Page 33 of Scar

Now, as I navigate the complex landscape of my marriage to Allegra, these old wounds resurface. Allegra, who was once just a pawn in my game of revenge, has become so much more. Her vulnerability and strength draw me in, making me question my own motives and the path I’ve chosen. The love and loyaltyshe inspires in her family only highlight the void in my own life, the absence of that kind of connection with my own mother.

At dinner, there’s a strained politeness as the night progresses. Donna Marone has spared no expense in delivering a meal worthy of a Michelin star restaurant. Allegra leans into me and tells me her mother made everything from scratch. My eyebrows must hit my hairline as I almost choke on my food and Allegra tries to hide her giggle. I’m reminded that although there exists a complex web of family dynamics between us, the Marones are just as much human as we are. With their own human strengths and frailties. Their own traditions and loyalties. Much of which we share. But there’s no way Donna Marone cooked all this magnificence up herself.

“It’s her hobby,” Allegra argues when I scoff and voice my doubts. “That’s why she invited you to dinner; cooking is her forte.”

I’m unconvinced as I look toward Donna Marone, and she smiles and gives a small nod. Judging by the way my brothers are devouring their food, they also think it’s pretty amazing.

“Even the pasta?” Rafi asks, shoving more penne into his mouth.

“Even the pasta,” Donna Marone replies. “The sauce. I baked the bread for the bruschetta also.”

“Told you,” Allegra winks like a bratty child and gives me a knowing smirk.

Lucky shakes his head and tells the room it’s a damn shame that my mother-in-law doesn’t have her own restaurant. The woman preens and continues to eat, obviously proud that she’s outdone herself as we continue to devour her food.

The sweet taste of dessert on our tongues is abruptly interrupted by a resounding thud that cuts through the tense stillness of the night. A sharp crack pierces the air, followed by the sound of shattering glass, fracturing the fragile tranquility that once enveloped us. Reacting instinctively, I push Allegra off her chair with a forceful shove, causing her to hit the floor with a gasp escaping from her lips.

“Stay low,” I whisper fiercely, swiftly flipping a nearby chair over her for cover. She nods in understanding, her expression a mix of fear and steely resolve.

The cacophony of gunfire intensifies, bullets whizzing past us, finding their mark in walls and furniture alike. The acrid stench of gunpowder hangs thick in the air as I grip my weapon tightly, its cold steel providing a sense of reassurance as I crawl towards my brothers, surveying the darkness beyond the shattered glass door.

Brando and Lucky are engaging the assailants through the remnants of the patio door, returning fire with unwavering determination. The jagged frame and gaping hole left by the shattered glass serve as both barrier and vantage point for our foes. Nearby, Rafi lies prone on the floor, his focus unyielding as he takes aim with precision and fires.

The night is heavy with the smell of danger and daring as each shot echoes like a somber drum, marking the cadence of our impromptu battle. Through the chaos, I spot movement in the periphery; the shadowy figures darting through the underbrush on the edge of the lawn, using the darkness as their ally.

“Incoming!” I shout over the deafening noise, my eyes flicking between the fight outside and my brothers.

But as the word leaves my mouth, gunfire erupts from a new direction, catching us off-guard. A bullet whizzes dangerously close, grazing my shoulder and sending me backinto a nearby wall with a sharp jolt of pain racing through my body.

“Just peachy,” Brando grunts, reloading quickly, his movements efficient and practiced.

Lucky gives a quick nod, his usual cheeky disposition replaced with a deadly seriousness. “Cover me,” he calls out, and Rafi shifts his aim to provide him with the necessary cover.

I turn my focus to the patio, where the gunmen continue their relentless assault. Someone is trying to kill one or more of us tonight. With no shortage of enemies, there’s no telling who it is. But what I do know is that when I catch up with this demon, there’ll be no reprieve for him.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, the gunfire a relentless symphony of destruction. Finally, the assault begins to wane. The attackers retreat, their figures disappearing into the night, leaving behind a trail of chaos and shattered glass.

Breathing heavily, I scan the room. “Everyone okay?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

Brando and Lucky exchange glances, then nod. Rafi gives a thumbs-up, a grim smile playing on his lips.

I rush back to Allegra, who's still crouched behind the chair I overturned. “Are you hurt?” I ask, my voice softening as I crouch beside her.

She shakes her head, her eyes wide and glassy. “No, just...where’s my mother?”

I look around the room until I find Donna Marone leaning against a wall, a trail of blood seeping out of her shoulder, staining her beige shirt. She’s barely lucid but gives me a tight smile of reassurance before she turns her head in the direction of the door.

“Pietro,” she whispers.

Don Marone. I rush through the house until I’m in his makeshift room, looking at the man as he lays in the same position we left him.

“Papa!”

Allegra comes screaming through the room; I grab and hold her tight before she crashes into him.

“Shhh Allegra. He’s fine. He’s just sleeping.”

My wife falls to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably, the events of the past few minutes taking their toll on her.

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