Heart of Violence

Get it together, Alessia, I think to myself. My hand has been trembling since I traipsed in over an hour ago. If my mother sees, she’ll strike me. If Angelo sees, he’ll pinch the back of my arm until I have welts. Weakness - in any form - isn’t allowed in our world. That’s why I’m leaving.

My eyes find my cousin and best friend, Elena Bianchi, laughing with some of our other cousins. I’ve been avoiding her to not get her caught up in my drama, but tonight it’s hard.

The opulent ballroom glitters with fine crystal and simmering violence. Looking around, no one would think that each person in this room has enough blood on their hands to cover the city several inches deep. My fiance - Angelo - is no different. He feeds off the cries of his enemies, as does my mother, Valentina DeLuca.

My father, Don Carlo DeLuca, exudes mafia lord, while Valentina crafts herself more cunningly. If a cop saw her walking down the street, he’d assume she’s a model when really she’s a viper dressed in silk. A snake willing to strike her own children if it means climbing one rung higher in power. Father thinks her ambition has made him who he is. Maybe it has, but I don’t think that’s a good thing.

My extended family and most of the Italian mob are in attendance for my engagement to Angelo, my father’s top enforcer. He saved Father’s life after an overzealous Bratva new recruit took it upon himself to try and take out the Don single handedly. Angelo had on a bulletproof vest at the time and took a bullet to his chest, sparing my father from receiving it. Mother made the executive decision for me that I should thank Angelo by marrying him. I’d rather swallow glass.

Angelo compliments me in front of family, but behind closed doors, he is ruthless. It’s only worsened since we got engaged. He views me as property to do with as he wishes. Mother breathes torture like oxygen, so she’s practically salivating every time she sees a new bruise on me. Father isn’t around enough to know or care what his enforcer does behind his back.

I saunter over to the champagne glasses neatly aligned on a servant's tray. The women are dressed provocatively for the men’s viewing pleasure. Many won’t have a choice but to go home with the men. They know it. I can see it in their dead eyes. It’s the same look I have most days.

After tonight, it’ll all be different, I remind myself. No more Angelo. No more Valentina. No more mafia. No more violence.

I’ve been planning my escape for months, down to the last detail. I even slipped one of the guards a sleeping pill earlier. I knew where to go and when. I had my duffel bag packed, waiting outside. Now, I just have to wait for my fiancé to drink enough not to notice me slipping off to the bathroom.

Angelo spots me from across the room and beelines for me. As much as I hate interacting with him, at least I’ll be able to assess how drunk he is.

“Bella mia, I’ve barely seen you all evening,” he gushes for anyone standing nearby. I cringe at the term of endearment he’s started calling me. It’s a trap to lower my guard. He wants me as his possession, not his equal.

As he leans in to kiss me on the cheek, he whispers in my ear, “You look like a whore in that dress. Maybe I should strip you in front of the men and let them have their way.”

I know I should keep my mouth shut. But, with freedom around the corner, I’m feeling braver than ever. “Ah, but then you’d have to share, and we know you don’t know how to do that.”

He chuckles as he draws back, pinching the back of my arm as he does, making me flinch. My reaction causes his eyes to light with an evil gleam. Mother, sensing distress, glides over to us. Her breasts are practically falling out of the blood red gown she’s wearing without a hint of shame. Angelo doesn’t bother hiding his appreciation of her womanly figure.

My betrothed has always had a weird infatuation with my mother. He seems to view her as the pinnacle that all women should strive toward. I fall flat in his eyes. I’ve often wondered how far they’d go together if given the opportunity. Father would kill Angelo if he ever caught them together. He couldn’t kill Mother without serious ramifications from her family, but he could make her life a lot less enjoyable. As of now, she does as she wants. Tortures men for fun. Kills without care, allowing my father and his men to clean up her messes with the other gangs and with the cops.

I first saw her love of violence when I was 8 years old. Valentina made me watch her break each one of a man’s fingers individually with a hammer. She told me to watch closely. “This is what power feels like,” she said as she slammed it down again and again, causing the man to scream into the tape she had wrapped around his mouth. “Holding a man’s life in the palm of your hands.” Father came and got me before I had to see her do the same with his toes. Ever since then, I’ve kept my distance from her.

“Angelo, Alessia,” Valentina croons. “How great to see you both so happy together. I hope this party is everything you dreamed it would be.” Valentina’s bloody red lips part in a smile that looks more wolf eating prey than motherly warmth.

“Of course, Valentina,” Angelo replies, simpering. Bile rises in my throat before I swallow it back down.

“You always outdo yourself, Mother.” I smile, knowing it doesn’t reach my eyes. It’s a show for the people surrounding us. Politicians. Corrupt cops. Mafiosos and their families. People I never want to see again once I leave.

Valentina turns her dark gaze on me. I hate that I take after her looks. We’re the same height at 5’8”, though her 6” stiletto heels give her a height advantage over me tonight. I’m in a 2” chunky heel that I can run in. Our dark black wavy hair falls down our shoulders, mine a little longer. She doesn’t want hers blocking the view of her cleavage. We have the same brown eyes and full pouty lips, though hers are usually curled into a sneer while mine remain in a frown.

Angelo pulls me closer, wrapping a possessive arm around my waist while puffing out his chest. “We appreciate your hard work this evening.”

Valentina’s eyes slip down his fit frame. “I’m sure you do.”

I might as well not be here. These two are perfect for each other. I’d feel bad for my father if I didn’t know about his many mistresses over the years. His latest toy is barely legal at 19 years old. She’s a college student, hoping to get some of his money to pay for school. He’ll dangle the carrot long enough for her to finally catch on that he won’t before she moves on. Father sometimes thinks with the wrong brain, but not long enough to part with the things he places value on. Money and power. Only Mother is given privileges where those two things are concerned, which is why she doesn’t care about his dalliances. It isn’t like either of them truly care for one another.

Valentina gives Angelo a coy smile before leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. She whispers something in his ear that I can’t hear, then turns to me. She kisses me too, but her words are filled with vitriol. “Smile like you mean it.”

I barely contain my scoff as I lift my lips in a fake grin. I think of a monkey baring its teeth before ripping the face off of the person before it. My anger simmers beneath my skin at everything she’s done to me. All she’s taken from me. She’s the worst of humankind wrapped in a pretty package. Angelo can have her. They deserve each other.

I see Elena watching from the other side of the room. She mimes sticking her finger down her throat and gagging. My fake smile almost turns into a real one.

Mother notices my false joy cuts me on the neck with one of her rings. She likes them sharp. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” A rapturous gleam enters her eyes. “You should probably go clean that up.” She gestures vaguely toward where she sliced my skin open.

This is the perfect excuse I need to slip away. “Sure.” I turn to Angelo. This will be my last time ever seeing his ugly face. “I’ll be right back.” My tone is sultry as if I can’t wait to return to his side. It might be too much, considering I have never looked twice at the man. However, if he suspects anything, he doesn’t show as he dismisses me with an arched eyebrow and turns back to Valentina’s breasts.

I smile brightly as I practically skip out of the ballroom. I don’t bother going to the bathroom. The blood can dry on my neck for all I care. I’ll be covering it with a scarf and coat as soon as I get out of here. Then I’ll be free.

Free. A word has never tasted so sweet in my mouth as that one.

Making sure no one glances my way - except Elena, to whom I give a hidden wave - I slip out the servant’s entrance into the garden. My bag is hidden beneath an evergreen bush in a shallow hole I dug several weeks ago when I was out getting some fresh air. No one pays attention to me as long as I’m on our property. It’s how Angelo has been able to come and go as he pleases while tormenting me along the way and maybe getting into Valentina.

The night air chills my sweat-slicked skin. I barely feel it with my heart pounding in my chest. If I’m caught, I’m not sure what will happen to me. I imagine Mother and Angelo will make my life hell for the embarrassment I’ll cause. It’s worth the risk. My future. My freedom. It’s worth it.

God, I hope I’m not forgetting anything. I pray as I drop to my knees in the dirt to unearth my duffel bag. I check the outer pocket for the fake id, cash I’ve been saving up from gifts and stolen from my father, and my bus ticket. Everything has been paid for under my fake name or paid for in cash. I have a wig in my bag for travel, so if they ask around, they’ll only remember a quiet blond woman.

I try to contain my giddiness until I can make it off the property. So many things can still go wrong until then.

As I stand up, I try to zip the pouch back, but my great-grandmother’s Bible slips out as I yank on the zipper. The pocket closes more easily, so I decide to carry the heirloom. It’s the only item I’m sentimental about in this entire lavish house. An old, useless Bible is the only thing I care about. Well, except my brother. But I can’t bring him. I can’t even tell him I’m leaving, or he’d try to stop me. He loves this world regardless of what it’s done to him. He can’t understand my reluctance when crime has brought us so much wealth and prestige. We’re the top of the food chain.

My great-grandmother understood. She hated this world despite loving my great-grandfather. They were trapped by circumstances that I refuse to bow to. My future children won’t know the depravity of this life. I won’t continue this lifestyle, no matter what I have to do.

Clutching the Bible to my chest, I creep along the wall, staying in the shadows and away from the cameras. I know the blind spots in the system and make sure to use them to my advantage. I’m several yards from the exit. My heart beats erratically in my chest, wanting to break free of its confines as much as I do. Almost. Almost there. I can taste it on my tongue. The clouds are parting, allowing me a glimpse of the future I’ve only dreamed of. A weight lifts slowly from my chest. The chains of my captivity fall from my ankles. The air smells cleaner.

My vision tunnels in on my escape route. A car waits for me two blocks from here. No one knows my plans. No one suspects anything. I’m too docile. Too accepting of what they dish out to ever fight back.

I almost laughed. They pushed me too far with the betrothal. It doesn’t matter. It was the catalyst I needed for this moment, when everything I endured made me strong enough to do what I never had the guts to.

My mind was too focused on my plans and the joy of escape to notice the shadow creeping behind me. It isn’t until a hand snatches me around the waist, causing me to drop my Bible and my duffle bag, that I know I messed up. Another hand covers my mouth, so I can’t scream. Terror seizes my throat. I was so close. The prison door slams shut. My shackles only shifted. They never fell off. I’m a bird with broken wings, watching the world pass me by, never to know the wind in my face.

Tears stream down my cheeks. I don’t bother looking at my captor, likely one of my father’s men. Freedom was right there. I reach out a hand as if I can still touch it.

God, why couldn’t I just have something go my way this once? He must hate me for some unknown reason; otherwise, this wouldn’t be my life.

I glance at the man, hoping I can convince him to let me go, and startle when I realize it isn’t one of my dad’s men. He’s a large 6’4” Russian with dark hair and a skeleton mask covering the lower half of his face, so I can’t see his nose or mouth. The most striking feature isn’t his height or event he creepy mask. It’s his eyes. They’re an icy blue that pierce through me. He has dark tattoos climbing up his neck, and I’m sure he has more hidden beneath his black coat and gloves. All of the Bratva men have them.

Another shadow moves, whispering in Russian to the man holding me. This Russian is slightly shorter than the first and broader. He’s also wearing a skeleton mask.

Why are they here? I want to ask if this brute would ever remove his hand. I try to yank free, but he holds me with ease.

“Chill, printcessa,” he murmurs in my ear, voice low and accented. His warm breath sends shivers down my spine. “We won’t hurt you.”

“Unless you ask us to.” The other man pipes in with a wink.

The one holding me curses at his friend in Russian as they carry me toward the exit where I’d been escaping to. The second shadow carries my Bible and duffle bag that I dropped in the struggle. My earlier hope turns into a noose around my neck. I traded one prison for another.