Page 34 of The Devil's Den

“I’m good, kiddo. Raquel says hi.”

“Tell her I said hi too. How is sh—”

“What the hell are you two doing on the damn floor?” My father’s voice booms like a crack of lightning pouring from the sky. Robby drops the crayon from the shock of it, his eyes frozen with a frightened stare at him.

“It’s okay,” I breathe. “Come here.”

He runs into my lap as my father rushes to us. Kicking the bowl, all the crayons rapidly scatter across the floor.

“Are you trying to get this damn floor dirty, you stupid bitch?!”

He grits his teeth, his nostrils flaring as he bends his face close to mine.

“We were just drawing,” I say in a calm whisper, holding on to a trembling Robby. I wish I could take him out of this place, but how could I run away without Matteo? I can’t leave him behind. My father will definitely kill him if I do.

“Pick up that fucking shit and throw it out. There will be no more drawing. And if you”—he points a finger at Robby, who dares a look at him—“ever draw on my floor again, I’ll kill you!”

Robby bursts into tears and runs off under the table in the next room. That’s his favorite hiding spot.

My heart pounds, my entire body breaking with seething rage, the kind that makes you dizzy, blood boiling, skin tingling.

I stand up, my jaw pulsating. “You sick, pathetic excuse of a man! How dare you tell a little child that you’ll kill him? What the fuck is—”

I don’t get to finish because the next thing I know, his hand is around my throat, squeezing hard.

“You’re done. I’ll fucking ruin you.” His fingers tighten and I claw. I fight. But he’s strong. Too damn strong. My lungs burn, my throat bursting with agonizing pain. I can’t catch a breath, my eyes rolling.

“Agnelo, let her go,” Uncle Sal says. “You’re killing her.”

“Shut the fuck up, Sal!” he yells. “Do I tell you what the hell to do with your own kid?”

My uncle backs away. Asshole. That’s what they all are. Every single one of my uncles is a monster. They have to be for killing Matteo’s father, for allowing him to be imprisoned.

If Ms. Greco was here today, she’d try to stop him, not that it’d do any good. My father would only hurt her. I’m glad she’s with her family right now.

I don’t know how long he keeps me hostage to his torment, but he finally drops me to the floor like a rag doll, spitting at me before he paces back out the door.

“Robby?” I call, my chest heaving as I cough. “Come here. It’s okay.” My hand falls to my neck as I fight the ache there. “He’s gone now.”

But he doesn’t come, and that only makes me want to die.

* * *

MATTEO AGE 16

“Again!” Stan shouts as I kick the man on the ground, his face swollen so badly, you wouldn’t be able to tell if he has his eyeballs in there or not. His lip is busted up to the point that blood gushes out like a fountain.

The only good thing about being taken to the warehouse is that it gives me some time away from the chain, which is a relief, even while knowing the dirty things I’ll have to do when I’m out of it.

There’s nothing left of the man I’ll have to kill. My only purpose is to hurt the people they bring me. No questions asked. And I never have any. Not anymore.

I kick the man again and he doesn’t make a sound. “Check his pulse,” Stan tells me, and I do, leaning over, two fingers on his neck.

“It’s still there.”

“Good.” He kicks the man himself, just once. Then he removes a small flip knife from his pocket.

“Cut his fucking throat.”

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