Santo

I stood kneeling on the thick red carpet, clenching my fists firmly on my upper thighs, trying to reduce the shaking of my body.

    

    I know this office by heart.

    

    I'm even the one who chose the colors and the carpet I'm standing on today. I selected every decorative element and every supply.

    

    However, the man sitting comfortably on the black leather chair in the office is not the one for whom I made the decoration.

    

    He takes a puff on his cigar and leans forward toward my face.

    

    Thus, I am forced to close my eyes so they are not burned by the smoke he has spit in my face.

    

    He remains silent and takes another sip of brandy, rattling the single ice cube shaped with an ice pick in his crystal glass out of habit.

    

    "Santo..." I start to say, but I fall silent as soon as I meet his dark eyes.

    

    How ironic to have given him such a name. He's the worst of them all, and he's named Saint.

    

    He is dressed in the three-piece suit typical of the men of the Family. Like them, he wears only designer labels, only the most expensive clothes, accessories, and shoes imaginable. On his left hand, he wears the heavy signet ring stamped with the Family's logo, the letter -G-.

    

    I frown when I see it. He is not the one who is supposed to wear it. He is not the Don of this family.

  

  I search my memories. I don't remember Santo ever having the ambition to become the head of the Family. But whoever had the idea to put him there must be crazy. Santo is anger incarnate. He's a time bomb that can go off at any time.

    

    Santo slides open one of the heavy drawers of the solid oak desk and pulls out a brown envelope made of kraft paper. He clamps his cigar between his teeth and pulls out a series of photos he raises in the air.

    

    "Do you know what these are, Lulu?" he asks me, his eyes dark. His Italian accent is even stronger than I remembered and has the effect of an ice-cold shower on me.

    

    He terrifies me.

    

    I say no with my head.

    

    Santo gives me a smile that would horrify even the Devil himself. Then he puts his glass on the desk to grab his cigar and blows the smoke to the side.

    

    I might say he's a handsome devil if I didn't know him. But I do know him, and his soul is as tainted as his appearance is breathtaking.

He leans toward me, resting his elbows against his knees. This simple gesture seems to make the expensive fabric of his suit crack from his tense muscles.

    

    After long seconds in a chilling silence, he places the pictures above my head and cascades them down.

    

    I see with horror pictures of the men who are part of my daily life and me.

    

    They are all there.

    

    From the old newspaper vendor on the corner to the food delivery man. From the maintenance man to the manager of my company.

    

    The bastard remains silent and just watches my reaction.

    

    I swallow hard because that's the effect all the men in this damn Family have when they target someone: dread.

    

    The chilling fear. The kind that makes you freeze in place and forget which Saint to beg for help.

    

    When the men of the Family want to get something, they send capos. When they still don't get it, they send Santo. Nobody says no to Santo. At least, those who did say no are no longer in this world to tell.

    

    He leans comfortably in that black leather chair I've sat in many times. He makes the leather sing on purpose by moving his back more forcefully and looking at me up and down.

    

    "Are you going to play dumb with me again, Lulu?" he asks.

    

    I swear this man must sit at the Devil's right hand.

    

    "I don't know what you want me to say, Santo. I see pictures of me with men I deal with daily, nothing more."

    

    I tense up and immediately tuck my head between my shoulders.

    

    Santo raises his hand toward me, but I don't get hit. He still throws me a dark look that is mixed with disgust.

    "Merda, Lulu! Did you think I was going to hit you?"

    

    "I don't know. Were you going to hit me, Santo?" I ask him while maintaining his glare.

    

    He bends down and picks up a photo from among those spread out on the floor. He slowly lifts it and places it before my horrified eyes.

    "Ah... you know I don't hit women, Lulu. However, the stronzo who has his lips against yours..."

    

    I immediately jump forward to snatch the picture from his hands and grab his calves to beg.

    

    "Santo!"

    

    He slowly gets up without moving to free me from his legs and takes another puff of his cigar. Then he looks at me with a contempt that would convert the worst man on earth.

    "What do you think, Lulu? Do you think my big brother will never see these pictures? You think you can let any Figlio di puttana touch you any way they want?"`

I feel the tears rolling down my cheeks and hiccup to hold back my sobs.

    "It was a mistake, Santo. A terrible mistake. There was nothing more to it. I came home right after!"

    

    He starts laughing, and I can swear my body freezes just hearing it.

    "There will be no more mistakes, Lulu," he orders me curtly.

    

    He bends down to help me up and casually hands me a cloth handkerchief from his jacket pocket to wipe away my tears.

    "Va bene, Lucia. You know what might save this stronzo's life?"

    

    I nod, panic completely nipping at my heels.

    

    Santo gives me a toothy grin and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

    "Here you go, Lulu... you're going to go to your room and get dressed to please my big brother. After all this time, you know how to make him happy, right? Put on some makeup and that red stuff you used to wear," he said, running his palm over my face. "Then you go to dinner with him, smile at him, and laugh at all the jokes he'll inevitably try to make... because you know, Lulu. My brother only breathes to see your fucking smile..."

    

    Santo cracks the thickness of his knuckles before my eyes.

  

    "...And I only live for the well-being of every family member. And you know, Lulu. If my big brother smiles tomorrow morning at breakfast, then maybe the stronzo that's currently in the hands of my men will still be breathing for a day."

    

    I look at him and let a few more tears roll down my cheeks.

    "It's none of your business, Santo."

    

    He gives me a dark look and starts laughing before taking another sip of his brandy.

    "Va bene, Lulu. It was none of my business as long as you didn't bring shame on my brother. You could have made a good life for yourself by being more careful about your actions. You must have forgotten after three years of living away from us. You only leave the Family with your body covered with a white sheet."

    

    "I haven't forgotten, Santo. But, I still say it's only Elio's and my business."

    

    At that moment, I felt like the Devil is in the room. Santo's face is distorted with anger, and I swear I can hear the crystal under his fingers shattering.

    

    I scream as the glass flies by my face.

    

    The fragile object shatters on the wall placed far behind me, and I have to make monstrous efforts not to vomit on the spot so much I am terrified.

    

    Santo points to the door. He doesn't need to guide me further. I know the way perfectly.

*

    *

    *

    I start toward the office door and tilt my head slightly toward Santo as I close the door behind me.

    "Buonanotte a te," I say mechanically.

    

    "Buona notte, Lulu," he answers me coldly, keeping his eyes fixed on the broken glass on the floor.

    

    *

    *

    *

    

    I quickly regain my composure.

    

    It's been three years that I know perfectly well how to put on the mask of pretense in public. It is not difficult, and it has become almost intuitive for me.

    

    I leave my fingers on the wrought iron railing of the stairs as I climb the steps that lead me to my past.

    

    The staff recognizes me and whispers, "Signora Lucia," as I ascend to my room.

    

    Eduardo, the old butler, almost runs to meet me.

    "Que bene! Signore Elio will be delighted to see you home!"

    

    I give him a beaming smile and continue my progress while talking with him. It's a habit I've had the entire time Eduardo has been in our employ.

    "I was busy," I state calmly as I pretend to inspect the dust. "We'll have to clean the office. Santo broke a glass again."

    

    The butler nods, but he's not fooled and knows full well that I've been gone for three years. He is too professional to make the point, and he knows I am trying to change the subject. He gives me a sad smile and shakes his head. "It's good to see you back here, Signora Lucia."

    

    I understand all the silent words behind those few words. They must have been living in Hell the whole time I was away.

    

    I finally arrive at the door to my room.

    

    Of our room.

    

    I nod to Eduardo to ask him to leave, and I finally enter this part of my life that I thought I had closed forever.

    

    I have to close my eyes for a moment, and a cry of pain comes from my lips.

    

    Nothing.

    

    Absolutely nothing has changed.

    

    Everything is absolutely where I left it three years ago.

    

    My eyes roam the room. The sheets, the blankets, and the curtains are the same. My eyes find my slippers at the foot of my seat. The book I was reading at the time is still open, and my bookmark of pressed flowers is still sitting between two pages.

    

    I run to the headboard and grab one of the abandoned picture frames. My fingers tremble over the smiling faces. I grab another frame, then another, and hold them close to my heart.

    

    I fall to my knees and let out a howl into the thick mattress I've spent so many nights on. With him. Then with them. Finally, with us.

    

    I rock back and forth, trying to calm myself. I can't breathe. It's like my tears are flooding my lungs.

    

    Memories suddenly come flooding back like a stream of images, sounds, and smells.

    

    Sunshine, soft breezes, flowers, chocolate scent, and children's laughter mixed with mine and Elio's.

    

    Then, tires screeching, screams and gunshots.

    

    Finally, silence.

    

    I collapse on the ground.