DONATELLA
One day the wolf will dwell with the lamb, and the leopard will lie down with the young goat, and the calf and the young lion and the fatted steer together; a child would lead them all… That is what the church told me. But that time never came and so, when I grew older, my mother taught me to slaughter the wolves, skin the lambs, shoot the leopards and behead the goats. Have the calf for my feast and the lion as my goal. None needed to be together. The child would grow and rule over them all.
All of nature, not just human nature, abided by one law… Rule or be ruled. Which meant to solidify one’s position of dominance was inherent in all things, whether man or beast, because man was a beast.
People were not people.
People were animals.
Beasts on two feet.
Fearsome creatures…and yet so many lived in a perpetual state of fear of themselves and other people. Why? …Rule or be ruled… Many people like to believe they are the master of their own fates, that nothing controls them. But in reality, fear and the need to survive ruled over everything in their lives. Why did people get married? Because they sought to survive loneliness. Why work in jobs they hate? They fear poverty. People even offer a fraction of their freedom to governance, in order to be protected from those who’d tried to rule over them.
Everything in the end came down to surviving. Ironically, at the end of that long or short life, the grim reaper punishes everyone’s efforts with death.
So, there are two truths.
A person will do anything to survive, but will never survive because death will come. When I realized this, when I realized that death was the ultimate ruler, I decided since I cannot be death I would become the bringer of death until death came for me.
My mother used to say everyone is ruthless, they just don’t know it. I say, it doesn’t matter if they know or not, so long as I’m the most ruthless of them all. As long as I am not ruled.
“We’ll be there in four minutes,” Toby said, releasing the secret hatch for the backseat of the Range Rover beside me where a small black box waited for me. It looked like a lunch box…because it was a lunch box, the red metal Mulan box I used as child and spray painted black when I was teenager.
“We don’t have to do this,” Toby added, his brown eyes meeting mine in the rear-view mirror; he was mistaking my hesitation for doubt.
So, I ignored him and took the square box out of its hole, flipping open the tabs and lifting the lid, staring down at the used, scratched, hand-me-down Glock that sat at the bottom, the few old, round-headed bullets with it, and the letter I’d written in anger and had wanted to read aloud during my graduation speech.
“It belonged to your mother, didn’t it?”
“Toby,” I said softly, placing the box on my lap, lifting the gun and ejecting the magazine, “I understand you are trying to make conversation, but I have nothing to say today.”
He nodded like he understood me. I doubted he did, though. Sitting up straighter, I turned to look out the window. Toby Valentino, my elder brother’s childhood friend and my longtime lover. He was stern, emotionless, cold, desperate but had pledged his loyalty to me alone.
He’s not going to be able to help himself. I thought as I loaded the gun. With each bullet I put in place, I couldn’t help but see my brother’s face in my mind.
“We didn’t account for Wyatt coming back so soon,” Toby spoke up just as I thought.
“You and I know both Wyatt won’t do anything to me.” Grinning, I handed him the gun. “You on the other hand…I make no promises.”
He glanced down under his arm, confused as to why I was giving it to him.
“This outfit’s tight.” I shrugged, leaning back in to my seat and tossing the lunchbox into the hole it came from.
“Is white really the best choice?”
“It’s called symbolism,” I said.
Turning from him, I stared at the landing strip, the place my brother—my brothers—would both be momentarily. I wished I felt my heart pounding or my pulse racing, instead I felt still, cold…partially dead inside. My own reflection often gave me a chill. It reminded me of my mother’s… Maybe that’s why they, the Italians who had felt excluded by our family, came to me. They saw my mother’s ruthlessness in me.
A ruthlessness she never even spared me from.
DONATELLA- 12 YEARS OLD
“It hurts.” She wasn’t asking a question. My mom rarely asked questions. She just told us reality…I hated her for it.
Breathing in through my nose, I knelt down beside him.
“Did you let me have Doval just so I’d have to kill him?” I asked, petting the gray-haired hound lying in the green grass in front of me, his chest rising and falling with each pained breath he took, his pink tongue hanging outside of his mouth. Each time I petted him, he let out a soft whine like it hurt him, but each time I stopped he whimpered and looked up at me like he was upset I had stopped.
“A sick dog appeared on our lawn, you fed it, you kept it warm, you demanded we save it. You knew he was sick, you named him anyway. You knew nothing could be done, yet you cared for him anyway. I’m sure he loves you too, that’s why he wants to die with you petting him even though it hurts. You traded your smile for the love of a dying dog, Donatella; was it worth it?”
I bit my bottom lip, trying to stop the tears in my eyes from falling, but it hurt. It hurt so much that the tears were like fire ants in my eyes. I had to let them fall, but I didn’t want to cry so I screamed at her. “YES! Doval made me smile and I’m happy I kept him! Just because he was sick doesn’t mean I should have let him die!”
“Then don’t blame me for what you have to do next Donatella; you chose what you wanted, now you have to deal with whatever the consequences are.”
“I’m not shooting him!” I wasn’t going to kill him.
She knelt beside me and I lifted my chin so I could look at her. It was so hot outside but not a strand of her black hair was out of place. It was long and thick and curly, like mine, but she didn’t seem hot at all. I had to pull mine into a bun to keep from roasting. It was like the sun didn’t touch her, she didn’t even tan as much as I did when we went outside…How? Because she was her, just different.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” She said to me… Even though that was what I was thinking of her. I wouldn’t tell her that. “Your eyes, your face, every part of you is beautiful, especially this part.”
She tapped my chest, right over my heart. The corner of her lips turned up as she brushed the strands of my hair out of my face, the sun behind her made it look like a halo was behind her head.
“Your heart is beautiful Dona, which is why I need you to own it…Everyone loves beautiful things. Everyone wants to have beautiful things. Why do you think roses come with thorns? Because even flowers know that just because they are beautiful doesn’t give you the right to touch them.” She kissed both my cheeks before saying, “Donatella, lo sai no moderazione, è fame di tutto, sei come il caos in una bottiglia, il tuo amore è come un vello d'oro, e la tua rabbia vaso di Pandora. Tu sei, come me. Non voglio che tu cambi quel. Voglio che chiudi gli occhi, prendi un respiro profondo e pensi innanzitutto. Avere grandi aspettative, non dubitare di te e non compromettere. Essere più intelligenti e avere più pazienza di tutti gli altri. Vedi la grande immagine e prosperi.”
“You’re going too fast! I don’t understand, Mommy.” I frowned, looking up at her.
“I know.” She smiled, really smiled, as she spoke to me. “Just remember that until you do understand. Remember that when you are faced with much harder choices than killing a dying dog, Dona.”
When she got up, she didn’t look back at me. She climbed the stairs on the slope of the green hills. There, at the very top of the hill, was my dad, who nodded to one of the guards before he came out of side of the manor. This side was covered in dark red vines and was where we could go to play. Every time I looked at it, the house appeared as though one side had been eaten alive by the vines and the other was fighting it off. Mommy hated them, she said it made the house look hideous. But Daddy wouldn’t let her get rid of them, he said ‘the Irish aren’t supposed to look pretty,’
“What?” he asked Mom, fixing the watch on his wrist and looking at her the same way he always did when he wanted to know what was going on. I didn’t know what face Mom made back, but it didn’t answer his question, so he glanced down towards at me, his eyes narrowed on something. I wasn’t sure why until I looked where he did.
Doval!
He was barely moving, his eyes closing, all because of the needle in his side, right next to were my mom had been kneeling.
“Doval?” I shook him gently and he didn’t whimper or whine. He was gone. I didn’t even get to… Pulling out the needle, I threw it as far as I could, into the field of grass while hugging Doval. I got up angrily; marching, then running to the stone steps to get to her, but before I could, Daddy grabbed me.
“Let GO!” I tried yanking my arm away, but he wouldn’t let go. I screamed to the house instead, knowing she’d hear me, “I hate you! I HATE YOU! YOU MURDERER!”
“Dona! Dona! DONATELLA!” Daddy shook me. Kneeling before me, he pulled my arms in front of me and held them there. “Don’t ever say you hate your mother in front of me. Do you understand?”
I couldn’t stop the tears from pooling in my eyes as I glared at him. I glared directly into his green eyes, “Why are you always on her side?! No matter what, you always pick her side over mine!”
“Donatella—”
“No!” I yanked myself out of his arms. “I’m not going to let you talk me down! She’s a monster! I hate her and I hate you! I hate everyone! One day you’re all going to be sorry! One day you’re going to wish you were on my side!”
I thought he was going to holler at me again, but he just stood up, stuck his hands in his pocket, and smirked. Staring down at me before shaking his head, he didn’t say a word. Like he didn’t see or hear me.
“You’ll see.” I whispered softly to myself, balling my fists as he walked away. They’d all see one day.
DONATELLA - NOW
“Donatella,” Toby called out to me. The door was open, the cool Chicago morning air drifting into the car. I stepped out of the car one black heel at a time. I stopped, and Toby moved to close the door behind me, allowing me to see old man Moretti… As in Savino Moretti, the man who had a much more sinister reason for wanting my brother dead. His graying brown hair was combed back in waves and as he came to stand beside me, I saw he was so short that I could have rested my elbow on his head. He grinned at me before lighting the cigar he’d taken from his jacket and inhaling the scent deeply.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he asked, placing the cigar between his chapped lips. His mustache looked like it was trying to cover them up, but barely reached the top lip.
“Depends on who you are,” I replied, taking my sunglasses off my head, my dark hair falling slowly over my shoulder as I perched them on my nose.
“True,” Savino muttered, glancing up as the jet began its decent.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his knuckles flex.
Well, he’s anxious. Then again, why wouldn’t he be? Ethan had killed his daughter, and now he would never see Ethan alive again.
“Just distract yourself.” Toby whispered into my ear. “Everything you are, everything you’ve gone through, has been for this moment.”
In the mafia, there is an unspoken rule; you don’t kill family… Unless you have to kill family. Why? Well because family wasn’t just people, it was the name. The name Callahan was both a shield and a weapon. Sometimes in order to protect the name, you had to kill a person.
“I’ll do what I must do,” I whispered to myself as the jet pulled in across from us. Just like I’d planned, Ethan was the first one out. He raised his brow in question as he glanced down at us…only us; none of his men present as they should have been.
“Welcome back, big brother,” I replied sweetly.
“This doesn’t feel like a welcome, little sister.” He replied emotionlessly, walking further down the stairs towards me.
I grinned. Of course, he’d sense it. “You’re right, big brother.” His green eyes, the same green eyes as mine, glared at me, trying to read what exactly I was thinking. And what I thought was…I will never be able to wash my hands of this. But what I said was, “I believe the correct word for it would be a coup d’état.”
“The correct word for it would be betrayal.” He frowned, shaking his head as if I were a little kid, as if he didn’t really believe I was capable.
Well, wasn’t he stupid?
Toby handed me the gun. Before Ethan could get another word in, I pointed the gun and said,“Let’s call it betrayal then.”
I fired.
His wide eyes were the last thing I focused on before twisting my wrist to the left. I fired once into Savino’s skull and then once over my right shoulder, not looking at Toby as I fired directly into his chest.
“Dona…” He gasped behind me, before stumbling back against the Range Rover. I didn’t stop firing, feeling the heat of the gun burn in to my shoulder, until there were no bullets left. When I finally glanced back up, the man I’d shot first - the pilot - lay dead at the entrance of the jet, his rifle slipping from his hands on to the step below him. His blood splattered the inside wall of the jet.
Wyatt and Ivy stepped forward to the entrance of the jet. Wyatt’s wide brown eyes stared down at the pilot at his feet and then glanced over at me. Ethan, who’d dropped down in order to dodge the bullet he thought was meant for him still hadn’t gotten up. He remained on one knee, his green eyes fixed on me…along with the gun in he’d pulled out. Even now, he still didn’t drop it, his finger on the trigger.
Staring back at him, I lifted my hands but didn’t drop my gun either.
“You would have lost,” I told him. If I’d wanted to, there was no way I could have missed him when he was so close. It would have been a perfect shot between the eyes, he’d never have had a chance to point his gun at me. I could have done it. It would have been so easy.
“Maybe.” He couldn’t even admit it as he winced, rising from the ground and standing like a pillar in front of me. Walking over to me, he just glared before putting his gun to my cheek. I allowed him to turn my head to the side so he could inspect my eardrums.
“You’re bleeding. Are you alright?” he asked softly, finally taking his gun off my face and tucking it behind his back.
“Is she alright? Ask me if I’m al-fucking-right!” Wyatt yelled, stepping over the pilot and getting a good footing before reaching back to help Ivy, who he’d been holding back, over the body as well. “I’ve been in this city for less than a bloody minute - one minute! - and I’ve had a shotgun in my face, and blood on my shoes. Why can’t we ever have a normal welcome home? You know, balloons! Maybe a banner or some shit like that?”
Closing my eyes quickly, I inhaled deeply and counted to ten mentally, before opening my eyes again and tilting my head to the side, looking around Ethan’s body to see Wyatt. “Got it. Next time balloons. So… You’re done with Boston now?”
“Donatella,” Ethan interrupted.
Ignoring him, I focused on Wyatt. “You’re wearing a dress shirt…and a tie. Gasp, you must really be home. I should have gotten a ‘he’s a man now’ balloon.”
“We can get Wyatt his balloons later; right now, I’m much more curious about the blood at our feet,” Ethan interrupted, and I looked down at Savino’s blood, which crawled over the gravel to where our feet were directly opposite one another.
“Does it look like I give two shits about your curiosity?” I asked him when I lifted my head to look at him directly.
Ethan’s eyebrow rose as he spoke, “Keep your shit; tell me what happened.”
“So, am I supposed to take sides here or just watch you two glare at each other all day?” Wyatt asked, standing off to the side.
“Wyatt, hold this.” I tossed my gun to him and, not a second later, pulled my fist back before bringing right across Ethan’s jaw.
“I guess I’m watching then,” Wyatt muttered, stepping back from the both of us.
Ethan reached up, touching his cut lip while flexing jaw. His eyes focused back on me. He didn’t get a chance to speak, and I didn’t get a chance to get another hit in because before either of us had time, she got in between us.
“Hit him again and you’ll regret it.” Ivy—messy haired, raccoon-eyed, pale-faced Ivy—had the nerve say to my face as if I wouldn’t beat her down where she stood.
“Belladonna, believe me when I tell you this…” I stepped closer to her, “Even if both my brothers were married to you and every last Irishman knelt at your feet, you still wouldn’t have the power to make me regret a goddamn thing. You have your lane, and it’s not in front of me. So move, or I will move you!”
Before I could step any closer to her, Wyatt grabbed my arm, squeezing tightly as he muttered; “Sister dearest, whatever this is…breathe.”
“Wyatt, take Ivy to the car. Now,” Ethan said seriously as more than three other Ranges pulled on to the air strip.
Wyatt, to my surprise, didn’t even argue; he let go of me and placed his hand on Ivy’s shoulders. She still had the audacity to glare at me with those icy blue eyes of hers as he forced her away. She was lucky… If she was anyone else I’d make her eyes my earrings.
“Don’t get her involved.” Ethan’s stern voice reached my ears.
I laughed bitterly, looking to him; “Why? What are you going to do, oh wise and great one? Lecture me to death? Threaten me? Kick me out of the family?”
He inhaled slowly through his nose, placing his hand on stomach. “I can see you are upset, Donatella—”
“If you can see then you’d already know that while you and your wife were playing house, terrorizing Boston, and almost dying…nice one,” I smiled brightly, lifting my hands and stretching my arms, “I saved your damn city…you’re bloody welcome.”
“I wouldn’t have left you in charge if I didn’t believe—”
“Keep talking to me like I’m a fucking idiot and I really am going to fucking kill you Ethan.” He said nothing. Of course, he said nothing. So, I continued. “You didn’t believe in me at all. You wanted me to get rid of Toby…and test my loyalties…you set us both up!”
“If Tobias fell into a trap it’s his own bloody fault for not watching WHERE THE FUCK HE WAS GOING!” He roared into my face.
“AND ME!” I screamed back. “You set a trap for me! Your sister! If I fell chasing the fake carrot you put in my face is it my fault too?!”
“Good thing you didn’t fall little sister so we don’t have to answer questions like that,” he replied, walking around me toward the cars.
Balling my fist, I turned back to him as I said, “Wyatt and I may be twins, but we do not react the same way to manipulation. I will not come crawling to you. I AM NOT YOUR PUPPET, ETHAN! There are no strings on my back! Next, you’ll want to test your—”
“Your lover; your problem, Donatella! I gave you time and space to deal with him before I had to do it myself…because you are my fucking sister, so you are bloody welcome,” he snapped back at me before I heard the door slam behind him and the wheels of his car pull away.
“Keep pushing me Ethan,” I murmured, still trembling with rage. Closing my eyes and relaxing my shoulders, I tried to calm down.
“Is it safe to approach?” Wyatt asked, coming to stand in front me.
“No.”
“Oh well, then,” he said grinning as he hugged me tightly. I didn’t hug him back but I didn’t move away either.
“I’m fine,” I muttered.
“I’m not. Remember, I had gun in my face…it was scary.” He spoke in a child-like voice, and I just rolled my eyes, pushing him away and standing up straight again.
“Give me my gun.” I reached out for it.
“Sorry.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I left it in Ethan’s car.”
“Wyatt.”
“Let’s use words.”
“I am using words! Would you like me to use my fists?”
He sighed, reaching inside behind his waist and giving me the Glock, but not before asking, “What happened, Dona?”
“What do you think happened, Wyatt?” I replied, taking my gun from him. “Il maestro di burattino mi ha fatto sentire che le sue stringhe mi tirano attorno al mio collo!” (The puppet master wanted me to feel his strings pull around my neck!)
“And whatever the master wants, he gets,” Wyatt stated. For the first time since he’d gotten off the jet, his face was completely expressionless and all the humor in his voice evaporated.
“I have no master, Wyatt.”
Turning around, I looked to Toby’s lifeless body slumped over the hood of my white Ranger…his blood splattered over the windshield…over me…staining my suit. No matter how badly you scrubbed or washed, blood never came out of white. I’d known him since I was child, he’d been in my bed, in me, and now the only permanent thing between was a ruined suit, because he, like Ethan, thought he could control me. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t my brother…so I couldn’t forgive him.
“No one controls me…but me.” Because I was Donatella Aviela Callahan, only daughter of Liam Alec Callahan, head of Irish mob, and Melody Nicci Giovanni Callahan, head of the Italian mafia… I was a Callahan…and a Callahan was a bringer of death.