Page 14 of Isle of Pain

On the third day, I knock softly on her door and she opens, falling into my arms and whispering how scared she is, once more. I’ve lost count how many times she’s said it these past few months but I hold onto her and squeeze her body to mine, lending her what little is left of my strength. I let her go reluctantly so she can change into a fresh pair of pyjamas.

Our mother chooses this very moment to barge inside our bedroom without knocking. “Picculina, you have to eat, or see a doctor,” she says before gasping loudly.

The tray of food clatters to the floor. The carrot soup spreads all over the soft pink carpet in a mess of orange and greens, the cutlery ending up under the bed. Wide-eyed, Colomba Moretti watches her daughter’s body with a mix of awe, confusion and pain. Lisa’s body, which is on display in her underwear as she pulls on the soft cotton pyjama pants.

“What… What is this?” our mother asks as she gestures to my sister and I step in front of her protectively.

“Ever heard of knocking?”

“Marie Louisa Annabelle Moretti, don’t give me that fucking look!”

My mother never swears. She’s dainty and the perfect image of a mafia wife with dark long straight hair always perfectly coiffed and a wardrobe that would have made Jackie Kennedy jealous. Right now, her eyes are wild and promise retribution.

I look behind my shoulder. Lisa is fully dressed and gives me a curt nod, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

I step aside.

My mother’s eyes move from Lisa’s belly to her face and back down again. “You’re pregnant?” she asks as if it wasn’t obvious.

Lisa nods, her throat working over words, her voice, usually so loud in the house reduced to nothing.

Tears spring from the corner of my mother’s eyes and her lips turn down, a slight tremor animating them before she takes a deep inhale.

She doesn’t speak and time stretches. We’re floating between this reality and the next. And it will change everything. No matter what we did, our parents protected us. They always have. This is a major shift within the family. By keeping Lisa’s pregnancy a secret, we broke their trust but it’s nothing compared to the other secret we harbour.

The thought of revealing Lisa’s truths makes me want to vomit and I need something to keep it down. I excuse myself to our bathroom and pull two mini bottles of vodka from underneath the sink. I down them one after the other without thought. My throat burns and my eyes water with the strength of the liquor making my organs lit on fire. When it settles in my stomach, I still feel nauseous but I know I’ll feel better in a moment. That reassurance gives me the courage to face the situation outside.

When I come out, Lisa and my mother are locked in a tight embrace, like none of them want to let go first. I didn’t spray my mouth with menthol so I don’t join even though my muscles burn with envy. I’m not jealous of my sister but I wish my mother would embrace me this tight, would make me feel like everything is going to be okay.

“Are you okay?” I ask Lisa in a hushed tone as they separate.

“Yeah. Please don’t tell Daddy,” she tells my mother, pleading with her hands encompassing our mother’s frail ones.

“I can’t do that, baby. I have to tell him.”

“But he’ll kill Hugo!”

“What’s going on?” Lana’s voice raises from the corridor a few seconds before she comes in, the open door an invitation to step in. “What are you?—”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, her eyes widening to saucers as she takes in Lisa’s belly under the cotton bra she now wears to bed. She likes to have her growing stomach uncovered while she sleeps so she can always touch the place where she grows her child. It’s endearing. And now, a fucking nightmare.

“I’m going to kill him myself,” Lana seethes, already connecting the dots as to who is partially responsible for what is right in front of her.

“No, Lana, please,” Lisa pleads, almost dropping to her knees but I stop her and hold her back to my front, trying to give her comfort. “The stress isn’t good for her,” I whisper in her ear and she quiets down, still breathing heavily but trying to regulate with deep intake of breaths.

“He signed his death warrant the moment he abandoned his post. I didn't go after him because I have bigger fish to fry but now that I know why he did? He better count his hours.”

She leaves, lifting her phone to her ear, probably calling her husband and Head of Security. Lisandru has a knack for finding people. Hugo’s funeral will be soon.

Our mother kisses Lisa’s tear-stained cheek and leaves, closing the door behind her.

I’m left alone with my grieving sister, whom I can’t even grieve for yet.

8

NICO

MISS MARIE

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