Page 120 of Luca
I fell in love with a villain. A persistent villain.
Yet, I couldn’t find the strength to hate him. He loved our daughter. I knew he did. I saw it during those first few months of her life.
Yet, this life without him, while content, wasn’t a happy one.
The fragmented memory of the night of my father’s murder returned. I recalled every single moment until the moment I passed out next to my father’s body. I remembered why Da didn’t shoot first. He saw a boy with a gun.
I recalled that day much clearer now, and I let the memory drift to the forefront of my mind.
“What the–'' I could still see him hold his gun as he stretched out his arm. But he wasn’t shooting. My eyes darted and I saw him. A scared little boy with a grown-up weapon.
My heart ached. From fear for my da, and from seeing that gut-wrenching fear on the boy’s face.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
My father’s body tumbled down the stairs and screams tore from my lips. Thud. Thud. Thud. It went on and on, Father's big, strong body rolled down the steps forever when in fact it had to be just a few seconds.
He landed on his back, two bullets in his chest and one in his throat.
I stared frozen at the bloodstain blossoming on Da’s chest. Blood quickly pooled around him like a red sea.
He gasped, his eyes on me. Horror. Terror. Fear. I watched my Da’s strong body struggle to move, when steps echoed against the marble floor. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Every sound dulled under the buzzing in my ears.
“R-run,” he gurgled. He fought to live. Struggled to lift himself up, but his body was too weak. Then his frame fell back and I watched the life fade from his eyes.
My blood roared. Liquid dripped down my fingers and my eyes lowered to find that I dug my nails into my palms so hard I was bleeding.
A pair of black boots kicked at my father’s dead corpse.
“Good riddance,” the old man sneered.
It was then that I finally awoke from my stupor. I shifted around to run but it was too late. A hand wrapped around my neck.
“Where are you running to, little girl?” he purred, lifting me up into the air. My fingers clawed at his wrist. I gasped for air as he carried me, my feet dangling off the ground. My father’s body was right underneath me. I wanted to hug him. I wanted to save him. But he was gone.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
A cold blade pressed against my throat.
I kicked and clawed. It was then I caught a glimpse of my mother. Her face was smeared with blood, tears, and makeup. She was in a nightgown. It was the middle of the day. Why was she in a nightgown?
“Mamma,” I choked out, every syllable hurting my throat. She didn’t move.
But the little boy did. He went after the man. Why was he helping me? He shot my father and now he wanted to help me. Why?
The silver flashed through the air.
My vision dimmed. My consciousness slipped. A loud roar broke through the haze in my brain. A painful roar. It wasn’t mine.
My body fell to the cold marble, my skull hitting the stone and blackness pulled me under.
Benito didn’t kill me because a twelve-year-old boy came behind him and stabbed his father in the back. Luca was the reason I survived that day.
He saved that little five-year-old girl so many years ago, but he destroyed the woman I had become. Not because he killed my da, but because he lied to me and kept it from me.
Irony at its best.
