I close my eyes.
“Please let me live with her,” I implore to the boy watching from inside my head.
He answers by forcing me into the memory.
I try to fight. Open my eyes. Keep them open. But the moment I blink, the memory swallows me. I force my eyes open again.
I don’t want to see those memories.
I groan. My eyes burn from staying open, but the fragments still play behind my lids whether I want them or not.
I fight him, forcing thoughts of Avira into my mind. But I still lose. He wins again. Throws me into another nightmare.
I stop fighting. My body goes slack against the door.
She’s thrashing on the floor. Vinci pins her down—her hands above her head—and forces himself between her legs. She begs him to stop. Begs and begs.
My father’s second-in-command, Alberto, holds me down beside her. He yanks my pants off and presses my face to the floor. My head feels like it’s splitting open under his force.
He pushes inside me. I cry out in blinding pain. He doesn’t stop. Pulls back. Drives in again. I beg him to stop. He just laughs and keeps going.
My cries stop when he finally pulls out. But then he moves to my mother.
Vinci lets her go. Alberto slaps her. I rise from the floor, legs shaking, moving toward him. Rage burns through me. I want to kill them all.
But before I can reach him, a hand grabs my arm and hurls me back down. I look up to see Tommaso behind me,pulling down his pants, a filthy grin stretching across his face. I scramble backward on the floor, watching in horror as he prepares to repeat what Alberto did.
He grabs my ankle and pins me beneath him.
“I can still see that anger in you.” His fists hit me, pushing me down, subjecting me to the same torment again.
Justin, Vinci, Alberto, Tommaso, and three other Camorra capos—all seven men—laugh at the cries of my mother and me. They take turns torturing us.
After the third man, we stop fighting. We just lie there—broken, bleeding. My uncles didn’t touch me, but all seven of them tortured her. Again. And again. And again.
When they finally leave hours later, I crawl to her and cover her with her torn clothes. She lies in her own blood. Her eyes are empty.
“Mama,” I sob. She doesn’t answer.
I hold her face in my small hands.
She remains still, blinking slowly, the only sign she’s alive.
The memory dissolves into darkness. Only the boy stays, staring. His eyes are lifeless.
I open my eyes. Tears are streaming down my face.
Salvario De Falco died twenty-five years ago. The dead don’t get to live. No matter how desperately they want to.
Chapter 19
Elowen
He doesn’t show at lunch, but thankfully, he comes for dinner.I’ve had the entire day to overthink our situation.
So I start as soon as he settles into his chair.
“Forget what happened in the garden.”
