Alessio (seven years old)
My mommy sat on the big sofa chair with a book on her big round belly. She looked so comfortable and she had a small smile on her face. From where I was sitting on the floor, while arranging my puzzles, I saw her slowly rubbing circles over her stomach.
My baby sister was in there. Papa and Mommy called her a princess. Why didn’t they call me a prince? I wanted to be a prince!
But Mommy called me her sweet boy, so that was okay.
“Mommy, can I feel the baby?” I asked softly. Mommy looked up with eyes the same color as mine. She smiled.
“Of course, baby. Come here.” She motioned for me to get up as she placed the book on the small table beside her.
I quickly got up and ran to her. Mommy patted her lap and I climbed up and sat down on her lap, nestling into her chest. She took my hand and placed it on her round belly. As soon as my palm made contact with her stomach, I felt a hard kick. My eyes widened and I sucked in a shocked breath.
“She kicks hard,” I whispered.
“You used to kick harder,” Mommy replied, laughing.
“Really?” I looked up at her with wide eyes.
She nodded and made a humming sound. “You were a very strong baby.”
“I like being strong!” The baby kicked again and I smiled. I couldn’t wait to see my baby sister. “Mommy, I will always protect princess!” I said, looking at her stomach in awe. Papa always said that as her big brother, I had to protect her. And I vowed I would.
I won’t ever let anything happen to princess, I thought as I rubbed my small hand over Mommy’s round stomach.
Mommy placed a kiss on my temple and started humming some songs. She liked playing the piano and she was always humming. That would be our daily routine. Before going to sleep, she would play the piano for some time while humming. Most times, I would fall asleep on the sofa, listening to her play.
We sat there for a while and then I heard a knock on the door. Looking up quickly, I saw Papa leaning against the door, looking at Mommy and me with an amused smile on his face.
“Papa!” I exclaimed loudly, quickly jumping off Mommy’s lap and running into his open arms. He pulled me up and hugged me tight to his body. I missed him so much. He had been gone for a few days, but now he was back.
“Hey there, my boy. How are you?” he asked.
“I’m good. I was feeling princess moving.”
“Oh, really? I want to feel too,” he said with a small laugh, walking us back toward where Mommy was sitting. He stopped beside the couch and smiled down at her. Mommy had a big smile on her face, and she looked peaceful as she stared at Papa. He placed a hand on her stomach and asked, “How is our princess?”
“She is kicking a lot lately,” Mommy said, placing her hand over his.
Papa let me down and then leaned forward, kissing Mommy on the lips. They kissed for some time, totally forgetting about me. I crossed my arms over my chest and huffed. They always did that.
Papa pulled away but then pressed his forehead against Mommy’s. “I missed you, Angel,” he whispered.
Angel. That was what Papa called Mommy. But I never understood why.
Moving forward, I stood on the other side of Mommy. “Papa, why do you call Mommy ‘angel’?”
They pulled away and stared at me. Papa let out a small laugh while Mommy’s cheeks turned red. He crouched down in front of me. “What is an angel?” he asked.
I felt my forehead crease in confusion and then shrugged. “Isn’t an angel someone with wings? God’s messenger. They are nice people. They are supposed to help others.”
“Correct. But an angel is also someone who is sweet, kind, caring, and calm. The most beautiful woman on the planet. Someone who is amazing in every way. An Angel is the girl who makes your heart beat faster when she walks into the room. The girl you need wherever you go. The girl who makes you want to be better. An angel is someone who is your rock. The person who you love with your entire heart. The person who you can’t see yourself living without.”
I stared at Papa in awe. He was a man of few words. I never expected him to give me such an explanation. And while he was talking, he stared at Mommy, his eyes shining with emotions that I couldn’t understand.
“Oh,” I mumbled quietly. I didn’t know what to say. I heard him chuckle as I looked down. Mommy laughed softly too. I felt a hand on my arm and looked up to see Mommy pulling me toward her. I stood in front of her and she ran her fingers through my hair.
“And one day, you will find your angel,” she whispered. My eyebrows furrowed in confusion and I quickly shook my head.
“But you are my angel, Mommy.”
She gasped and then smiled. “My sweet boy.” Shaking her head, she placed a kiss on my forehead. “No, baby, I’m not your angel. Your angel is waiting for you somewhere.” She pulled back and palmed my cheek. “And when you do find her, don’t ever let her go.”
“Because if you lose her, then you will forever be incomplete,” Papa added.
“Will she be like you, Mommy?” I asked, thinking about my angel. What would she look like? Would she be as beautiful as Mommy and as sweet as her?
“Oh, baby, she might be better than me,” she said, laughing.
“Impossible,” Papa mumbled under his breath.
“Hush, Lyov,” Mommy scolded, swatting his arm playfully.
He grumbled something that I couldn’t understand and then stood up. He pulled Mommy off the couch and then sat down, pulling her onto his lap. He nuzzled her neck and I heard her giggle.
I stared at them, shaking my head with a sigh. I had been forgotten again.
I went back to my puzzles. Mommy and Papa were talking quietly while I played. I didn’t know how long we stayed like that but the phone started ringing after some time. I looked up and saw Papa answering the call.
He looked frustrated and I heard him growl angrily. After a few seconds of listening to the other person from the line, he hung up.
“What’s wrong?” Mommy asked, rubbing his chest soothingly.
“I have to take care of some stuff,” he said, shaking his head.
“Oh, okay then,” Mommy murmured, and then clumsily got off Papa’s lap. They both stood up and Papa wrapped his arms around her, hugging her as best he could with her big stomach in the way. He leaned down and kissed her again. A long, deep kiss.
When he leaned back, I heard him whisper, “Love you, Angel.”
“I love you too, Lyov,” she whispered back, her voice a little hoarse. Was she crying?
My heart twisted a little. I didn’t want her to cry. Papa placed a kiss on her forehead and then turned to me. “Alessio, come here.”
I quickly got up and went to him. He crouched down and then stared into my eyes. “I have to go for a while,” he said.
My eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Again?”
“Yes. While I’m gone, I want you to be a good boy and take care of your mommy and princess, okay?”
I nodded my head. I was a big boy now. “Yes. I will.”
“Good,” he said, placing a kiss on my forehead and standing up. He nodded at Mommy and then walked away.
I heard her sigh. She sat back down and rubbed her eyes. “Mommy, why does Papa have to go away so much?”
“It’s his work, baby. Your papa is a very busy man. He has a lot to do.”
I went to Mommy and climbed on her lap again. Laying my head on her shoulder sleepily, I sighed. “I want to be like Papa. He is so strong. And everyone listens to him. I want to be tough like him.”
Mommy shook her head. “No, Alessio. You aren’t like your papa.” She palmed both of my cheeks and then continued. “You are not ready to fight the world. You are my sweet boy. My sweet gentle boy. And I want you to stay just like this.” Placing a kiss on my forehead, she whispered, “Let your papa do the fighting.”
I didn’t say anything else. Mommy always knew how to make me feel special. I would always be her sweet boy. That would never change.
Nodding my head, I closed my eyes. Mommy was rubbing my back soothingly, and in no time, I had fallen sleep. And my dream was riddled with a black-haired angel. She had green eyes.
I didn’t know this would be the last time that I had a peaceful sleep. Our lives would change forever.
***
10 years old
I walked into the cold basement, closing the door behind me quietly so that nobody heard me. A man was strapped to the chair in the middle of the room. His face and clothes were bloody. He was sagging against the chair and from where I was standing, I could hear his whimpers of pain.
Looking at him, I felt red hot anger coursing through my body. Murderous anger.
Kill. Kill him. Spill his blood. Make him pay, my mind screamed as my body started to shake with the force of my fury.
He was one of them. An Abandonato. The Italians. I still remember his face from that night. His laughing face as he tortured my mother with the others.
Walking forward purposely, I came to stand in front of him. He looked up, and if possible, his swollen eyes widened.
He opened his mouth to say something but only a gurgling sound came out through the gag. My hands tightened in a fist and I punched him hard in the face, his nose making a crunching sound as my knuckles came in contact with his face.
He screamed and I laughed.
His pain made me feel good. My heart soared, but I needed more. I needed his blood. I needed to see him suffering.
I needed to kill him.
Only then would I be satisfied.
Walking to the table at the back of the room, I looked at all the weapons laid out. There were so many. Different style. Big and small. I had never been to the basement before, but I heard the rumors around the mansion.
Taking the big knife with the spiral blade, I walked back toward the man. The man I loathed with all my being.
He whimpered in fear and started to shake his head and tried to move away, but he couldn’t. He was strapped to the chair at my mercy.
Actually, I wasn’t going to show him mercy. Mercy was no longer in my vocabulary.
Holding the knife tightly in my hand, I pressed it hard against his cheek. Pulling it down, I made a big gash. He tried to scream again.
I stared at the blood and my heart pumped faster. Adrenaline filled me and my mind begged me. More. More. More.
I made another gash on his other cheek. And then on his arms. Big, long, deep cuts. Blood was everywhere. Then on his chest. So deep that I could see his bones.
He couldn’t move anymore. His head was hanging down as he bled. I could see that he was quickly losing consciousness.
But I wasn’t done yet.
He was still alive.
His heart was still beating while my mother’s was not.
He needed to die. He needed to feel the pain.
Roaring with anger, I pulled the knife back and then plunged it deep into his heart, twisting it painfully. Mercilessly.
His head snapped back and he thrashed against the chair. His painful eyes started to go dull, slowly losing all signs of life.
A few seconds later, he was no longer breathing. His dead eyes were opened, staring at me.
I pulled the knife back from his chest and looked down. My hands were covered in blood. There was not even an inch of my skin that was clean. Blood. It was everywhere. On me. On my clothes. It blinded me.
I gasped as I realized what I had just done. But I didn’t feel any remorse. I felt alleviated and satisfied.
But not full satisfaction. The others still needed to pay.
And I was going to find all of them, one by one, and I was going to kill them all.
I heard the door open behind me with a bang. I swiveled around to see my father running in with a few of his men. Their eyes went wide at the sight of me and I heard my father’s shocked gasp.
“Alessio!” he screamed, running toward me. He stopped in front of me and snatched the knife away, throwing it on the floor next to the bloody dead man.
“What have you done? Oh, Alessio, what have you done?”
I stared into his eyes. “I will avenge my mother,” I said, my voice scratchy.
My father’s eyes widened in surprise and he stared at me in complete shock. I understood why he was in shock. That was the first time I had uttered any words in three years. Since that night when everything changed. The night that I lost everything.
“I vow to kill all of them. Every single Abandonato,” I said. I couldn’t recognize my voice. It sounded so foreign even to my ears. My father didn’t say anything at first. After a few seconds, he stood up tall and his expression changed.
“Okay,” he replied, his voice hard and deadly cold. Emotionless.
With that, I walked away. I didn’t look at his men, but I kept my eyes forward, my shoulders squared with purpose and my chin held high.
This was my life now.
My mother had been wrong.
I was no longer her sweet, gentle, quiet boy.
I was a monster.
As I walked out of the room and into the dark corridor, I quickly pushed the thought of “my angel” from my mind.
Angels didn’t exist.
I didn’t have an angel, for a monster could never have an angel.
***
Present Day
I woke up with a start, the memories still flashing in my head. They were painful and I quickly buried them deep inside me. I didn’t have time for weakness. I couldn’t think about the past.
I didn’t know why I had that dream—why the past came crashing back, but it made me want to rage.
Closing my eyes, I calmed down. I locked away my feelings and the memories.
No weakness.