Page 8 of Death Of A Sinner

“Liar. The bathroom isn’t through that door,” Giovanni says while pushing out of bed.

“No… I know… I just… I got confused,” I stutter. My heart picks up speed. I know there is no escaping his wrath. If he chooses to lash out at me, then I can’t stop him. That’s something I’ve come to accept.

It’s a small price to pay to be with my boys. I can’t leave them. They need me.I need them.All the beatings, the abuse… it’s a small price to pay to have my children.

“You got confused? You’re doing that a lot lately, Mary,” Giovanni says. His steps are slow, measured, until he reaches me.

My back presses up against the wall. “I… I was up late with Vin. He wouldn’t settle.”

Something runs through my husband’s head. Something unsettles him. I see the darkness wash over his eyes. Something I said really pissed him off. I try to recall my words, figure out what it was that set him off this time.

Before I can do that, his hand swipes out. Connecting with my cheek, then quickly wrapping around my throat. “It’s your fault, Mary. You spoil the kid. You reap what you sow.”

“He’s…” My voice cuts off as Giovanni squeezes harder.

“Your fault,” he sneers at me.

I try to nod my head. Because it’s always better to agree with him. I used to try to argue, to reason even. I quickly learnt that it was pointless. It doesn’t matter what I say. My husband is never wrong, and that is final.

“You have nannies. Have them take care of him from now on. You’re not to be up late,” Giovanni says, releasing some of the pressure he has on my throat.

“Okay,” I agree again, because what other choice do I have?

Giovanni lets go of me and I fall to the ground, gasping for air. The door slams closed behind him when he walks into the bathroom.

I’ve thought about leaving. What that would look like. He’d never let me, though. And even if I tried, I doubt I’d get far.

My husband has eyes and ears all over this city. He has me followed 24/7. And the guards, they’re loyal to him. I’ve never been brave enough to test if any of them would help me. I know it would be pointless.

Then there’s the fact that Giovanni would never let the boys go. He’s breeding an army. Blood loyalty. He told me once in a drunken rampage that he needed more sons because sons would be loyal to him and him alone.

I pray that my boys grow up to be decent men. Whatever they end up having to do for my husband, for this family, I pray that they will know love. That they won’t lose their minds and become like their father. And the only way I can guarantee that is by sticking around. I need to stay.

I need to endure all of this, so that my boys can grow up knowing love. I have enough of it inside me for all of them. If I’m the only person to ever show them love, it will be enough. Because I love them more than myself, more than I ever thought possible.

I push to my feet, walk over to the bed, and start the process of making it. We have maids, but they’re not allowed in this room. This room is my responsibility. I have to take care of it. It’s Giovanni sanctuary. Honestly, at this point, I’m surprised I’m still allowed in here. It’s not like he needs me for anything. I’m not stupid. I know my husband’s desires are met elsewhere. The only time he seeks me out is when he’s decided it’s time for another child.

ChapterSeven

Present

“You’re running out of space,” Marcus says, shaking his head.

“There’s plenty of space, asshole.” I point to a spot on my right shoulder. “I want it here.”

“And why the broken chain? What’s it mean?” he asks.

Some of the tattoos that cover my body don’t mean shit. They’re just art. Things that I like. But there are more recent ones that have so much more meaning. Like my Eiffel Tower tattoo, or the triple nines that match the design on Cammi’s wrist.

“The broken chain symbolises breaking the curse,” I tell him. I’ve never really bought into Marcel’s claims that our family is cursed. I guess I don’t want to take any chances either, though.

I would never put my wife at risk, and the women who get involved with our family end up cursed. I’m not letting that shit touch Cammi. I will do anything to protect her, going to whatever lengths I can to break it.

“Curse? I thought you didn’t believe in that shit,” Marcus says, while drawing up the stencil for me.

“I don’t. But I also don’t believe in God. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t go to church and pray if it meant keeping Cammi safe,” I tell him. I did pray. When she collapsed, when her heart stopped beating right in front of me, I prayed.

Did that happen to her because of the curse? Possibly. I know it was my fault she experienced so much emotional trauma that her heart gave up on beating. I will live with that knowledge for the rest of my life. I will also spend the rest of our lives doing everything I can to make sure it doesn’t happen ever again.

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