Page 111 of Made to Sin

I shook my head and stopped stalling. Placing the glass down to avoid any mishaps, I tucked my legs under me and started with the story.

“Um, I freaked out because…”

My throat threatened to close, unsure if I wanted the memories to resurface. I swallowed the resistance. It felt wrong not to explain what I made him witness.

My hands curled and uncurled in my lap to facilitate my breathing. “Uh… well, for context, my Mamma suffered a similar fate as me with her abusive husband— my Papà. Whenever he would get drunk, he would beat her. And I guess she had enough of it because one night, she woke me in the middle of the night to tell me she loved me. It was the last time I saw her before…”

Slow tears escaped my eyes as the night flashed before my eyes. I sucked in a pained breath to hold them in as much as I could.

Luciano rested a large hand over my knee, rubbing tiny circles as a way to silently comfort me.

“Before she ran away. But you know what they say, to leave theCosa Nostrawas to submit yourself to suicide. I didn’t hear anything from her for three days, thought that she had forgotten to come back and get me like she promised. Never did I think my strong Mamma would show up dead on the front doorstep a mere few hours later.”

I held a finger up when he was going to speak. If I didn’t say it all now, I never would finish.

“That’s not even the worst part yet. You would think my Papà would give her a funeral or something out of respect for their past love, but no. He burned her body alongside the rest of her items in abonfire in our backyard. To this day, I have no grave to visit her by. The only reminders of her are in the box.”

I ran my hand over the top of the wood, too scared to open it again. Clearly, I wasn’t ready to face reality yet. Marco’s death was like killing a dead fly, I moved on within a second. With Mamma’s, no amount of time in the world could patch the wounds she left.

“Did you see something bad inside?”

I nodded. “Mamma had a set of jewelry that she cherished— ironically, it was an anniversary gift from Papà. She wore it when she left. Luckily before it burned, I managed to pull it out of the fire. I remember my tiny fingers having horrific burns for five days straight. Papà thought I was just being a hyper kid and taught me a lesson to not play with fire… with a smashed beer bottle.” I pointed to the scar on top of my eyebrow to explain the aftermath. “But yeah, I managed to salvage her jewelry.”

“Was that what caused your panic attack? The memory?”

“No. I called those nightmares. The trigger this time was seeing her dried blood. No matter how hard I scrubbed, I was six. It was lackluster and sloppy.”

I didn’t have to look at him to know there was pity on his face. The story was sad— an orphan daughter crying over her mamma’s memories— and to add to that, it showed how weak I truly was.

Staring at my lap, I zoned in on the fidgeting of my fingers to cease the streams of fresh incoming tears.

It didn’t work, and I started sobbing anyway.

God, I couldn’t even do that right.

Luciano’s thumb came into view as he wiped away the messy, hot droplets. I lightly leaned my face into his palm, finding my solace in his caring touch.

“Do you want me to get it professionally cleaned for you?” He softly asked, caressing my cheeks and removing the tears.

My heart skipped its next beat at the consideration. I was gladhe didn’t pry, only taking what I was giving. With a hoarse and unsteady voice, I whispered what I was too cowardly to do myself. “Yes, but please be careful with it. It’s all I have left of her.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

He moved the box to the coffee table and pulled me closer. My head found it natural to rest on his chest as his arm wrapped around my body. We both sat in silence, absorbing the weight of my story. I relied on the cadence of his heartbeat to anchor my own, secretly envying him for his lack of anxiety.

Why was my head full of unwanted thoughts all the time? Why couldn’t I be normal and have a rhythmic balance like his?

Nonetheless, I was grateful he was there, portraying the prime example for me to replicate. My fingers finally stopped fidgeting, able to remain still without a nerve-inducing itch.

“You want to know why I pushed you into the organization?” He suddenly asked.

Tori’s words suddenly rang in my head. I’d heard bits and pieces of how Luciano and I were two cookies cut from the same dough but never the full story.

“Why?”

I didn’t release my next breath until he started speaking.

“My Mamma went through it too. Unlike your father, mine didn’t have a reason to turn evil. There was no debt, no other women, nothing. Nothing other than that he wanted to hurt her.”

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