Savio
My heart was racing in my chest. It was when I felt the most alive. My muscles were pumping, and my body was sweating, and my throat was so dry that it was almost impossible to swallow. The sun was beating down on my skin, and I could feel the heat emanating from the pavement as I ran. The trail was silent, and the world felt as though it was melting away around me. There were only a few times when I was away from everything, most often in the moments when I went for a run. I didn’t think of anything—it was as though my mind had reset completely. It was a feeling I adored. In fact, it was something I started to crave when I was feeling restless.
I neared the path that led through the gate to our house. The neighborhood was quiet, and there was very little traffic. The trees began to dissipate as I neared the path. I slowed down my run, feeling the breath fleeing from my lungs. There was a heavy sensation that pulled on each of my limbs as though they were being weighed down by anchors. I wiped the sweat from my brow as I stopped at the edge of the path, glad to see those familiar cobblestones that led to the backyard. The heat was all-encompassing, and I could barely catch my breath. It had seemed like a mild morning until I’d started. It wasn’t until then that the sun had really begun to emerge from the clouds, overwhelming me all throughout my run.
I brought my hands to my hips as I walked with a slight limp, having lost most of the feeling in my feet. The path led toward the yard, which was expansive. It was almost hard not to focus on the dull throbbing in every part of my body. I was taking my time getting back to the house. I’d enjoyed my time away. I knew that the moment I walked through the front door, it would bring me right back to the situation that I was trying to avoid.
I didn’t want to be constantly reminded of Gianni’s death. Nor was I looking to hear anything more about the Bonifacios. There had been so many conversations about what had happened already, and I was tired of hearing about it. It was ridiculous that they were focusing so much on them. Even the expression my father wore when they were torturing Antonio had burned into my mind. I could see it when I closed my eyes, and I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to forget it. The pleasure he got from causing so much pain to someone else made me sick. I knew that it came with the lives we were living, but I still didn’t understand it.
Romeo was the same way. Most of my family was.
The grass swept against the top of my running shoes as I walked through the yard. I could hear the water gushing in the pond toward the back of the house. It was a calming sound that put me at ease the closer I got to the back door. I could see someone in the window of the study and immediately knew that it was my father. He often paced in his study. It was a tic that my brothers had picked up from him. I decided to go against it, and instead of pacing, I chose to run. It was a choice I’d made when I was in high school.
I hadn’t started running until I moved back in with my father. I always held a feeling of anger toward him, as though it was a thorn in my chest, constantly keeping me agitated. I knew that my anger wouldn’t help when it came to Angelo Cavetti. He was too dangerous. My father was the kind of man who needed to be in control of every situation. He would go to any lengths to make sure that he’d be in the seat of power, whether it was physically or emotionally. And he didn’t care who he had to hurt to achieve that, even if those who stood in his way were his children.
There was no doubt that Romeo had taken on those same traits. My brothers and I had little bits of my father that we’d inherited. I had no doubt that the anger I held, that constant resentment that pumped in my veins, came from him. It was always directed toward the man I’d inherited it from too.
I took a step onto the stairs and made my way toward the front door. I saw no one on the main floor, which was how I preferred it. If I could go all day avoiding my family, it meant that it was a decent day. The only person I could handle for any length of time was Natalia. My father and I barely talked, and my brothers were always distant from me. Growing up, I had thought it was because I was the youngest among them. I’d always asked too many questions because, half of the time, I didn’t know what they were talking about. But as we got older, the distance remained, and I realized it was less about our age differences and more about our behavioral differences. My brothers and I only had very few things in common, and most of the things we had in common were in the areas that didn’t matter. But our differences were about as glaring as the sun in the sky.
I brushed my shoes against the carpet and silently closed the door behind me. The air in the house was cool against my skin. I could feel the sweat dripping from my forehead, causing my dark hair to attach to my skin. I wiped my hand across my face, glad to be in a cooler environment. My body was shaking all over, which was a feeling I always looked forward to. It left me with a sort of high, a buzz that tended to last all day.
It was then that I heard a faint sound. I quickly removed my shoes, pulling at the laces and ripping my shoes off, then tossing them to the side. I kept my feet light as I made my way through the main sitting area, passing the parlor and toward the kitchen. The sound grew louder as I came closer to the basement door. It was a hum. I didn’t recognize the melody, but that didn’t bother me. It was sweet, and the sound was welcoming.
I stopped to listen, holding my breath, waiting for the next note. It was a bittersweet sound, and I knew from the tone that it was coming from the basement. One of the girls was humming to herself and was beginning to sing. Her voice reminded me of my grandmother. My nonna had always had an old way of singing, a type of enunciation to her words that was very fifties. She sang as though she was the reincarnation of all those fifties singers that she’d so admired. She was the female Frank Sinatra. And whoever was singing had that same, if more current, tone to her voice.
Chills ran up my spine, and a great sense of relief washed over me. It was that voice. I was glad no one else was around to hear it. I raised my chin and closed my eyes. I listened for a minute, letting the feeling linger and, at the same time, trying to recognize the song, but I didn’t. I grabbed the handle and slowly opened the heavy door. I was careful not to make too much noise, which might attract someone else’s attention. I also didn’t want to startle her. I simply wanted to hear her gentle, soothing voice up close. I thought of how I’d react to her singing in my ear.
Like a whisper.
Goosebumps covered my skin at the thought. A voice like that could melt any man, I was sure. It reminded me of my nonna, but it wasn’t cookie-cutter like hers had been. It was deeper. Sultry. I was entranced as I walked down the hallway, straining my ears to follow the direction of the voice. I stopped at the door and held my breath.
So it was her.
Her voice captured me so profoundly. Even though I could hear it well, it still didn’t feel like enough. I placed my ear on the door. The door seemed to absorb and spread the sound across its surface, making it cooler to my ear. I stayed that way for a while longer.
“When all the rain falls,” she sang, her voice low. “Just keep dancing, even if it hurts.”
I didn’t recognize the song. The melody, which was bittersweet, was like nothing I’d heard before. Was she singing an Italian song?
“But what if I’m lost? What if I’m found? What if you’re not there, helping me through this endless forest?”
I held my breath. It wasn’t a song, more like a string of sentences, and I realized she was practicing. She was making her own melody as she went, creating the lyrics as she went. A smile formed on my lips at the thought. So she was not only talented, but she was creative as well. That was impressive.
And it was not what I’d been expecting. I wasn’t sure what I expected. I simply knew that one of the sisters in the basement was singing. The one singing was Alessandra. She wasn’t belting out the notes. I could tell that it was the kind of song someone sang when they were trying to soothe themselves. It was simply a way to pass the time. Still, her voice was intoxicating.
I waited until she was finished. My entire body was covered in goosebumps. I hadn’t expected to have such a visceral reaction to her voice. The way she sang was sorrowful, yet full of soul. I’d fully written her off as being shallow or having no substance. Her singing had proved me wrong. Completely.
I let out a deep breath, not having realized that I’d been holding it the whole time. I was soundless as I heard her shifting on the cot in her cell. Her singing was growing slower, and her tune was beginning to disappear. I couldn’t make out the words that she was singing, but the melody had been clear enough for me to understand. I made my way around the corner after I heard footsteps.
I leaned against the wall, making sure that I wasn’t visible. The footsteps had come from the other end of the dark hallway, and the flickering lights weren’t making it easy. Still, I waited. Her singing was beginning to reach its end when I saw Marcello in the hallway. He was stepping out of Chiara’s room, closing the door behind him. My eyebrows arched at that sudden revelation. I had known that he’d shown an interest in the other twin, but I hadn’t realized just how deep his curiosity had been. I definitely hadn’t thought it’d be enough for him to visit her.
He lowered his hand toward his pants as he opened the slider to the door, peering in to look at Chiara. I immediately turned away and focused my eyes toward the gray wall in front of me. I had to be as quiet as I could. It was necessary that he didn’t know I was there. The last thing I wanted was to suffer Marcello’s wrath. He was built like an NFL linebacker, and there was no way I’d be able to land a hit between his two fists. He was aggressive when he needed to be. It was always the silent ones that you had to worry about, and my brother was a testament to that statement.
I moved slowly back up toward the stairs, trying to push the thoughts that began invading my mind. There was that voice at the back of my mind. It was growing louder, especially after seeing Marcello turning his sights toward the other twin. It meant that Alessandra was up for the taking. Still, I wasn’t sure if I should step into that territory. I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to. God only knew what my father would do if he found out.
I clenched my teeth as I stepped up the stairs and carefully opened the basement door. I stopped for a moment, apprehensive that Marcello had heard me. It was only after waiting a few moments that I let out a deep breath and closed the door behind me.
The sun was warm against my skin as I stepped out of the dark, dreary basement. Even the air in the dungeon was stifled compared to the main floor. There was a darkness that seemed to inch into every corner of the basement, forming long shadows against the walls and adding a cold bitterness to the atmosphere. I hated it down there. I could only imagine how Alessandra felt about it. I wouldn’t doubt if the girls were losing their sense of sanity. It was better to be dead than to live in such a grim place.
It might even be the reason for her haunting tune.
I tapped my foot against the ground, wanting to go for another run. The idea was forming like an omen, shadowing my thoughts. I could already imagine her skin against mine and hear her voice calling my name. It caused goosebumps to form along my skin, and my erection was rock-hard. Simply imagining it, I was engrossed. I imagined what it would be like to taste her, every part. I imagined her soft skin pressed up against mine, her back arched. I sighed deeply, trying to shake my head off the image. It was hard to stop my imagination from taking hold.
But it was dumb.
She was a prisoner, and I wasn’t interested in having someone who was terrified. I imagined Romeo loved it, but I preferred it when the girl was excited. If she liked it rough, it was even better. But I was only interested if she was okay with it all. Seeing Marcello lower his hand toward his pants, all without Chiara knowing, caused my stomach to churn. I didn’t want to be a coward, but I didn’t want to force myself on anyone either.
It was then that I realized I didn’t need to. All I really wanted, aside from being inside her, was to hear her sing. I could build trust with her. It would take some duct tape and doing something skeezy, but she’d grow to understand.
Hopefully.
