Savio
They shot everyone. Of all of the crime bosses in the Chicago underworld, only a few remained. The rest were dead, killed right there in our house, on our property. I felt sick to my stomach, thinking of their bodies already decomposing along the ground. The blood—there was so much blood. It caused my stomach to knot. I left the room, unsure of what to make of it. Romeo seemed overly pleased with himself, and his satisfied, blood-hungry smile cemented in my mind. I didn’t think my father had put him up to it either. I had the feeling it was his idea, and he was proud of it. No doubt, he thought our father would be proud of it too. He was probably right. All our father ever wanted was to look at us and see a younger, less-experienced version of himself. I imagined him giving Romeo a pat on a shoulder and a proud grin for this.
It wasn’t something I’d ever wanted to do. Seeing it, being a part of it, sickened me to my core. I hated everything about my family and about our way of life. Why couldn’t we just be normal? Why couldn’t my father be a banker or medical doctor? Why couldn’t we children be in school, trying to make something of our lives like normal people? Why did there always have to be dead bodies, blood, and orphans involved? Having to deal with all of the violence and the difficulties that came with it was too strenuous. I made sure that everyone had left with the bodies before leaving for the basement. I brought the usual stuff—I’d kept it in a bag for the past week so that I could always have it at the ready.
The house had fallen silent, but I could still smell the blood. It was as though it had embedded itself into the walls and floor. I gagged on my way down to the basement, trying to keep the image of those bloodied bodies from my mind. I went to the basement and closed the door behind me. I kept my footsteps light as I made my way down toward her room. Alessandra would be there, and I needed to hear her sing. I knew how strange it was to force her to sing, but it soothed me. After such an event happened, I needed it.
I heard her humming as I made my way toward her cell door. The rest of the hallway was silent, which meant that it was as I thought. There was no one around. I didn’t want anyone to see me blindfold her or have them catch on to the fact that her voice soothed me. Weakness in my family was not something to have found out. I had no doubt they would beat or torture it out of me, even if they claimed to care about me. My father was heartless, not caring for those he should have. His pride in us came from how strong we could be, how coldly we could treat other people, and how easy it was for us to kill without the fear of consequence.
I opened the door and found her on her cot, not facing me. It was too perfect. I tied her up as I always did and blindfolded her. She was silent and allowed me to blindfold her, rolling over to lift herself from the cot. I grabbed her wrists in mine and led her through the open doorway. I gripped her wrists hard, still unsure as to whether she’d continue not to fight. There was no telling if she was going to try to make a run for it. She was still a Bonifacio, and they couldn’t be trusted.
We took the same route each time, briefly passing through the kitchen and then heading toward the gardening shed. I’d brought her to the guest house, but I wasn’t sure if there was enough privacy there anymore. All it would take was for someone walking by to hear her. The gardening shed was the best option, and usually, she sang “Amazing Grace,” which I was sure to tell her to sing. It was the one that reminded me the most of my grandmother and of those times spent with my nonna.
It was such a stress-free time, and it felt as though it were another lifetime ago. The only thing left were memories, which were so far in the past that they were muddled, trapped in the back of my mind. Her singing brought them out, and as much as I hated to admit it, I desperately needed it after the day I’d had. I wished I could have told Natalia and had her join me. I knew that she would agree that their voices were similar. She might even feel that same tug of nostalgia in her chest that I did each time Alessandra sang.
As it usually was, the night was cold, and the breeze was harsh against my skin. The floor was even colder. I wondered how Alessandra felt, walking across the compound barefoot like that. I was in boots, and I was feeling cold. If Alessandra felt any cold in her feet or her body, she didn’t show it. The girl with a frail body was stronger than she let on. I couldn’t imagine what it was like to walk across this field barefoot this time of the night.
I pushed her along, glad that I didn’t have to tape her mouth. I’d forgotten all about it. The only reminder that I’d had up until that point was the bag slapping against the side of my hip. I was grateful that she wasn’t screaming or making any noise. I’d have to remember to slap the tape across her mouth on the way into the house.
“Just keep moving. I want to get us inside quickly.”
I hadn’t realized how quickly I was making her walk. She was breathless already, as though being in the cell for so long had caused her to lose all of the stamina she’d had. I hoped that she would be able to sing.
She nearly lost her footing, and I had to keep a firm hold on her hands just to keep her steady. We walked quietly through the yard and toward the back of the property. I glanced back toward the windows, trying to ease my racing heart. Luckily, there was no one watching. I was paranoid. After seeing what I had that day, there was a reason to be. I could remember my father doing deals with many of those other leaders, and some of them even had dinner with us with their families in the past. Some of them considered my father a friend—and now they were dead. Anyone who wasn’t my father was an enemy. I didn’t intend to be on the wrong side because of a Bonifacio girl.
I began to walk next to her as we neared the gray shed at the back of the property line. It was nestled in between two trees and was in a remote enough location that no one from my family could hear us or see us. I pulled the lock open and yanked on the door, pushing her through quickly. She waited toward the entrance, holding still. I was sure that she was aware that she didn’t have the tape across her mouth, and yet, she had made no noise. I was surprised by her lack of fight. It seemed strange that a Bonifacio would be so docile. Her brothers were the opposite, and I’d seen so little of Lucia that I couldn’t determine what kind of person she was. It was unorthodox, but I pushed the thought from my mind. I simply needed to hear her sing. I had to focus on the moment and go through our routine so that she understood that there was an order to what we were doing.
I brought her to the usual pole and tied up her hands so that they were above her head. She was calm and breathing regularly. She’d agreed up until that point. It reminded me that we all needed a little stability, even in the chaos.
“Sing ‘Amazing Grace,’ like before,” I told her, my voice low. “And don’t sing too loud.”
I could see her lips parting into a light smile, which caused my stomach to churn. She’d been docile up until that point. Why was she smiling? I hadn’t said anything funny, and there was no reason for her to be happy. She should be miserable. I would want to end my life if I were in her situation. No doubt, her entire family was suffering. So, what was with the smile?
She opened her mouth and began to sing. The tune was familiar, and it wasn’t what I wanted her to sing. It wasn’t even close.
She was singing “I Will Survive.” I felt my hand form into a fist. The anger rose as her voice did. There was no doubt if she kept it up that someone would hear us. That was the last thing I wanted. I slammed my hand against the closest wall and clenched my teeth. It hurt. I hadn’t intended to hurt myself, but Alessandra had provoked me to. I shut my eyes tight and clenched my teeth even harder.
“You’re not listening,” I said, my words sharp. “You have to sing what I tell you to sing. I want you to sing ‘Amazing Grace,’ not whatever shit you’re singing right now.”
She fell silent as though considering my words. I wanted to make sure that she knew that it was better to listen to me. She began to sing “Fighter” by Christina Aguilera. I barely recognized the lyrics before reaching for the tape in the bag at my side. I pulled it open, causing her to begin singing even louder. I ripped the tape off as quickly as I could and forced it onto her lips, which were slightly parted when I forced the tape on. I loved her singing, but she was pushing me. I wasn’t sure if she was testing me for a reaction or if she was simply enjoying herself.
I stood across from her, wondering if she was smiling beneath the tape. Goddamn. I couldn’t stand it. I wanted to be like my father, who would have beaten her right then and there. I really wanted to, but I fought the urge. After such a long, strenuous day, I figured there’d been enough violence.
“Sing what I tell you to sing. Or else.”
I stepped toward her and removed the tape, making sure that it was just hard enough that she understood I was serious. I didn’t want her thinking that she could walk all over me. There were times when I had to use force, and I needed her to understand.
I wasn’t messing around. I needed her to believe that she couldn’t push me around. I thought of what my father would do in that situation, and the thought of physically hurting her made my skin crawl. I couldn’t bring myself to go that far. I just had to use my words and be as intimidating as I could be. I wasn’t accustomed to having to force someone into fearing me, but I had to do it. It was the only thing that I could use to my advantage. She was smart, though.
It was hard to tell what she was thinking beneath the blindfold and the tape. I wanted to know just how smart she was. Could she see through my façade? The truth was, I didn’t intend to hurt her. That much was obvious. I just wanted her to sing. The more she fought me, the more I wanted it.
I had to make her feel afraid for her life, even though her life was never at any risk in my hands.
