Page 35 of Rotten Men

It’s one thing hearing about their transformation from my mother’s benevolent lips; it’s entirely different witnessing it with my own destitute eyes.

And what does it say about me, that even though they are the reason behind so many cold-blooded murders and atrocious crimes, I feel nothing for those whom they have trespassed against? I don’t have one ounce of compassion for the plight of those unknown faces. I am completely unrepentant in my concern for only the souls of the three men who cause such destruction. Regardless of their hideous acts, they still have my heart and always will.

I look around the depressing motel room and feel suffocated being confined within its ugly walls. I need to breathe fresh air and seek solace beside someone who understands what I’m going through and doesn’t think ill of me for it.

Only one person comes to mind—the one I could never abandon, and in turn, could never forsake me.

I pass the cemetery gates and keep my eyes peeled to my surroundings. I usually prefer to come here early in the morning when there is less of a chance of running into other mourners, but today I’ll just have to rely on the setting sun and the late hour to conceal my visit. I walk the familiar path to my mother’s grave when I catch a recognizable form kneeling beside a tombstone—one that I desperately try to avoid, too ashamed to even face his final resting place because of the part that I unknowingly held in his untimely death.

I hide behind one of the various maple trees surrounding the turf-grassed area, and steady my breath while watching Vincent converse with his departed cousin. It’s difficult to make out his words, but a small flicker of hope ignites inside me when I see him offer a tiny smirk with his heart-filled words.

It’s as close to smiling as I’ve seen on him since my return, although he never was one to share those frequently in the past either. Growing up, I used to think that Vincent’s smiles were as rare and beautiful as shooting stars. They didn’t occur often, but when they did, they lit up the sky with their beauty—so stunningly exquisite that you’d forget to breathe when beholding such wonder. My chest tightens within my ribcage, melancholy taking ahold of me when I think about how those precious grins must have died the minute Pietro perished in my arms. And when I left, I made sure he never found a reason to smile ever again.

My back stiffens as Vincent stands and says his goodbyes to the family that no longer exists. Every last Romano lies here waiting for the day Vincent will join them. I grind my teeth and inwardly growl menacingly at them. If I have my way, they will wait an eternity to get their hands on another Romano.

Except for Ciro—that one the dead can have.

I push the evil name away from my thoughts while I watch Vincent turn his back on his family’s plot and walk up to the grave I intended to visit. He kneels on the snow-covered ground before my mother’s tombstone and whispers something to her I wish I was privy to. He stays at her side for a full ten minutes, continuing on with his secret conversation. He finally stands with his head bowed and leaves a parting gift for her that I’m unable to see properly from my hiding place. His long black coat hides his wet knees but not his distinguished form.

Before I can stop myself, I stand before him, halting his exit. His saddened, hazel eyes, turn to cold slits at my appearance.

“I see you’re still here,” he sneers, scouting the cemetery to make sure we’re not being watched.

I shrug off his remark and bridge the gap between us instead, getting as close to him as he allows. I hear his intake of breath, not comfortable with our proximity, but right now I need to look into his eyes and see the truth embedded in them.

“Why do you come here?” I hush softly, waving the white flag of truce; even if it’s only while we stand on this sacred ground.

“To pay my respects,” he answers sternly.

“Why pay respect to my mother, though? She was no one to you,” I continue, searching his handsome, sullen features to their full extent.

“That’s not true,” he relents, breaking eye contact and looking above my head into the distance.

I place my gloved hand on his cheek and bring his attention back to me. I feel him flinch with the unexpected contact, making me yearn to hold him and never let go. But this one touch is all the bravery I can muster when it comes to Vincent. I’ll fall apart at his feet if I try to embrace him, only to have him reject me.

“Tell me the real reason why you come,” I whisper, my eyes locked on his. There is a small softness to them that begs to come out, and I take one step closer, breathing in his ingrained grief and lament.

“Because no one else does,” he says at last.

“And?” I plead further.

“And because I failed her,” he admits somberly.

“Everyone failed her, Vincent,” I reply, stroking his cheek softly, relishing that he’s letting me do so, but hating that his skin can’t feel my warm touch through the leather glove.

“The Outfit should have done something,” he murmurs beneath his breath, his eyes losing the flicker of tenderness, only to be replaced with the hate he is determined to feed.

“You can still do something about it. You don’t have to let her life of suffering be in vain. There are other women in the same predicament who need someone to intervene. You have the power to inflict change, Vincent. Be better than your predecessors. Only you have the power to break the cycle.”

He takes a step back as if injured by my proclamation, pulling away from the small contact I wanted to preserve.

“It might have been easy for you to break away fromfamigliatradition. But to most of us, it isn’t that simple. We live by the syndicate code of honor and die by it, too.”

“What honor is there in turning a blind eye to an abusive husband and father who torments his family? Or having young, innocent boys kill as part of their initiation? Tell me, Vincent, where is the honor in selling a young girl off into wedlock to someone she doesn’t love?” I try to reason with him.

His eyes ice over, and the veil of animosity and rancor rises back to its full, ugly glory.

“If I recall correctly, you ran away from such a fate. Forgive me if I don’t congratulate you on your nuptials. While you were marrying the man of your dreams, we were left here picking up the pieces of your treachery and destruction.”

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