Brutal Hunger

Three years ago

My small frame, shivering, hid behind Elisabetta, who’d been my guardian for four years since I arrived in Sicily. A cruel fear and overwhelming sadness enfolded me, streaming down my eyes. My chest heaved with every breath, my stomach revolting at the urgency tugging at my excretory system as I watched the terrifying figure stalking into our living room.

The Capo Die Capi of Cosa Nostra, Maximo Viltinó Rochetti IV. He was that man who should never set his eyes on me again. The man who was out for my blood. He'd haunted me for years. I'd been on a run since then. But tonight, with him and four of his men in our living room, I realized that I'd reached a dead end.

Four years ago, a notorious crime lord who went by the code name Lord forcefully sent me on a mission to kill Maximo in exchange for my foster family's life. Then I was only twelve. I couldn't kill a breathing human, not to mention someone as powerful as Maximo. I couldn't have pulled the trigger if I wasn't pressured.

Call it a taboo, call it naiveness… I fell deeply in love for the terror standing before me with his cold gaze tunneling through mine.

Dense silence followed his entrance, mine and Elisabetta’s tremulous breath sounding like a background orchestra, the tension swelling. He drew in a long smoke from his large cigar, his gaze, now dark, moored in mine. Victory and dark intentions sat clearly as day in his eyes.

He blew a cloud of smoke from his nose and slightly parted lips. Something about the way he delivered the action, together with his black long overcoat, fedora hat, and latex gloves, sent goosebumps through my skin.

“Look who's hiding from me. Shouldn't Little Cruella be pointing a Beretta right at my head like the other time?”

Elisabetta's body tensed up before me, and I quickly realized she was in a shock. Guilt spread through me. My hands uncoupled from her dress as I reflexively stepped back, only looking up to find her eyes questioning me, her brow furrowed.

“Your daughter is just like her father, Fiore.”

Daughter? Father? Confusion tugged at my insides, crawling onto my expression. I tried to string the words together, but the further I tried the unfathomable and impossible it got. I became the one to throw a questioning gaze at Elisabetta while she played the guilty one with her head lowered, avoiding eye contact with me.

Elisabetta, who'd been my caretaker for four whole years, was my mother. Now it was clear why she was shaken up back in the church when the Cosa Nostra family came to hold a memorial service for their late boss. I wasn't the only one running from Maximo. For some reason I’d die to know, my mom also had something with Maximo.

Why did she keep the truth from me all these years? Rage and sorrow engulfed me, winding up as unconstrained sobs. What could be worse than finding out a sweet truth in a bitter situation?

“You can't stop me from using your daughter as a tool for my vengeance, Fiore, that's a serious offense.”

My confusion rose. Vengeance?

“But we can make the consequences less unbearable.” He held out a hand to me. “Let’s go, Laura.”

Terrified as I was, my eyes danced from his face to his hand. My body, compelled by the fear he instilled, willed me to take his hand. But knowing that his hand would drag me to hell kept me still, even though I was hopeless.

I'd run away from church and left Elisabetta when I saw Maximo. I never would've returned home tonight if I hadn't thought that coming to take Lord's mask would save me from Maximo.

I'd had the mask with me for years as evidence that I'd seen Lord's face, knowing Maximo's biggest prey was Lord and telling him the secret would save me. But it seemed it was stupid to think the mask would save me from Maximo.

He was here to take me, not because I tried to kill him, but because he wanted to use me as a tool for his vengeance for something I was unaware of, something my parents caused.

Maximo's eyes darkened. He put his hand down. A deadly smirk spread across his face, revealing the cigar that hung between his teeth. He took the cigar in his fingers. “Get her.”

Two among the three of his men charged toward Elisabetta and me. A panicking Elisabetta wrested my hand and pulled me behind her, falling to her knees.

“Maximo, please. Laura had been through a lot as a child. She knows absolutely nothing about this. Laura shot at you, I know, but someone had made her do it. Tell him, Laura, tell him who made you do it,” she cried, shaking me vigorously, panting.

I gazed at him, my lips twitching. The words stuck in my throat but I couldn't let them out. Maximo wouldn't believe me. He was unyielding, the type to finish what he started regardless.

Maximo raised his hand, signaling for his men to stop. “Any idea what it feels like to lose someone you vowed to protect with your life? Giulia had nothing to do with the mafia conflict when Benedetti murdered her.”

What? My biological father killed someone. That was it, sister for daughter. My last hope faded into the abode of my terror. Could someone tell me that was a lie? Please.

Elisabetta sobbed bitterly. “I’m so sorry about your sister. I should've stopped him, but I swear to God I didn't know what he was up to. Please let my baby girl go. She's all I have.”

This was too much for me. I was a murderer's daughter, for real.

“Did you just sing, Fiore, because I barely heard you? For the records, I loathe apology, and I kill people who apologize to me.” He turned to leave, throwing the order over his shoulder, “Wrap up, Víctor.”

He exited the room, leaving his steely-faced men behind. Elisabetta and I panicked. Tension and silence grew and stretched to what felt like countless minutes. The wait frightened me, leaving me dreading their intentions.

Maximo's consigliere, Víctor Gonzalez’s eyes, came down to me, his stare so cold and sinister. “Kill them.”

A fear-driven gasp, loud and hopeless, fled Elisabetta and me. We tumbled into panic, shivering. I gripped Elisabetta’s hand tightly, bursting out in devastated tears. So this was how my fifteenth birthday would end? With I and Elisabetta’s death. Was this how Maximo wanted me? Dead?

“Please, don't hurt my daughter, I'm begging you,” Elisabetta stuttered tearfully, her voice shaky as she persistently pleaded.

Through my terror, I could see the surprise in the other men's eyes.

“Sir—”

“The boss’s order. Shoot them!”

A gunshot precedes a sudden silence. Choking sounds followed. For a moment, it felt like I fell out of reality, and returned the second Elisabetta’s hand holding mine went flaccid, and then she was quivering. I looked up. The question hit me. Was I hallucinating? I should be. If I wasn't… if I wasn't…. Emotions brimmed over me as Elisabetta faced me, blood gushing out of her neck.

“Run,” she choked out, “please.”

Tears rushed down my eyes. Not the tears I'd been shedding, but ones filled with pain, anger, emptiness. The look in her eyes was one I wasn't prepared to see. Regret, pain, more like a goodbye. Tears streamed down her eyes. If I wasn't hallucinating, then I… I’d…. Sorrow engulfed me.

“Mom!” I screamed, holding her to the ground. “Please don't leave me, Mommy, please.” If only they knew how much I wished for a mother. Now my biological mother was gone the first day I knew her, the first day I called her mother. I wailed, cried my heart out, rocking her in my arms. This was my fault. I killed her. I shouldn't have known her. I should've run away and never come back.

I had a lot of questions for her, didn't even know her real name, and wanted more life ahead for us to live like mother and daughter. I never would've thought my fifteenth birthday would present me with my mother's corpse.

The sound of a gun trigger clicking above my head pricked my ears. Terror ravaged my emotions, and I remained motionless, sobbing. The second I looked up, reflexes hit me and I scrambled backward, rushing to my feet. Víctor held me at gunpoint. The ringing of his phone served as his distraction and an edge to me.

Quickly, I kicked the gun off his grip and ran up the stairs. As if he observed utmost respect for the person behind the phone, he didn't try to stop me, even motioned for his men not to shoot. I took that as a chance to run into my bedroom. With shaky hands, I locked the door from the inside, streaked to the open window, and jumped out of it.

Our house stood closer to the woods in a remote area. I bolted off into the woods, running as fast as I could, tears running down my face as the emotions clung to my heart. The farther I ran, my lungs starved for air, my throat went dry and sore, I gasped for air.

My mom was gone. The fault lay with me. I brought the bad guys home, I killed her.

Blinding lights shone brightly in the corner of my vision the second I ran into the road that stood across the woods. I whipped my head in the direction of the car, realizing it was two meters away from me. I willed myself to get off the road, but tension held me still, my eyes drawing wide open.

The next thing I heard was a loud thud, and I was flying through the air, landing head-first on the edge of the car bonnet with no time to catch myself. My body rolled along the cold, hard road. The last thing I processed was a metallic smell. Blood. Drops of blood rapidly streamed down my face from my bleeding head. Heartbeats filled my ears. I was afraid, so afraid. The last thing I saw before darkness swallowed me whole was four pairs of running feet from the car.