Brave In violence (A Mafia Romance Book 3)

Chapter Two

Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.

                  ~Desmond Tutu~

                               Eleonora

With his father still missing for the last couple of months, Freddie became more paranoid and afraid each day; it was like watching a ticking time bomb, he was bound to explode anytime, and I didn't want Luca and I anywhere near him when he did.

He spent most days copped up in his bedroom trying to avoid his father's associates; his bodyguards guarding his door even though no one was likely to get past the gate, but Freddie loved grandeur; it was his way of letting everyone around know he was the boss, yet he became a trembling boy whenever his father was around, a beautiful sight to see for me and those under him who hated him as much as I loathed him.

He was snorting cocaine when I knocked on his door to bring him breakfast; the sound of it could be heard from the outside. I knew he would be in one of his predictable tempers and viciousness. I exhaled softly before opening the door, giving myself a pep talk to remain calm, standing, and show fear just as I liked it.

Massimo, one of his guard who was also sometimes mine, opened the door for me, giving me an elusive but pitiful smile. It wasn't a secret how Freddie treated me; my shame has been public since I was eighteen, so it has been most of my beatings. He once threw hot coffee at me one morning when he had a meeting, in front of men who just chuckled and made fun of it and me. 

The room was in semi-darkness because the blinds were still closed; he was seated on the bed, holding what resembled a book, a piece of paper towel with a white substance which I knew was cocaine on top of it. He didn't look at me; neither did he acknowledge me, so I placed his breakfast tray on the table beside the bed just as he liked.

I knew better than to speak before I was spoken to, something I had learned the hard way early in our marriage, but before I could walk out, he threw his glass of scotch at me, hitting the back of my head. I didn't flinch; I didn't cry; I just walked out swiftly.

I knew it was time for me to walk away now. Luca was a few months away from four years, if we remained under Freddie, my son would likely die or turn out just like Freddie, and that is something I wanted to avoid at all cost.

I had a plan, one that involved putting Massimo in danger, but I did not think of that; I decided to remain naively hopeful that none of us would end up facing a fate worse than death.

Climbing down the long vestibule out of Freddie's room, I took a detour to the flower garden behind the house to compose myself before waking up Luca.

I could feel my heart beating with anticipation and fear, droplets of sweat rolling down my temple, my stomach twisted in knots, and my feet felt unstable.

I didn't know what the future held for Luca and me, but I was sure it would be better than living with Freddie—after all, Luciano ran away when he was nine, and he had survived. I was thirty; I sure could get out.

That is what I kept telling myself, but I understood it wouldn't be easy.

I stood there for a couple of minutes, my arms across my chest, watching birds flying and singing that early morning. It felt almost peaceful; the feel of the breeze swirling my long dress around my ankles, the flowers blooming beautifully gave me hope that life wasn't so bad outside the house.

I loved this garden, but I loathed the house. I have had the worst experience of my life since I crossed the threshold of it.

My dreams died in this house.

My laugher died in this house.

My hopes died in this house. 

Hopefully, I won't let it steal any of those or more from my son, though, to be honest, he was born in this house, so he might not have happy moments at all.

I dragged myself from the garden, walking back through the same path I had taken earlier to be confronted by Freddie's booming voice throwing a tantrum. Sometimes he behaved like a small boy; even Luca was better behaved than him.

He was shouting something about a bank loan; I saw Massimo standing in the same position he had been, but he threw me a look at me. I took it as an acknowledgment of some sort. He was the only man among Freddie's men who had ever been kind to me, and it broke my heart that I was about to use him, yet I had no choice.

It was either him or my son, and that wasn't a choice at all.

I rushed to Luca's room before Freddie opened the door to see me in the hallway, my feet as light as a feather, anxiety plunging my throat to almost choking me to death. I couldn't breathe until I opened Luca's room.

As soon I stepped into his room, I leaned my back on the door, my hand on my heart, feeling the thud that I knew expressed fear. I was growing more afraid each day, probably because Luca was growing up, and I knew it was just a matter of time until I could not protect him from Freddie or his father but for different reasons.

Freddie wanted to hurt Luca more because his father had started insinuating that he might be the family's future. He was jealous of him. He was still a man who behaved like a boy in need of his father's approval.

Freddie had never had his father's approval. It was one of the reasons he beat up Luciano so much. It was his way of showing his superiority and a way to show off to his father. It worked for a while until Luciano walked away from home and never came back as his father had expected.

I have often wondered if his father ever regretted it.

Was he sorry for the way he had allowed his eldest son to bully his youngest for his own amusement?

Did he ever wonder where Luciano was?

Does he ever stay up at night wondering whether he was alive or dead?

But he probably didn't. Maybe he forgot he had another son.

I felt terrible for Luciano, yet I couldn't help but think it was for the best.

I moved towards my son's bed, scooching down to watch him sleeping for a while, long lashes lying comfortably on his eyelids. He was beautiful, and he was mine.

"Time to wake up, sweetheart," I said, a smile on my face as I kissed his forehead. He did not open his eyes, so I ruffled his hair playfully, smooching both his cheeks.

He opened his still sleepy eyes slowly, turning to look at me as I stood open the window. Our eyes met just before I dragged open the curtains inviting the morning sun. It came in like a beloved visitor, an intimate friend whose visits were long, often yet comfortable.  Luca turned on the bed to lie on his back, then sat up and leaned on the bed head.

We watched the sun together in silence, staring at the ray of sunshine flirting with us, making us feel as if today might be different like it came bearing gifts.

"It will be a good day, right?" I asked in a small voice. It was as if I was begging for comfort from my three-year-old son. I vowed then that he wouldn't celebrate his fourth one in this godforsaken house.

He didn't say anything, but he nodded. He hated waking up because he knew he would have to relive every yesterday.

While I stood by the window, I saw Massimo pulling the car around, my heart thumping in anticipation, waiting to see a staggering Freddie jump in, hoping he was about to leave again, but I saw a slender woman in a white mini dress and black high heels enter the car.

I wondered where she'd come from, considering I hadn't seen her when I took Freddie his breakfast this morning.

Freddie loved parading his mistresses in front of me, provocatively as if it would hurt me. I liked it when he had other women because he left me alone, but I couldn't tell him that.

I watched the car leave until it disappeared through the gate.

I knew I had a few minutes before Freddie called out for me.

"Come on, " I scooped up my son, running to the bathroom to bathe him.

Luca was different from other children. He didn't talk much, laugh, or play often. He lived as if he walked with an unwanted shadow with him,

" It's going to be okay, " I said; the conviction in my voice must have been the reason he stared deeply into my eyes. It was as if he was looking for a reason to believe me this time. I didn't blame him; I have been saying the same thing since he began to suspect Freddie hated him.

He hated me too, I thought, as washed Luca's hair, albeit for a different reason.

He hated Luca because he reminded him of his brother, he hated me because I didn't love him, and he knew I wouldn't have agreed to be his wife had I been given a choice.

Lucas sneezed out loud when I was rinsing his hair as if some shampoo had entered his nose. I apologized softly, drying him up.

I took him back to the bedroom and changed him to get him ready for breakfast. He knew the drill; he was to sit in the kitchen until I told him it was okay to venture outside.

While we watched the sun rising, I had come up with a plan. It involved approaching Freddie voluntarily, something I tried not to do.

Gentle touching Luca's face, I leaned over the counter to kiss his head, "Eat your breakfast and wait for me." I whispered, his green eyes showing fear for me, for what he'd seen many times in his young age.

He had seen Freddie slap me so hard I fell into unconsciousness. He had seen me thrown against the wall or shouted at in front of him and others.

He has known my shame, and if God were to take requests, I would ask one more. To erase most of those memories from his mind.

I left before he had his breakfast. I stood by the door,  looking back at him—a lonesome boy looking as if the world was sitting on his small shoulders.

Don't worry, my darling; I will get us out of here. I didn't say it aloud, but I was about to take the first step to execute my plan.

Freddie was seated in his father's favorite seat. I could sense his need to be feared like his father was; the desire to be seen as a powerful man, yet he knew that he came short of it.

It was a pity that a man in his forties hadn't figured out his place in the world yet. It was like he was trying to become his father or at least an imitation of a man his father could approve of. But I had a feeling Freddie would always feel like a failure because his father will never let him forget it.

"What do you want?" he boomed, his angry eyes pinning me on the threshold. This was like a game to him, lashing out at me and standing comfortably to watch whether I would lose it. I never did, and it angered him more, but today was different.

"I wanted to check if you're okay'" I said in a soft voice, fiddling nervously with my fingers. It was the first time in our marriage or acquaintance that I had inquired of his well-being, and he noticed.

"What do you want?"

I wanted to say nothing, yet this seemed like the opening I needed.

"There is an event this Sunday in st Francis; I wanted to ask you if I could get your permission to attend" I used the best wording I could think of to boost his ego, to let him believe he was lord over me, to make him feel powerful and he bought it.

So when Sunday rolled up, I walked out of the house with my son, my heart in my mouth, and into the waiting Mercedes Benz. I had this one chance, and I wouldn't waste it; neither was I going to be stupid with it.

Luca sat beside me like he did every Sunday when we went to our usual church, quietly and dejected.

Most people might think I never missed going to the church because I was spiritual, but that would be inaccurate; it was my way of escaping from the house for a few hours.

The Church had become my haven since I got married; it was one thing Freddie allowed me to keep.

But my day completely darkened further, and my fear grew tenfold when I was told father Josè was not feeling well and therefore didn't attend the service, so I handed over my note to father Mario, hoping it would be delivered before Freddie suspected or someone told him about it.

I did not know how to address Luciano without raising suspicion, so I settled for our initials.

L,

Would you mind terribly if I cashed in on that favor now?

E.