“You don’t know your ownbirthday?” I cut him off. “And herenamedboth of you!?”
He startles as if he forgot I was in the room with him. His green eyes look tortured, and I wonder if he’s ever unburdened himself by telling anyone this before. He scratches the back of his head again, looking unsure of himself, and I can tell opening up like this is taking a lot out of him.
“I know I was born in the spring of ‘86, but I can’t remember the exact date. Maybe I was never told.” His voice is flat. He gathers his coat in a hurry. “Sorry for the rant. I’ll leave you alone. I’m sure you found that funny…”
“Am I laughing?” I snap. “That was…” I don’t have words to continue that thought. My head is spinning with the amount of information he gave me to process.
“Do not give me that look!” He startles me with a shout. “That pitying look—I cannot stand it.”
“I… I… I’m sorry. Seriously, for what I said earlier and for…”
What I just learned.
A heavy silence fills the room.
He’s never had a formal education, yet I would never have guessed. He lacks certain social skills, but I’ve seen how his subordinates act around him—he’s earned their respect. A lot of people would have wilted away with that upbringing.
He gathers his things in a hurry, and barely casts me a glance before leaving, slamming the door behind him before I can say anything else.
His constant need for control, trust issues, and not understanding other’s emotions makes much more sense now.
I flop back on the couch, muting the TV to give myself some space to think.
He must have felt so trapped and suffocated. There would have been absolutely no way out of this lifestyle. For one, he doesn’t knowanythingabout himself. I suppose he would have been born under Sylvain whatever-his-mother’s-last-name-is.But what about his middle name? I didn’t ask, but I doubt he knows that since he doesn’t know his birthday or where he was even born. So, no hope of escaping and finding a normal life. Forced to kill. To torture. I don’t want to know how young he was—I don’t think I’ll ever ask that. I know that my father and grandfather gave Jack and Max as normal a childhood as possible. Max didn’t start working for the family until he was twenty-two, and Jack never had the chance because he ended up behind bars too quickly.
He hit a pedestrian on a crosswalk when he was eighteen in a drunk driving incident, killing him. Then soon after going to jail, he stabbed a prison guard to death. I don’t know why. My family never told me, but I’m sure there was a reason. Either way, that extended his sentence to life without parole.
I feel a twinge of sadness when I think about Jack. I tried to visit him as often as I could, but now with the situation I’m in, who knows if I’ll ever see him again. We didn’t say a special goodbye or anything the last time I visited him because I thought I could still call him or even fly over to visit him whenever I wanted to.
All of these things: the adrenaline crash from almost losing my temper entirely, to learning about Alessandro and then wondering if I will ever see my brother’s face again forces a sob to escape me. I hug a pillow to my chest to self-soothe, but it doesn’t help. I feel like I’ve had no control over my emotions lately.
The door opens, and Alessandro appears, looking shocked at my emotional state. “I forgot something,” he mutters, and I can tell he has the impulse to retrieve whatever that is and hurry away. But he pauses. “Did I say something to upset you?”
“There are a lot of things upsetting me. I’m sad about what you told me about yourself. But then I thought about my brother and how I’ll never see him again.”
He cocks his head. “You FaceTimed him a moment ago.”
I shake my head. “Jack.”
“Oh.” He walks towards the couch and sits next to me. “The one in prison.”
I nod.
He leans forward, his hands clasped together. “I’ll find a way for the two of you to talk.”
“Really?”
He nods.
We sit in silence for what feels like an eternity. Neither of us will say it—but something shifted between us just now. His opening up made me look at him in a different light, and I’m sure that was cathartic for him.
I move to sit closer, not sure why he’s back, not sure if he actually forgot something or if he didn’t want our conversation to end that way. But strangely, I’m comforted by his presence.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Hmm? For what?” I wipe a tear away from my face.
“I shouldn’t have burdened you with all of that. You have enough going on, and well… the entire history of my sad existence I’m sure isn’t helping.”
