“Fuck!” Mattia yells behind me, punching the nearby container.
Vince lets my mother’s body drop to the ground and marches away down the alley. His cruel laughter echoes off the containers. I fall to the ground, my eyes fixated on my mother’s dead body in front of me.
I crawl over to her, slowly hoping that this is just a sick game, it’s just red paint and she’ll wake up. But she doesn’t. She doesn’t move. I clutch her lifeless body, rocking her back and forth, tears now blurring my vision. “It’s okay, Mommy. Daddy’s waiting for you,” I whisper. I pull back and brush my palm over her face, closing her eyes.
Mattia starts to pull at me. “We have to go, Charlie.”
“No. I’m not leaving her here.” I refuse to move.
“Move,” he insists, lifting her gently. Her body slumps against him.
Rocco pulls me up, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, a quiet reassurance that he’s got me. And for once, I’m glad he’s here. I follow Mattia, my heart heavy with the pain of losing my only other blood family. Our men bow their heads as we pass, a silent acknowledgment of the pain, the loss of their Donna. I want her back, whole and unharmed, but I know that will never happen. I can see the marks of torture Vince has left on her, and it fuels the storm inside me. Luciano knew she was alive. He kept this truth from me. Everything has now changed.
Our car roars to life in seconds. I watch as Mattia carefully lays Caterina down in the backseat. I storm over to the brothers, deep in conversation. My fist finds Luciano’s face before anyone can stop me, a hard, furious punch that has our men frozen in shock. “This is your fault!” I scream, striking his chest.
He stands there, unflinching, letting me unleash my anger onto him. “She was broken after your dad died. She needed the space,” he finally yells back at me.
“I don’t give a damn,” I shout through burning tears. “She should never have been left alone. Why were there no soldiers with her?”
His cold voice cuts through me. “It was her orders, Charlie, not mine.”
“I don’t want to see your face at the house tonight. If I do, I’ll kill you myself.” I turn to Carlo. “Search the bodies. If any of Vince’s men are still breathing, get them to the bunker. No one touches them but me.”
“Yes, Charlie.”
I glance over the fallen, some clutching wounds, others lifeless. The weight of it presses down. I bow my head, then move toward our other car with Rocco and Mattia behind me.
Mattia slips his hand into mine as we sit in the back of the car, his lips brushing my knuckles gently. “Charlie, I’m here. Always. Whatever you need.”
My walls crumble the moment Rocco pulls the car away from the dock. Memories flood in: months of lies, betrayal, the mother I never got to know. Tears stream down my face endlessly. Mattia pulls me onto his lap, his big arms wrap around me as I weep for the woman I thought my mother was, for the cold truth Luciano hid, for the family I lost before I even had it. Exhaustion tries to pull me under, but I don’t give in.
Rocco drives us in silence the whole way home, and Mattia never lets go of me. “Thank you,” I whisper as we reach the house. They watch me, waiting quietly as I step inside. I know they’ll follow me inside in a second, but I appreciate the brief moment alone.
I grab Luciano’s favorite whiskey from the office and retreat to my room, deciding a scalding bath might help ease the pain in my chest, a burning cocoon where numbness and pain will blur. I drink straight from the bottle, waiting for footsteps that never come. When the bath finally turns cold, I decide it's time to hop out into my pajamas. I wander the empty halls, a reminder of months of lies and a loss I never knew was possible.
I find myself standing outside the north suite at the master bedroom; Caterina’s room. Never before have I dared to enter her room, out of respect, denial. But it feels like it’s time. I push open the heavy double doors.
Grandeur unfolds before me in overwhelming waves. A massive bed that seems too vast for one, a stone fireplace that promises warmth yet feels cold in its silence, and a plasma TV hanging from the ceiling. The bathroom dwarfs mine, but it’s her walk-in robe that steals my breath: a shrine to power and privilege. Designer clothes hang like armor, shoes lined up like soldiers, bags and glittering jewels arrayed like trophies won in a silent war of wealth and status. My fingers tremble as I trail over the necklaces, each one a tangible piece of the legacy I’m supposed to inherit, yet it feels both foreign and heavy on my soul.
A small box on the coffee table anchors my attention. I approach it with a hesitant heart, a whisper of dread curling in my stomach. Opening it, I find a flood of memories—over a hundred photographs of me. Tears spill freely, and I cradle the photos gently, sorting through each one, noticing how they’re all taken from a distance, like shadowswatching me. There I am at every age: my fifth birthday party at the park with Dad, our trip to Disneyworld when I was eight, photos of me at the shops with friends, running track in high school, me at prom, and lastly a photo of me at Dad’s funeral. Snapshots of my life framed in secrecy. I spread them across the floor, my hands trembling as I arrange the pieces of my fractured past. How did we never see someone following us? The realization hits me hard. The invisible threads of surveillance woven through every stage of my life, and the painful truth that I was never truly alone.
At the bottom of the box, my fingers brush against something delicate. A necklace. I lift it out carefully, revealing a heart-shaped locket, its surface worn. On the back, the words “my loves” are etched with a tenderness that cuts through the cold air. I press it open, and inside, a faded photograph stares back at me: the three of us, frozen in time, with me as a tiny baby cradled between them. I fasten the necklace around my neck, feeling its weight settle against my skin. A bittersweet reminder of my legacy.
Stepping onto the balcony, I let my gaze sweep over the sprawling Carlisi estate below, its grandeur stretching out like a kingdom waiting for its queen. It will be mine. Caterina Carlisi, my mother, can officially be declared dead, snatched away before I ever had the chance to truly know her. Luciano held the truth, had countless opportunities to tell me, but he never did.
Raising the whiskey bottle, I salute the night sky. “Forgive her, Dad. Love each other until I can join you,” I murmur. I collapse onto the bed, my life unravelling before my eyes.
“Red,” Mattia whispers as he and Izzy enter the room, climbing up beside me on the bed. He pulls the bottle away, placing it just out of reach. “Come here.” His arm wraps around me as Izzy settles into my other side. They both hold onto me as my cries fill the night's silence.
I look up at Matia. “Sing for me, please.”
“Always.” He picks up his guitar from beside the bed—I hadn’t even noticed that he brought it in with him—the familiar strings soothing as he strums my favorite Ellie Raynes song. I cuddle into Izzy as his voice wraps around us, a fragile shield against the darkness, until sleep finally takes me.
36
Luciano
Today’s been a disaster, there’s no sugarcoating it. After Charlie took off with Mattia and Rocco, the brothers decided to let me stay at their place for the night, even though they had no choice. They weren’t just pissed, they were straight-up furious with me.
