Page 61 of Beautiful Desire

I pad across the hardwood floor as quietly as I can as I make my way to the heavy metal door. I’m almost there when I hear a scream that shoots through my entire body. It’s Alessio’s hurt scream. I would recognize that sound anywhere.

My feet have a mind of their own, and before I know it, I’ve opened the door to the cellar, and I’m halfway down the cement stairs when I hear a whooshing noise and Alessio holler before his voice breaks the silence.

“No, please, Papa. Don’t make me do this.”

Not wanting to make myself known, I tiptoe down the rest of the steps until I come to an opening. Thankfully, the stairs are dark and there aren’t any lights to illuminate them, so I can stay hidden in the shadows. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up when I see the scene before me, and I have to put my hand over my mouth to drown out any noise.

There’s a beat-up man covered in bruises and blood gagged and tied to a chair in the middle of the room, and my father’s men stand behind him forming a semi-circle. This man looks sick and like he might pass out. But what has me so upset is my brother kneeling on the cold cement floor, crying, with his head facing the ground, giving me a clear view of his backside. His back is covered in long slashes and bleeding profusely. My father is standing next to him, holding a black whip with blood dripping from the end.

Before I can do anything, Papa raises the whip and slams it downhardon Alessio’s back, causing more blood to seep from his wounds.

“Ahh! No more, Papa! Please!”

“You know what you have to do to make it stop, son.”

Something shiny on the floor next to my brother catches my eye at the same time my father kicks that object closer to Alessio’s left hand. It’s only when the light catches it that I see what it is: a gun.

Sobbing, Alessio tries one last time to get my father to change his mind, but all that does is land another blow to his already beaten and bloody back. Barely able to pull himself up off the ground, Alessio reaches for the gun and aims it at the man tied to the chair in front of him. His hand is shaking so bad, some of the foot soldiers move out of the way.

Before he pulls the trigger, he looks the beaten man in the eyes and says through his tears, “I’m sorry.”

All that’s heard is the sound of the gunshot, followed by a chorus of clapping and cheering.

Alessio drops the gun and starts violently crying on the floor as my father says, “I knew you had it in you.”

Feeling like I might be sick after witnessing my brother killing a man, I run up the stairs as fast as I can. I need to get away from the celebration going on in the cellar. Not watching where I’m going, I nearly trip on the last step up onto the main floor.

Not wanting to draw any attention to myself or the fact that I saw what happened down there, I shut the door and quickly run to the stairs and up to my room, slamming the door shut behind me before I burst out in tears.

* * *

Gagging noises bring me back to the present, and before I can process what’s happening, I feel hot liquid on my shoes. Realizing what it is, I move back while Massimo continues to vomit in the dark. I know how he feels, because that was me all last night.

After a couple of minutes, he stops. I hear him spitting and muttering something to himself while he tries to rid his mouth of the awful taste.

I give him as much time as he needs to collect himself and his thoughts. I just spilled some heavy shit on him, and I know when he’s ready, he’ll speak.

The silence is almost deafening. I used to love the quiet, but not anymore. All it does is bring on the horrid memories of a night I so badly wish didn’t exist.

“Dio mio!” I hear Mass say. “Cazzo, fratello.”My God! Fuck, brother.“What are you going to do?”

I’ve been asking myself that same question all night. Obviously, I can’t let it be known I was witness to what happened last night. Sneaking around and eavesdropping is not something you want Giuliano Bianchi to catch you doing. Son or no son, the consequences will be the same.

I need to figure out how to live with this without wanting to vomit every time I think about it. And how I’ll look my father and brother in the eyes again after what transpired. It’s the only way. But it doesn’t mean I have to accept the same fate.

“We leave,” I say, finally voicing the only option that makes sense and keeps me away from this lifestyle.

I can’t be a part of a family that makes its sixteen-year-old sons kill someone and cheers once it’s done.

“Leave? Like now? We’re only fourteen! Where would we go? We’re still in school, and I don’t have any money. I can’t leave my mom, Art—”

Cutting him off, I say, “Not now, Mass. When we’re older. I get an allowance from my papa every month. I’ll just save what he gives me, so I have enough for usandyour mom to leave this shithole behind.”

“You really mean that?” he asks, emotion heavy in his voice.

“Of course. You’re my brother. I’ll always have your back. In a couple of years, when I’ve saved up enough, we’re out of here. You in?”

I can hear the wheels turning in his head as he processes what I just said. Despite him always having a smile on his face and acting like getting picked on doesn’t bother him, I know it does. If he had it his way, he would leave today and never look back. Make a name for himself, something other than “figlio bastardo.”

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