Page 31 of The Devil's Den

“But, Dad!” I plead. “It’s his birthday. Can you please do this for me?” Tears sting the backs of my eyes.

“Put those cupcakes in the trash.” He backs away, straightening his blazer. “I won’t repeat myself.”

“Why do you have to be so awful!” As soon as those words fall, my eyes bug out. His hand is quick as he slaps me hard across my cheek.

My teeth clench as I fight the onslaught of tears already swarming in my eyes. Panic sucks me in, my pulse throbbing heavy in my neck.

Don’t cry.

“You talk to me like that?” He grabs the bowl away with a rough tug, smashing it onto the floor as I whimper, his foot pounding over the cupcakes, again and again, the frosting running up his shoe.

“You stupid, little ungrateful bitch!” His hand finds the back of my head, snatching my hair as he yanks. “You want a damn cupcake? Go fucking eat it!”

I let out a snivel.

“Agnelo!” Ms. Greco screams. “Stop!”

He ignores her as he throws me on the floor, his shoe landing on the back of my neck as he pushes my face into the cream, bits of cake making it into my mouth.

“Eat it.” He stomps harder, my nose and my mouth covered with what I thought would be something Matteo and I would share. Instead, I suffocate on the flavor, the taste now corrupted by the man who’s supposed to protect me. But he’s always been a monster disguised as a man.

A bout of a sob falls from me, and in the background, Ms. Greco cries too, begging him to stop, to have pity on me, blaming herself.

“Hurt me, Agnelo!” she pleads. “I did this. Not her.”

He pushes me in deeper instead, a shard of the porcelain puncturing my cheek. I can feel the ache, the burn as it enters. The tears come heavier now, like the pounding of hail on the ceiling.

“I’m gonna deal with you later.” My skin comes alive with a tremor, afraid for the both of us. “You little cunts think you can do whatever the hell you want when I’m not here, huh?”

“I’m sorry,” she weeps. “I’ll never disrespect you again. It was wrong. P-please let her go. She can’t breathe.”

“Go get some rags,” he barks to her. “And both of you better make sure this mess is cleaned by the time I finish with my shower.”

He finally removes his foot from my nape and takes off both shoes, throwing them at my head. I sob as he stalks away, leaving me there like I don’t matter at all. But I never did, did I?

* * *

In his bedroom, she screams. He has her there, and I can’t do a thing about it. I wish I could stuff my ears and stop hearing it, but I can’t. I refuse to. I should listen. I should hear her suffering. It’s all my fault. Wanting to do something nice for Matteo has caused her pain—the only other person who’s ever given a damn about me.

My father’s room is right next to mine. I can hear every grunt, every cry. My insides curl and I’m ready to vomit, snatching the small garbage pail from the corner of my room and hurling into it.

Grabbing a pillow, I lower it over my face, wailing into it, my entire body shaking as I do. The small cut on my cheek throbs, but I ignore it, unable to stop from shattering.

If there was a gun in my room right now, I’d rush right into my father’s bedroom and shoot him dead. I continue to sob as she does too.

The door next to mine creaks open, then slams shut. Heavy footsteps crash across the floor, the stairs squeaking as someone goes down them. When the front door bangs shut, I know he’s finally gone.

I sit up, wanting to run in to see Ms. Greco, to make sure she’s okay, but I’m afraid. What if he comes back? What if she doesn’t want to see me after what he did to her?

A wave of nausea impales me again, but I manage to keep it down this time. How could he do that to her? To anyone? Why do I still wonder? How could my mom ever love him? Why would she have a baby with someone so awful? I don’t doubt he treated her badly too.

Maybe she got the easier end of the deal. She’s gone, not having to deal with his cruelty, while I’m here, endlessly tormented, wondering when it’ll all stop.

Minutes trickle by, until a whole thirty minutes have passed. I’ve been tracking it on the clock on my wall. There’s a soft knock on my door and I instantly jump off my bed, knowing it’s her.

My hand on the doorknob, I pull it open. When I see her, my bottom lip trembles, and hers does too. Mascara runs down from her lower lashes, past her cheeks, her eyes glossy, her hair matted. Instantly, my arms come around her, and I hug her tightly to me as she cries.

* * *

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