the window, where the sound of a car parking can be heard.
Getting to his feet quickly, he walks to the window. He looks outside and mutters a curse in Sicilian under his breath, then fixes me with his eyes.
"Stay in your room, Mauro. Not a word!" he hisses, then quickly leaves, slamming the door behind him. Of course, I rush to the window and recognize Uncle Anzo's limousine pulling into the driveway.
He gets out of the limousine, but he has no escort with him. Interesting. That calms me down a little. He’s just a beta, alone, and he doesn't look threatening, so I don't understand why Dad reacted so nervously.
The two alpha soldati stand there calmly because Uncle Anzo is my father's younger brother, so why would they be on alert around him?
But exactly when Anzo is six feet away from them, he suddenly raises both hands. Pistols appear in them, and… he shoots them in the head.
Bang, bang!
It feels as if an electric shock crashes through my body. The sight is so absurd that I freeze, unable to make a single sound. I don't even blink.
Anzo walks into the house, and my heart beats so fast that I can hear it in my ears, a dull pounding echoing through my head.
But I can't stay here. The energy inside me erupts.
I run out of my room and race down the stairs, but Anzo has already passed through the lobby and entered the living room. I stop dead at the bottom of the stairs and listen.
"Anzo," I hear my father's tense voice. "What are you doing? What is this about?"
"Oh, dear brother," Anzo says. "I think you know this moment has finally come. The time for me to settle my accounts. I am ready."
"What are you talking about? I apologized to you. I begged you for forgiveness, and I thought you—."
I hear Anzo's cold laugh.
"Oh, did you really fall for that? I listened to you, yes, I nodded, yes…
but I never forgave you. That's not some automatic guarantee, you know?
I still remember, and I still carry the marks of what you both did to me.
I always will. Every day when I look at my body, I remember, Paolo.
I remember yours and Tito's cruelty. I remember the day you came for me and destroyed me. That damned day."
There is a moment of silence. I can't help but wonder what my father and Uncle Tito did to Anzo for him to still remember it after all these years.
Then I hear my dad's trembling voice.
"Anzo, please. I'm begging you, have mercy."
"Did they have mercy on me?"
My dad sobs, "What… what they did to you was horrible. It was inhuman! But please, for the sake of my children. They are innocent. They never did anything to you. Don't take their parents away from them…"
Anzo's voice remains cold, but I hear something almost solemn in it.
"Oh, Aldo. I have no intention of hurting the children… not directly. But unfortunately, you two are True Mates, so this is a package deal. I cannot kill only Paolo."
There is a moment of silence. I hear Dad crying so hysterically, and something terrible begins to rise in my chest, the realization that my life is about to change forever.
"After I killed Tito in front of our father earlier today, he made me promise… no, swear, that I wouldn't shoot Paolo. He said, 'You killed one brother in revenge. Be satisfied with that. Spare the other one—'"
Uncle Anzo's laughter sounds like the laughter of a madman.
"So I told him, 'All right, Patruzzu[2]. I won't shoot Paolo. I promise.' And then I shot our dear father straight in the head. The bastard deserved it. He chose your side."
My whole body is shaking.
I squeeze my eyes shut. So Grandpa Angelo, the capo, the head of our family, is dead too? Uncle Anzo has gone crazy. Completely insane. He is killing all of us one after another.
"Please, Anzo. Don't do this," I hear my father's breaking voice.
"Pfft… I begged too," Anzo says coldly. "But you were deaf to my cries and my pleas. The time for punishment has come. The reckoning for your sins."
My entire body seems to shake like a leaf tossed about by the wind. I lean over the banister and see Anzo raising his gun.
The next moment, a shot rings out. But Anzo does not shoot his brother. He keeps his promise, I guess. The bullet tears through my dad’s head instead…
My parents are True Mates, which means—
The room fills with harsh light.
The energy coil connecting my parents' souls tears apart, killing my father a fraction of a second after my dad's body crashes to the floor in a splatter of vivid red blood.
I scream.
And scream.
And scream.
I scream even though I know that, since I was little, I was taught that in moments like this you must remain silent if you want to survive… Every child in the mafia is raised to know that when you hear gunfire, you run as far away as possible and keep what you saw a secret.
But I don't do that.
Maybe it was because I naively believed Uncle Anzo when he said he wouldn't hurt us, the innocent ones, his nephews.
As I would soon learn, Anzo lied.