The Apple & The Tree

Edmondo walked into the church, the heavy door creaking behind him. The air was thick with incense, the sacred scent mingled with the cold stone of the church walls.

At the last pew, his mother sat, her eyes closed, fingers running over her prayer beads, slipping them through with practiced ease. The soft click of the beads was the only sound breaking the silence in the church. For a moment, it felt like the weight of everything might just disappear.

But as Edmondo stepped closer, he knew it hadn't gone anywhere.

He lingered for a second, just watching her, before stepping into the aisle. His boots made quiet thuds against the stone floor. She didn’t flinch, didn’t even open her eyes. Then her voice, soft yet firm, cut through the air. “Take away every filth from you, Edmondo. You’re in the house of the Lord.”

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t here for peace, not here for redemption. He pulled his gun from his coat.

“The gun’s not the only filth,” she said, lowering her beads to her lap, her voice steady.

Edmondo didn’t answer her.

He dropped the gun into a small wooden box near the exit. The clink sound was sweetly louder than he intended, but he didn’t care.

Reaching back into his coat, he pulled out a few things: a package of drugs wrapped in plastic, stacks of fake cash that crinkled as he set them down on the pew beside her, and a handkerchief wrapped around something he’d rather not name unless asked.

She shifted slightly, eyes still closed, but Edmondo knew she could smell it. Still, she didn’t open her eyes. Instead, she asked, “What’s that smell?”

He glanced down at the handkerchief. “I cut off someone’s finger. I needed the fingerprint. Came straight here after hearing your call.”

Her eyes flickered open just slightly, and she turned toward him. “Edmondo…” Her voice was filled with disappointment.

He shrugged, leaning against the pew. “What, Mammà? I just cut off his finger, I didn’t kill him.”

She didn’t respond immediately. Her gaze lingered, heavy, before she said, “Fine. Come in here. Sit beside me.”

He walked to her side but stopped short, taking the seat just behind her. Leaning close, he lowered his voice to a whisper in her ear. “What is it?”

She turned to look at him, concern etched on her face. But there was something deeper in her eyes. Something that made him hesitate. “I need to know the truth. You’re before God, and I, your mother. What did you do to Francesca?”

He rolled his eyes. “Mother, did you call me here for this? I don’t have time for your questions.”

She looked at him, and he couldn’t tell if she was disappointed, angry, or both. He stared at her for a long moment before answering.

“Francesca… Well, you know those diamonds and artifacts she was expecting? She was supposed to get them from a friend of hers who smuggled them,” he said flatly. “So, I went ahead and took them from her friend.”

Her brow furrowed. He continued. “Two days before her shipment was supposed to land, I went to the storeroom where it was kept, grabbed it, and sold it.”

Her lips parted in surprise, but he didn’t wait for her to ask questions. “And the money I made? I used it to buy her a wedding gift.”

She looked at him, twitching her lips. “A wedding gift? Edmondo—”

“A head,” he cut her off. “I bought her ex-lover’s head. The same guy she was screwing behind her husband’s back.”

Her face paled, and she froze, completely still. It was the kind of stillness that made his stomach twist… a stillness he never wanted to see in her.

“Edmondo, what… what are you saying? She's your sister.”

“I’m saying I gave her what she deserved,” he replied, his eyes cold. “That’s what the money was for. Paying the family of the fool for his head. And I'd rather not use my money or the city's money for that.”

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

“You… killed him?”

“Not unless you put it that way,” he replied, his voice colder now. “I simply gave her a gift. That’s all.”

She stared at him. She just stared at him like she was seeing him for the first time. “My son, Edmondo, what have you become? This... this devilment from your father... why does it have to run in you too.”

He sighed and moved away slightly.

“Non stressarti, Mammà. She’s the one who made me promise to get her a priceless gift, and I fulfilled it.” His words were sharp, cutting now. “She cried, but it ensured a happy home for both her cheating ass and her husband.”

(Don't stress)

His mother reached out, her hand gently brushing his head. “You stay here and reflect on the Lord,” she said softly, almost pleading.

She added, “Your brothers are revolting. They’re getting married, having fiancés, girlfriends. You have nothing. They’re talking to your father. Saying, why wouldn’t they have a Donna? Just a Don? And true to it, a Ying must find its Yong, and on time.”

“It’s Yin and Yang, not Ying and Yong, Mammà.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever. I’m not Buddhist, I’m Catholic. You need a Donna, Edmondo.”

He stared at her for a moment, unsure of what to say. “Leave that to me, Mammà.”

Then her tone turned sly as she raised an eyebrow. “I hear you have no interest in women, yet you still play with that woman. Agata, right?”

He froze.

“Mammà, I’ll kill Giovanni if he keeps telling you things I don’t want him to.”

She glared at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He stood up, his patience running thin. “Agata is not your business, Mammà.”

She fell silent for a moment, then stood to leave. “My business or not, you need a Donna. And you know if you don’t get one, your brothers will revolt.”

She walked away.

Edmondo stayed where he was, watching her go.

He knew what she wanted. Church aside, she was a sinister woman… and he, well, he was just the apple that didn’t fall far from the tree.