“I must not cry,” I hiccupped.
He frowned. “Nonsense, boy. Real men cry because they are strong enough to show they feel.” He tapped my chest with a finger. “That they have heart.”
“But, Mother–”
“Is the donna, she always expect men to be expressionless and emotionless. She doesn’t care about what they think onlyhow they can serve her. Just remember to fill your heart with stone, Remo and you’ll be fine.”
“Stone?”
“Don’t give into the weakness of fear or emotion. Be strong like Mateo and daring like Lorenzo.”
“Mother called Mateo spineless,zio.”
His laugh deep, he shook his head, grasping my arms with a light squeeze. “A man is not made by the names people call him but what he believes himself capable of achieving.” At my frown, he added, “you can be anything you want, Remo. To get there, you must believe and trust in yourself. It is the first and most important step to success. And if you fail, you don’t give up, you push even harder until you get what you want. Today, you must not only show your mother that you’re the son of a respected donna but who you’ll be from the moment you accept the weapon she hands you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Slowly, I nodded, wiping my tears and forcing myself to be brave. “Strong like Mateo, daring like Lorenzo but the navigator of my own journey.” I remembered the words I once heard grandfather tell my brothers.
“That’s it, my boy.” He chuckled. “Take what you want and leave your mark while doing so.”
“Leave my mark?”
“Devono temere i tuoi occhi,” he said, stating that people should fear my eyes. He palmed my cheeks. “Our eyes are transparent to our emotions, don’t let people see yours. Show them the sweet innocence of this handsome face, but leave them uncertain about what to expect, leave them wishing they’d never crossed you.Capito?”
“Sì.” I climbed the stairs to the dark doors.
Just as I was about to enter the carvery, he stopped me. “Remo?” I looked over my shoulder at him. “Anger is a powerful emotion, boy, don’t let it rule you, make it your bitch.”
I wanted to ask how then I realized that the way I felt right now, I’d learn the answer pretty soon.
Inside, the carvery was eerie, almost like stepping into an old church. Not even the scent of bleach could hide the metallic tang of blood. Two dark walls were filled with weapons I’d only ever seen in horror movies, the ones my brothers forbade me from watching because of the nightmares I always had after. The third housed two black steel doors cut into the middle of the wall. Without opening them, I knew they led to an incinerator. I’d heard the stories. Sometimes, mother fed bodies to the sharks and sometimes, she burned men, alive.
Thirty minutes later, Mateo’s body was thrown like a piece of meat ready to be carved, onto a slab of cold steel. The oath Mother asked me to repeat while they performed some ceremony to pronounce me a Made man, now forgotten with just how hard my heart thumped in my chest.
Instead of tears, I was upset. Angry with how they disrespected my brother’s body. Before I could lash out, Mother stepped forward, holding out what looked like a cross between a short sword and a machete. Dark grey with swirling patterns along the blade, it looked ancient.
Confused, I stared at it then remembered Uncle Frank’s words about who I was going to be from the moment she handed me a weapon. Biting my lip to keep my tears down, I took the large knife, it’s weight a rock in my hand.
“Show me who you are, Remo,” was all she said, returning to her seat, a detached throne that seemed strangely natural, for her, in a room where death worshipped the living.
As my feet neared the table and I lifted the machete to my brother’s neck, my eyes glazed over, my hand shook, my stomach twisted, and nasty vomit surged upward, burning my throat.
I couldn’t do this. I shouldn’t be doing this.
Mateo, a man many people respected, a brother who, in a home void of love, never failed to show it in everything he did. He didn’t deserve this. I wanted Lorenzo here, his strength would help me surpass my agony, give me the courage I needed.
As if in answer to my prayer, the door opened, drawing my gaze. Instead of my brother, I met Frank’s gentle smile. His soft nod reminded me there was no escape, that I couldn’t lose another brother, that I had to keep Lorenzo safe. Taking a deep breath, I swallowed my pain yet still asked myself whether I could this.
I answered my own question by lifting the machete and bringing it down on my brother’s neck with a deafening slam of crunching bone and tearing flesh. Shocked, I shuddered for a bit, my hand reverberating with the impact. I swallowed repeatedly, choking on the bitter bile threatening to spill. Coughing to ease the foul taste, my gaze strayed toward my mother. Her expression blank, she merely stared at me. I looked at Frank and he nodded his encouragement.
Before my insides threatened to become my outsides, I bit the inside of my cheek, lifted the machete and let it fall, meeting resistance as I moved down. I did it again.
And again. And again.
Movements mechanical, the sound of the slashing weapon the only noise in the room, my hand rose and fell. Ripping, slicing, hacking, I brought the machete down harder, faster until all I heard was the squelch of mushy flesh. My sorrow slowly replaced by rage.
I didn’t realize how far I’d gone until the handle slipped from my grip, bouncing off the cement floor with a loud clatter, distracting me.
Panting, I stared at the table, taking in what I’d done, studying the chunky pulp of guts, meat and bone, spilling onto the silver steel, garnishing it a thick, black red. Every part fromthe chest down no longer human, impossible to tell where one section started and where another ended.
