by Addison Jane
“Dean Moretti.” The man addressed my father, absolute disgust laced in his voice and features.
“Anthony DePalma,” my father gritted out through clenched teeth.
“Not many people have the balls to try and pull something like this in our city. I’m almost impressed.”
My father sat silently.
A smart move on his part.
“You may have gotten away with it a little longer, too, if you hadn’t of snatched a made man’s daughter on her way home from school.” I saw Anthony fist his hands at his sides. Suddenly, another man stepped into the room, holding one of the young girls who’d just been brought in a few days ago. She curled into his arms, sobbing silently.
I was scared, but a part of me also felt a sense of relief.
My body sagged.
Her name was Belle.
I’d snuck her some food and painkillers during the last two nights when my father had gone to sleep. She was a sweet girl, but also stronger than some of the others, fighting back at every opportunity she had. Belle was battered and bruised, but now at least, she was safe.
“Kill them all,” the girl’s father snapped. “I want them all… dead.”
Anthony shrugged. “Your daughter. Your call.”
Each of the men surrounding us pulled their weapons, and my father and his accomplices all stared on in shock.
Belle’s face peeked out, and her eyes widened. “No! Angelo,” she cried out, her dirty hands reaching out for me.
I tried to offer her a smile, I wanted to go to her, tell her it was okay. This would be my escape, my out of a world that I couldn’t stand being a part of.
Anthony raised his eyebrow at the young girl.
“He helped me,” she said quietly.
Anthony turned back to me. “Come here,” he ordered.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat and pushed off the ground, holding my head high as I walked over to stand in front of him. His hand came out, his fingers curling under my chin and forcing me to turn my head.
The night before, my father and his friends had gotten drunk and used me as their personal ashtray. There was a perfect line of circular burns down the side of my neck. They were still fresh and tender.
“Your name.”
“Angelo Moretti,” I answered.
“And who did this?” he demanded.
I looked over my shoulder at my father whose glare was full of promises of redemption and revenge if I spoke. But I didn’t care. I knew that he wasn’t getting out of here alive today anyway, and if I was going down with him, then fuck it.
Anthony grabbed my arm, turning my attention back to him, his fingers digging into my skin. “You tell me the truth.”
“My father, sir,” I replied, my voice loud and definitive, a message to my father that this was the last time I would bow to him.
Anthony nodded, his gaze moving over my head. “That how you get your kicks? Women and children?” I could hear the anger in his once calm voice.
“Anthony…” my father started, but he was shut down quickly.
“No!” Anthony’s voice boomed against the walls. “This city, it belongs to us. You do not disrespect my family by opening a fucking whore house in my town.”
“We can share the profits,” my father rushed out in desperation. “It’s very profitable.”
Anthony pulled out his gun in a swift movement, aiming it over my head. “And what money do you make from beating your son, huh?”
“He’s a bad child,” my father protested. “He doesn’t listen.”
A hand came down on my shoulder, and Anthony squeezed it as he turned me to face my father. “For a boy to listen, he must first respect.”
There was a deadly silence that hung in the air before Anthony ordered a handful of his men to gather the women inside the building and take them to another location.
“Women are to be respected and cherished,” he said loudly, not really speaking to anyone in particular. “They give us children and show us support, even when our demons seem as though they’re taking over. You have not only disrespected my family and me by opening this place, but you’ve also disrespected your son. Your own family. And above all else, our culture.”
I stood in stunned silence, watching as my father cowered under Anthony’s strict glare. It gave me a sense of euphoria to know that for once, he was the one hiding away, praying that today wouldn’t be the day he took his last breath.
My lungs filled with air, and strangely, it felt fresher.
I turned, looking up at Anthony in admiration. He watched me, his eyes running over my bony stature. I was skinny, undernourished and almost sickly. For a moment, I thought maybe this was the last thing I would see, and I felt… relief.
But Anthony surprised me when he spoke, “You have two options, Angelo.”
My back straightened as I imagined him offering me which way I would like to be killed. I knew I would pick the least painful. I’d felt enough pain during this lifetime, enough anguish and destruction of my soul that I would plead with him to make it quick, in hopes that I might find some kind of peace in the next life.
“Give me your gun,” he ordered to someone over his shoulder, holding out his hand as his eyes continued to stay connected with mine. A black handgun was placed in his palm, and he curled his fingers around it.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat, trying to hold my shoulders back firmly, refusing to leave this world the same way I’d lived in it, with fear in my heart.
“You’re either with him, or you’re with us,” he stated firmly, causing me to gasp. “If you’re with him, you will die with him. But right now, I’m giving you the opportunity to prove your loyalty to me.”
My heart pounded against my chest, pumping blood and adrenaline through my veins. A rush of what could only be described as excitement flowed over me like a wave. Was it because I was being given a chance to be free or was it redemption and hate, and the thought of revenge that burned through my body, igniting a fire I never knew was there?
I stared at the gun in his hand. Anthony wanted to know where my loyalties would lie. With him, a man I’d never met, but within minutes had earned my respect and admiration. Or with my father, who had shot down my mother as she’d tried to flee with me.
My throat constricted as I reached out for the gun, my fingers brushing the cold metal barrel. This weapon would either be the death of me or release me from my chains and allow me to be born again.
“Prove to me and to that piece of shit father that you’re stronger, and you’re worthy of the family I will offer you,” Anthony said as I took the gun into my hand. Its weight surprised me, and for a second I wondered if I would even be able to hold it up.
I stared into Anthony’s eyes, there was a darkness inside them, but more than that, there was an understanding and a sense of support. His gaze empowered me, his words pushing me forward, and for once in my life, I desperately wanted to fight for my life and my future.
“Tell him,” Anthony ordered. “Tell him why your life is more important than his. Show him you’re powerful.”
“I’m p… powerful,” I stammered as I turned to look into my father’s fearful eyes. “My life is more important. I’m worth more in this l-life than you will ever b-be.”
“More,” Anthony snapped, his hand coming down on my shoulder and squeezing it tightly, fueling me, supporting me, showing me that this was not a time for weakness.
“I hate you,” I screamed, the gun in my hand shaking as I raised it up. The room seemed to blur as my anger built, its head breaking through the surface. “You took her away, the only person who ever cared for me and showed me love. You stole her from me.”
A strange roar of victory left my mouth as I pulled the trigger over and over again, releasing every ounce of pent up fury that filled my small body. Tears streamed down my cheeks.
The click, click, click of the empty chamber surprised me.
My father still stood across
the room, his hands in the air and his eyes wide. I looked up to Anthony in shock.
The gun wasn’t loaded.
He wrenched it from my sweaty palm, my body shuddering uncontrollably as I tried to breathe through the sobs.
“That’s enough,” the soft order came as he looked down at me with what almost felt like respect. “You proved your point.”
I clenched my fists, using them to wipe at my eyes until I could see through the blur.
With that, he raised his gun and pointed it at my father. Gun shots filled the room, two of them. They caused a ringing in my ears, and by the time I shook the haze from my head, my father’s body lay on the ground, twitching and convulsing as blood spilled out, staining his suit jacket.
I felt nothing.
No remorse or guilt.
Nothing.
Did that make me a monster? I wasn’t sure.
In my mind, Anthony DePalma had freed me from a life I detested. From a man, who to me, represented the devil himself. And in my soul, I knew that I must repay that debt.
The offer of a real family was merely a bonus, but from there on, Anthony would have my loyalty. I would live the rest of my life with blood on my hands because that was what my freedom was worth.
Every time I stepped through the front door of the DePalma home, I felt that freedom all over again. I felt the power that I was given that day. Not just because of the way Anthony welcomed me into his home and made me one of his own, but the power I felt in taking back my own life.
No longer was I controlled by a man who wanted to hurt me, to drag me down and destroy me. I was part of a family, who despite us not being blood-related, would give the essence of themselves and offer their lives for me.
I was my own man.
I took orders now still, yes. But I took them out of respect, not out of fear.
Fear was no longer a part of me.
Noticing the kitchen lights on, I walked through the foyer as Gio veered off in another direction. I wasn’t even slightly surprised when I found Rico at the kitchen counter, shoveling cereal into his mouth like it was his last meal.
“Are you ever not eating?” I asked.
He flexed his muscles, not even bothering to look up at me. “I’m a growing boy.”
“You’re a douche bag, that’s what you are,” Celia scoffed as she walked into the room with a dressing gown wrapped tightly around her, slapping her older brother around the head. She came over and tucked her arms around my waist, hugging me tightly. I dropped a kiss onto the top of her head.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” I asked her as she stepped away and headed for the fridge. Celia was treated like a princess around here, and she basked in it, soaking in the attention. What people didn’t realize, and what she hid well with her spoiled attitude, was that she’s smart. Extremely smart.
“I heard Daddy talking to Rico, saying something about family and urgent, so I got up,” she answered with a shrug, pulling out a carton of orange juice and setting it on the counter. “I’m part of this family, too. So I want to know what’s going on.”
I wanted to order her back to bed. Celia wasn’t naïve, she knew what this family was about. She went to school every day with a bodyguard for fuck’s sake. For the most part, though, she was kept well away from the family business. It was safer that way. But this, it did affect her, and she needed to know the danger that was lurking around the corner.
“Anthony’s ready to speak with you in his office,” a stern voice came from the doorway, one of Anthony’s personal guards.
I took a deep breath as I headed out and down the hall, Rico and Celia trailing behind me. Gio stepped out of the bathroom to join us, his hands now clean and free of blood.
We filed into Anthony’s office, and the door was closed softly behind us.
Celia took a seat opposite her father’s desk while Rico, Gio, and I stood around the room, all of us already very aware of the tension and agitation growing in the room.
When Anthony turned to us, I could see the anger in his features, his graying hair standing on end as though he’d run his fingers through it over and over again. His eyes were narrowed, and his chest and shoulders rolled back as he lifted his chin.
“We all knew that someday this time would come. Our feud with the Bellucci family was never done.”
Celia gasped, her hand going to her throat.
“Enzo Bellucci paid for the pain he caused this family,” Anthony continued, speaking the name of the man who had started this whole thing.
When Anthony took over the family business from his father, Anthony cut all ties with their family. They were like a disease, craving power and causing pain all over the city to people and families who were completely innocent. He didn’t care, he wanted them to bow to him and was ready to do that at any cost, fuck the repercussions. Anthony could see how it was affecting his reputation, he was losing business due to the ties with the Bellucci’s and their unpredictable nature. Anthony’s first port of business was to cut them off and announce that they would no longer support the Bellucci family. Essentially, this not only pissed Enzo off but put a target on their backs. Without the support of the DePalma family, people started to fight back against them, and they were falling, losing everything they had created in one swift movement.
The only option for Enzo was to do something horrific, something that would make people think twice about opposing him.
The option he chose—murder Anthony’s wife.
How someone could be so fucking stupid, I wasn’t sure. Instead of bringing him power, hell rained down on him like acid.
Anthony’s wife Jasmine was a beautiful, a strong and an intelligent soul. Everything a man of power needed by his side. She was sweet, but she wasn’t innocent. You couldn’t be in a world like this. Her soul may have been pure, but her eyes held a spark of darkness, letting you know that she had experienced more in her life than she portrayed.
It was years ago now, but the pain was still fresh in all our minds.
I’d seen her as a mother, taking me in as one of her own, and never treating me like an outcast.
I watched Celia pull her knees to her chest, hugging them tightly.
“I’d always wondered if I’d made a mistake that day, letting Enzo’s wife and children walk free, not willing to make them pay for his actions,” Anthony continued, shaking his head. “Today is the only day I’ve ever regretted that decision. I misjudged, and that will weigh down on me for the rest of my life. I thought they would come after me, I thought their revenge would fall on my shoulders.”
“Daddy…” Celia whispered. “What happened?”
He swallowed, looking his young daughter in the eye. “Your cousin Sophie is dead.”
I didn’t know Sophie well. She and Emerson were kept well away, but they still held DePalma blood, and a strike against them was a declaration of war against all of us.
“Emerson?” Gio asked through clenched teeth as he gripped the back of an armchair, his fingers digging into the expensive leather.
Anthony inhaled deeply. “Witnessed her sister being raped, and then held her as she took her last breaths.”
My chest ached at his words, imagining the pain and anguish that young girl must be feeling, my fingers twitched.
“It was Tobia, Enzo’s son,” he spat. “He just signed his life away.”
Celia cried silently into her hands. The girls had met before, and while they weren’t close, it was still a sharp stab in the chest to know that another of our family had become victim to this horrendous battle.
I nodded my head sharply.
“Emerson needs protection, and we need to know exactly what happened, and what Tobia said to her. What he looks like now, and any other information she can help us with so we can find him as soon as fucking possible,” Anthony explained, leaning over and bracing his hands on his desk as he stared each of us down until his eyes met mine.
I stood a little straighter, cupping my hands together
and rubbing at my knuckles as though warming up for a fight.
“The media already have wind of what’s happening, and it will only be a few hours before this is breaking news everywhere, and everyone will start connecting Nic to us.”
I nodded, understanding what he was saying. Sophie was a famous actress, and Nic was a multimillion dollar businessman. The spotlight was going to be on us once the press began to dig a little deeper and make the connections that Nic had spent a long time trying to destroy.
There would be speculation and rumors.
We needed this dealt with, and fast.
As I sat in the church, looking down at my hands as though they held the answers to the questions of the universe, I swore I could still see Sophie’s blood coating them. Soft smudges of red seemed to stain my skin, and no matter how hard I scrubbed at them, it simply wouldn’t disappear.
It wasn’t just on me, though.
I’d had to burn my clothes and the bed sheets.
The carpet of Sophie’s bedroom had already been torn up and replaced.
Just like that, it was like it had never happened.
Disguising it with things that were fresh and new, clean, un-fucking-tainted with the remnants of her life. For me, it was the sound of her voice that haunted me. She’d sounded so broken, nothing like the sister I remembered who was independent and strong. The sister who took no shit and held her head high despite how people viewed or treated her.
The sister who was my hero.
“Emmy, run!”
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the pain of what seemed like a knife being stabbed through my chest and twisted.
Was it selfish to think now that maybe I should have run?
What if I could have gotten help?
What if I could have drawn them away, so they forgot about Sophie?
What if I’d escaped?
Of course, it was fucking selfish. Had I run, Sophie would have suffered alone. She would have slowly bled out, with no one to hold her hand, nothing to look at but the faces of those bastards who had stolen her life away, and ripped every ounce of her dignity and respect to shreds on those sheets.
