prologue
. . .
Remo13 years old
“Tears are for weak men. Begging is for pussies. Are you a weak pussy, boy?” Mother’s harsh tone coming from the bathroom, paused my feet on the threshold to my oldest brother’s room.
Dread crept up my spine, squeezing the air out of my lungs. Something was wrong. Why was Mother in Mateo’s bathroom? On a good day her smile alone was evil personified. On a bad day, she could give Satan a run for his money.
Today was Lorenzo, our middle brother’s birthday. To celebrate we were going to watch a movie. He left me downstairs to come check on Mateo and I’d waited for at least ten minutes before coming up.
“Answer me, Lorenzo. Words,” she shouted.
Startled, I jumped, my knees trembling.
“No, Mother,” he croaked.
“Louder!” Her voice sounded like rolling thunder crashing against the mountains around our estate.
“No, Mother!” he yelled.
“That is a weak pussy, Lorenzo, a pathetic piece of shit.” I didn’t know what she meant until her next words. “Your brother is not a man. He is a coward who couldn’t face the life he was given.”
My whole body shook. “Please, God, not Mateo too,” I whispered.
For my age, I was considered old enough to understand all the shit that happened in our home. I did and why I knew Mother was not only responsible for Father’s death but her father’s as well, within a year of each other. She was a power-hungry, ruthless woman feared by almost everyone in Italy.
Lorenzo being the exception. He didn’t hesitate to defy her even if it meant punishment. Sometimes he retaliated just to piss her off and didn’t care about the repercussions. I envied my brother’s arrogance and one day hoped to be just like him.
“Call Remo, I want him to see what a pitiful shit he has for a brother,” she demanded.
“No, Mother, plea—” Lorenzo broke off for a second before continuing, “don’t let him see this.”
He was trying to protect me like he always did. Instead of being part of her criminal world, I preferred time with my friend. Sitting in the park, playing catch, sailing on Uncle Frank’s boat or making box cars we pretended to race. While I had two brothers I idolized, my friend was the brother who made me smile more.
Four weeks from now, I’ll be thirteen and according to my mother, I’ll be a Made man and I’d have to forget my friend. All I wanted though, was to be a race car driver. To help me, my brothers tried to stop Mother every chance they got, to no avail. As the queen, her word was law.
“Go,” she growled, her tone warning him not to argue.
If she gave him the full punishment that meant he’d stay in there for about twelve days, which also meant he wouldn’t beable to stop her from having her way with me–a way I’d learn to live with since the death of my father.
“Lorenzo!” she snapped a second later. “From this day forward the name Mateo will not be mentioned in this house.Capito?”
Suddenly, my chest tightened, making my breathing erratic. Was Mateo dead? If it weren’t for my brothers, the deaths of my father and grandfather would’ve been too hard to handle. Already, it affected my studies and behavior. Sometimes, Lorenzo said I’d become cold and distant because I missed them.
And now, Mateo too?
I opened my mouth to call out, to demand Mother let me see him. Only, my legs wouldn’t move, my brain not ready to lose him too.
“Did you hear me boy!” she barked.
“Yes, Mother.” I could hear the rage in Lorenzo’s reply.
“Go serve your punishment with those clothes,” she ordered.
My brother stepped out of the bathroom and jerked to a stop when he noticed me.
“Renz?” I whispered, my eyes dragging up from his blood-soaked sneakers and jeans, the new clothes Mateo bought him as a birthday gift. “Mateo?”
