Page 66 of His Dark Vendetta

I pulled and pulled, but the collar squeezed tighter and tighter. It cut off my air. Darkness clouded my vision. The casket started to fade.

I yanked on my collar. Hard. “No! Take me back! Papà!”

“It’s time to go, Luca.” Mamma Gina squeezed my hand as tightly as the collar around my neck.

“Nooo! Not yet!”

Vinnie’s face materialized through the darkness, and the cold steel of the Bowie knife returned in a burst of agony. Blood covered its sharp edge and streamed down my face, a surging river of red. He released my hair, and I collapsed. He pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the blade clean.

I heaved and thrashed. Blood poured from my empty eye socket into a pool on the cold concrete.

Or was it a bed?

Blood covered a rumpled nightgown. My mother lay atop the sheets, hands folded across her unmoving chest, her beautiful face pale and lifeless.

A newborn wailed, cutting through the blood’s silent swell. My father stepped into view, shirtsleeves rolled up, his forearms and the baby he held stained red with my mother’s sacrifice.

“I named him Luca.” My father’s voice cracked, and the crimson pool consumed the bed. “I named him after you, my beautiful Lucia. Vivrà per te.”

Blood crept up her body and surrounded her face.

“No,” I said to my father. “No, I want to see her.”

He looked at me, eyes as red as the rising tide. “She died for you, Luca.”

Blood filled the room. It passed his waist.

“No!” I shouted.

He held the newborn baby out of its reach.

“She died because of you,” he said.

Until it enveloped him too.

“Luca.” My father’s voice faded, distant and muffled.

“Nooo!” I screamed.

“Luca.”

“Don’t go!”

“Luca!”

My eyes snapped open, and my arm shot out. I clamped my fingers around the intruder’s neck.

Thin fingers with pointed nails tapped the edges of my hand. “Luca.”

The same voice had called out in my nightmare.

“It’s me. It’s Siobhán.”

My eyes focused.

“Luca, you’re hurting me.”

“Siobhán?” I loosened my grip and searched the darkness.

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