Page 63 of Relentless Oath

Going fishing with him had seemed like a cool and fun activity. Mom was gone, and I felt as if there was a hole in my heart that was killing me each day.

I had needed someone to cling to, someone to let me know it was okay. I had thought I had found that person in Matteo.

My father, I already knew, was an abusive prick. Mom had told me so, but had used stronger words than that.

I remembered she had called him a violent, abusive asshole. I remembered her shouting the words at his face. I also remembered her body hitting the floor after he punched her in the face.

I remembered running over to defend her and him picking me up like I weighed nothing. He had thrown me against the wall.

I remember her screaming, roaring like a fierce lioness, and springing toward him, yelling obscenities as she clawed at his face.

And I remember him throwing her off of him, and the sickening sound of her skull hitting the wall hard.

Her body had crumpled then, hitting the floor with a thud. Someone was screaming, crying out, and that someone had been me.

I tried to get to her, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate. I screamed for my body to move, but it didn’t. Every fiber of my being wanted to rush to her to make sure she was okay, but nothing happened.

I watched, almost catatonic, as he stood over her. He treated her as if she was a dog, nudging her with his foot. When she didn’t move, he nudged her again harder.

She shifted, painfully, but she was alive. And like the monster he was, he walked away, leaving her there, crumpled and in pain.

My legs seemed to work again abruptly, and I felt like a ghost drifting across the room as I crossed the room and kneeled by her side.

“Mom,” I said, unable to think of anything else to say. “Mom…Mom?” I grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

Her face began to blur, and I realized there were tears in my eyes.

I blinked them away and squeezed her hand harder.

“Mom?” Her lips moved and she softly said my name, as if it was a struggle to just breathe.

“I’m okay,” she said, opening her eyes slowly and trying to sit up.

I helped her as best as I could, and together, we sat up against the wall.

“We have to get out of here, Mom. We have to run, somewhere far, somewhere he can’t find us.”

I remember a tear escaping and falling down her cheek. I watched it, my heart in my throat.

“Maybe, son. Maybe. But right now, I’m just really tired.” She closed her eyes then.

A few months after that, they found her body at the bottom of the cliffs. Suicide, they had said. To this day, I wasn’t sure what I believed.

My mind focused on Matteo again. His betrayal that day—I hadn’t seen coming. He knew the rocks were unstable, he knew the river current was strong, that one wrong step would send me crashing into the river below, and yet, he encouraged me to get closer.

I saw his face. He hadn’t been surprised when I lost my footing due to the unstable rocks beneath me and found myself in a river unable to tell if I were swimming up or down. The current kept dragging me under.

It was the monster, my father, who had pulled me out.

I would never forget the look of hate that Matteo had in his eyes when our father dropped me on the shore. I was gasping for breath, angry. I leaped onto Matteo, bloodying his nose, screaming in blind rage.

My father had pulled me off of him and had only laughed. “Save that rage for another day, Dario. You’re family.”

He was okay with us beating each other to a bloody pulp when he wanted to be entertained. That was my father—a psychopath with whims no one could explain.

I learned a lot that day. I learned that my brother hated me. I learned that I was my father’s pawn. And I learned what it felt like to know only hate.

That feeling was my companion as I slid out of the car and approached my brother, who waited for me, one man on each side of him.

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