Chapter 4: Alek Russo

"What the hell were you thinking?" my father roars, slamming his black notebook onto his neatly tidied office table. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

I sit before him inside his large office in our home, the wall behind him a dark black color with all sorts of expensive looking designs I've never paid much attention to. A computer sits on my left beside a large stack of papers that I don't bother reading, and on my right there's a thick book with a large cup of finished coffee.

Three years ago, my father had the entire mansion renovated. Every wall was painted black, the gold furniture was swapped with black, the floors were changed to match the new color and even the windows were replaced.

I hate it. I hate everything about the fucking mansion.

"I was dealing with the woman who killed your eldest son," I say, forcing my voice to remain calm. "Three years ago you refused to deal with her yourself, so here I am, dealing with it for you."

"What?" my father blinks, as if I've sprouted demon horns and alligator scales.

"Mae Kazimi," I grit my teeth. "The woman who killed Matteo. Your son. Or did you already forget him like you forgot my mother?"

Silence.

"You will speak to me with respect," he hisses, steely black eyes glaring at me. "And you will not mention your mother in this house. Are we clear?"

I ignore him, gripping the side of the chair tightly between my hands, "When mom was sick, where the hell were you? Where were you when she was fighting her disease? Where were you when she was on her deathbed?"

My father stills from where he sits across from me, angry eyes frozen on my face.

I take this as a sign to continue because I don't care. I don't care about anything. Not my life, not him, not his fucking wife, nothing and no one. For as long as Lorenzo has been alive, I've been put in second in front of his eyes. I'm never good enough, at least not as good as Lorenzo. I can come back from an impossible task that could've meant my death, but my father will still congratulate Lorenzo for learning a song on my fucking piano.

Even if it was me, who taught Lorenzo that song.

It's been like this for years now. After Matteo's death, it only got worse. I am the heir to the Italian mafia as the rules state, and no amount of power my father holds can change that. There are some rules even mafia bosses must follow, and this is one of them.

"I was only seven when she died. You left me, a fucking child, to look after your wife! And where were you? That's right, you were out building another family of your own while your two sons struggled to keep your dying wife alive on her deathbed."

The silence stretches on and on. My father stares at me, mouth slightly agape.

I let out an angry laugh, leaning back in my chair. My arm has begun to hurt, and my head is pounding with a headache. I run my hands through my messy black hair.

"You know," I said slowly, looking down to my fathers table, "After mom died, Matteo and I used to sit by her bed everyday, waiting for her to wake up. We hadn't known she was dead, we were so young. We waited and waited, and Matteo would go to the kitchen to make her food and leave it by her bed everyday while I read her one of my stupid storybooks that I'd just learned to read. But she never woke up.

"Days passed and you never came home," my voice slightly cracks, and I look up to meet his eyes. "Her dead body stayed there and rotted on that bed. Matteo and I didn't know, not until the room began to stink so bad that Matteo went out to call for help. We didn't know what to do. We were scared and shaking when her body was finally taken away, and Matteo blamed himself everyday. I was seven, dad. Matteo was nine."

The heavy silence continues, and I can't take it anymore. I've never spoken to my father about my mother in years. I've watched him forget her, slowly erasing her from his mind and replacing her with Lorenzo's mother. I've watched him move her beautiful pictures from the walls and put up his new wife's pictures like she was the treasure to his heart. But what about my mother? What about the woman who remained by his side for every second of every minute in a day? What about her?

I take in a long breath, "Mom-"

"Is dead," my father snarls viciously, suddenly getting to his feet, hands slamming down onto his table. "And you killed her!"

I freeze. "What?"

"You," he points a finger in my face, spit flying from his mouth. "You! The moment you were born, that's when she began experiencing health issues. The moment you came screaming into this horrible world was the moment your mothers heart stopped. Twenty-seven seconds. It stopped for twenty-seven seconds!"

"My fault?" I get to my feet, such anger flowing through my body that I began to see red in my vision. "You're blaming all of this on me?"

My father begins to yell, "You little son of a bitch! I've given you everything! Everything a man could ever want and you're standing here complaining!"

"I'm not complaining!" I snap. "You asked me what the hell I was doing tonight and I gave you a fucking answer! Did you want me to lie? Perhaps ignore you completely and walk out the fucking door?"

"Piccola merda (you little shit)," my father waves his finger at me, voice rising. "Lorenzo would never speak to me like this!"

"Ah, here we go again," I laugh humorlessly. "Lorenzo this, Lorenzo that. Fuck Lorenzo! I'm talking about Matteo, me and mom! Your first family! Your first priority! When did we become nothing to you?"

"With a mouth like yours, figlio (son), I'll throw you onto the streets," he hisses in a low voice, making his way towards me from around his table. "I'm warning you Alek, watch your mouth!"

"Fine," I grit my teeth, taking a step backwards as I shake my head in his direction. "Your eldest son is dead, your wife is dead, and me? Don't worry about me, dad. I've got a couple twenty assassins on my tail but who cares right? I'll be dead and you can live happily ever after with your new fucking family. Have fun."

My father is shaking, his white hair a mess on his head and the eyebags under his eyes so evident I know he hasn't slept in days. But I don't care.

Without waiting for a reply, I make my way out of his office, purposely leaving it half open before making my way towards my room.

Fuck everyone.

The moment I walk into my room, there's only a few things I know that I want. 1. food. 2. Sleep. But I know I can't get any of that before I clean my wound on my arm, the wound I didn't even realize I had until after the explosion.

But the moment I walk into my room, I spot Lorenzo pacing inside my horribly black bedroom. Everything is black. The walls, the t.v, the floor, the carpet, and even my fucking bed.

I stop outside my room, hands at my sides as I stare at my half brother nervously pacing back and forth. For a second, he doesn't realize I'm there. And then the next, he looks up, eyes wide as he takes me in.

"Fratello (brother)," he says, freezing on the carpet, feet bare. "I was….waiting for you."

I look at Lorenzo. His brown hair is neatly combed on his head and he wears a casual shirt on top of some black pants. His eyes are wide as he watches me close the door behind me and settle on top of my bed with a loud sigh.

I love my half brother. I would do anything for him. I hate how my father tries to draw a wedge between us, and tries to drive us apart. He is my Fratello (brother) and one day, when I take my fathers position, I want him to be my closest advisor.

I hope we do not become enemies like my father hopes.

"Why are you here?" I ask, my voice low as I peel my shirt away from my wound. "It's late, you should be sleeping."

"I'm nineteen, Alek," Lorenzo rolls his eyes as he sits down beside me with some equipment in my hands to clean my wound. "I'm not eight."

I crack a small smile for his sake and wince as he begins to clean the blood off of my skin. I know he's being as gentle as possible, but I can't help but let out a low hiss.

"Oops," he grins, throwing out the qtip into the garbage. "Big bad Italian mafia heir can't possibly be in pain over a small cut, can he?"

"Asshole," I mutter, but I return his grin as he ties a bandage over the wound.

Lorenzo pauses on the bed before slowly getting back to his feet. I watch as he slightly wavers, as if he has something to say before he picks up his things and makes for the door.

"Enzo," I call, eyes flicking up.

He pauses at the door, turning to me. "Yeah-"

I pull him into a tight hug, squashing him like I used to when I was twelve. We'd become brothers by that time, and everyday before he crawled into bed, I'd slip into his room to engulf him into my arms. And hold him for a few minutes.

Life can be cruel, and I want to remind him that I'm always here.

"I love you, Enzo," I whisper into his ear like I always used to. "Don't forget to tap thrice."

One tap for Matteo, one tap for me, and one tap for you.

Lorenzo leans super close to my ear and whilst purposely heavily breathing, he whispers loudly, "Don't forget to shower. You stink."

I shove him back as he lets out a loud laugh and my stomach flutters with happiness. So I grin as he says, "Love you too, Alek. And I never forget."

It became a ritual after my mom died. Matteo, me and Lorenzo would climb into our bed and tap thrice on our arms to remind ourselves we were all still there, and if we needed anything, the other two would always be there to help us.

Tapping thrice has been our promise.

And It became something I did every night.

Lorenzo wiggles his fingers in my direction in goodbye as he exits my bedroom, yelling, "Goodnight, ruthless mafia heir!" before slamming the door behind him.

I can still hear his snickers as he walks away.

It makes me smile.

I'm too exhausted to shower, and so, I drop into my bed. I don't care if my bed gets dirty. I don't care if the bandages on my arm rip open and bleed out onto my sheets.

I need sleep.

And so, as I close my eyes, I tap thrice onto my arm and let the darkness consume me.