Page 1 of Little Sparrow

Chapter one

Dante

Calabria, Italy

“Doit,”myfatherdemands, as he presses the bloodied knife into the palm of my hand. I shake my head but slowly curl my fingers around that smooth handle. The dim lighting causes misshapen shadows against the walls as I turn to face her. I watch the blonde woman tied up on the metal chair struggle with the chains binding her wrists and ankles, attaching her to the dirty floor. Blood pools beneath her feet from the multiple wounds he had already inflicted.

I’ve been outside the basement door many times over the last few years, listening to the screams of others in their own torture as my father extracts what he wants. Now that I’m eighteen, he expects me to join him. My father had me trained on how to fight, use a gun, and make and maintain connections, gaining the skills throughout the years for when I would need to take over as boss. However, I never wanted to turn into him. I’m not cold like him. He believes I must follow in his footsteps as the only heir to his fortune. But this is the first person I’ve actually had to hurt, and it’s a woman. My father is looking for a weapon, and this woman is the one who created it. She is the only one who knows where it’s hidden, and he is determined to find it, no matter the cost.

He knows I’m hesitating when I don’t move toward her. My feet are heavy, cementing me to the ground.

My eyes widen slightly as I feel the cold barrel of a gun pressing against the back of my head. My face stays blank, not wanting to anger my father on my kill. A click echoes as he pulls back the hammer on his revolver, and sweat forms on my temple as he is forcing me to do as he wants. I know he will punish me if I don’t. I step toward her.

The woman has tears streaming down her face as she realises that now I have no choice. This is the moment she will tell us or die while I cut her open, along with her multiple wounds.

An apology passes my lips, but I can’t voice the word as the blade slices into the skin of her finger. A deep red slowly pours out of her as I hit bone and keep forcing it into her. She thrashes, trying to pull her arms away from me while the chains rattle louder than her whimpers. Her jaw clenches as though she’s trying to hide her pain.

I hate every flinch when she screams as she writhes in agony, but my father keeps telling me it’s in my blood to do this. He had already severed both of her Achilles tendons, so she can’t escape if the chains came undone. I know she has been down here for a while. My father notices that my head drifts to them. “It’s okay. She will heal.” He pushes the barrel harder into my head.

“Tell us where it is. You know it will be mine eventually,” he shouts, wanting to have the best arsenal in the country. Spit flies from his mouth, the warm droplets hitting the back of my neck. She violently thrashes her head, telling us no.

I grip her face and look deep into her eyes, silently pleading with her. However, the set of her jaw and lifting of her chin tells me she won’t reveal it to us. A wave of relief settles over me. She would rather die than let him get a hold of it. I still love my father, but I’ll never be like him. I can’t let him get this. It’s too dangerous for the world. Especially if he needs to torture information out of someone. If we find it, I will destroy it so that he won’t be able to wield it.

I’m brought back from my thoughts as deep red blood spreads across the floor and onto my shoes. She bites her lip from the pain of her wounds as I press the knife into her arm. The gun keeps pushing against the back of my head, urging me to carry on. I need to shut myself down and end this quickly.

“Tell us where Project Sparrow is,” I grind out with more feigned anger in my tone, but my furrowed brows are asking for her silence. My voice sounds nothing like me anymore.I just need to end this.

She spits at me, “You will never know, no matter what you do to me,” she laughs hysterically without humour. My father’s voice whispers in my ear what needs to be done. I close my eyes as I move the knife closer to her stomach, hiding the slight trembles. She will be my first kill. Opening my eyes, I know I need to detach myself from this moment, all the things I wish I could do instead, such as sailing on my father’s boat and swimming. The way the water glides along my skin as I push myself forward in the ocean. The peace underneath as I dive further down.

As I push through the muscle, the blade sinks into her abdomen and is harder than I expected. The blood slowly flows out onto my hand as the knife goes deep. The woman makes a strangled sound as her teeth clench. I can’t watch her. I’m still staring at the knife as my father reaches around, gripping his hand over mine and twisting it sideways, the flesh tearing at the movement. Eventually, the woman stops moving and making noise. My first kill. It’s over. I feel sick. My father won’t let this be the last. Finally, I let go, leaving the blade inside her.

“Well done. Shame we didn’t get the answer we needed, but we will find another way.” My father presses his lips together and shakes his head. I’m not entirely sure if he’s disappointed because he thinks I was not forceful enough with her.

I need to leave. The blood drying on my hands is making them sticky—a shower. I’m desperate for a shower and ascend the creaky wooden stairs. I wish I never took part. Before I grip the door handle, I scrub my hands against my shirt. Our housekeeper Maria despises cleaning up the blood in the main house. She constantly mumbles that it sinks deep and stains the carpets.

When I leave the basement, I bump into my mother. They do not include her in what my father does, and she never wanted me involved. Her face pales as she sees me, knowing what I’ve done. I’m turning into the monster my father wanted. Her eyes shine, and I can’t look at her. The guilt eats me up. My feet carry me across the foyer and up the large curving staircase until I reach my room. I ignore the smiling family portrait. A true loving father would never force his son to kill someone for personal gain. Sometimes I think he only wanted a son because he needed someone to keep our line going instead of passing businesses to his cousins. He wants to squash any part of me that cares for people. I have more of my mother’s genes in me than he would have liked. I try to please him by including myself in the business, but I’m not cut out for the most violent parts.

My door slams shut as I make it to my private bathroom. After I turn the dial on the shower, a wave of nausea washes over me. Clutching my stomach, I dash to the toilet and throw up my lunch, the Bolognese sauce that reminds me of the blood that will forever be on my hands. My knees go numb on the cold tiles as I stay there until nothing else comes up. The metallic smell still covers me, filling my nose. I imprint her pale face in my mind. I will never forget today.

Once the room fills with steam and I can no longer see myself in the mirror when I stand, I get in the shower fully clothed. The hot water tries to wash away my sins. The blood will stain my clothes. I’m watching the red swirling around before disappearing down the drain, trying to imagine my new sin running down with it to ease some of the guilt. After the water runs clear, I stay there for a long time. I’m still there when my mother drags me out of the trance I’m in. with one of my towels. I look up at her, her eyebrows furrowing as she watches me.

She throws her arms around me and lowers her voice. “I was knocking for ten minutes, and you were silent. Try not to worry. I will get us out of here. Just give me some time to figure out what to do. I can’t let you turn into him,” her voice flows easily in the room. Even though I’m taller than her, my mother’s small voice carries to me. I look at her, eyes shining. She knows making secret plans is dangerous and my father will kill her, but she wants to keep me safe, not to let him push me further into someone unrecognisable.

Her breathing is heavy, and her eyes are wide. Is she prepared to take a huge risk to protect me from becoming like my father?

“She’s dead. I didn’t want to kill her,” I croak.

“I know you didn’t,Figlio mio. When you came out, I could see it on your face. Pretend everything is as normal as possible while with him in the next few days. We can’t give ourselves away.” She wipes the dark, wet hair clinging to my forehead, waiting for my response. I can only nod. Relief fills her face as she lets out a hard breath.

She grips the door handle and inhales sharply. “Be prepared,” she says before rushing out silently, closing the door until I hear a soft click. I still feel like I have blood all over me, so I strip down and shower for the second time in the hot water and scrub my skin until there is no trace of that woman's blood left.

I pack as she asks and put my small bag back inside the walk-in wardrobe, behind a set of drawers where the housekeeper won’t look. My hands twitch towards the gun safe near the back, and I quietly turn the dial, knowing I’ll need everything inside as I slip them into the bag's side pocket and zip it back up. Especially if he wakes or finds us when we leave. He has connections all over the cities. It makes finding and capturing anyone he wants easier as long as my father can do something in return. From what I know, he keeps those deals.

Supper goes by slowly, and my father’s frustration is heavy in the room. He eventually throws his knives and forks, and they clatter in front of him on the dark oak dining table. He shakes his head and sighs heavily. “We will try again soon. I want the sparrow.” I notice when my father talks, my mother fake smiles and nods at exactly the right time. It seems rehearsed.How could I not have noticed this before?

It’s not long into the evening before my father passes out in bed from drinking two bottles of his favourite wine,Benanti Etna Bianco.My mother feigns being tired to our staff and lets them leave early for the night. Fortunately, they don’t question her. They have been with us for twenty years, and the routine has always been the same. Our housekeeper, Maria, looks at my mother for a moment too long with suspicious eyes. She’s never trusted my mother like the others. “Torno domani alle sei del mattino” I’ll be back tomorrow at six am.

I lay on my large bed and force myself to sleep, knowing I’ll need the energy to plan everything with my mother, but my dreams are full of nightmares.

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