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But now, me feeling everything is becoming a cataclysmic storm.

I can see they’re all about to argue with me. They know I’m wrong, but how do I know I’m not? This, whatever I’m feeling –this mix of grief, responsibility, woe– is all so strong it’s suffocating. How do I know that this isn’t the punishment of a lifetime I deserve? Because, in my eyes, for my acts of violence, death, and torture have me believing that I deserve more. The burden my father has forced me to live within is imprisonment for life because I won’t be able to break away and seek absolution in any form in this lifetime.

“I mean that, I only ever seem to bring bad news down onto this family. I watched him kill a man when I was younger and I saw him kill our mother. I knew the differences between right and wrong. I knew the things he was doing were atrocities, but instead of fighting against him, I joined him. Now, look where we have wound up? We’re lost and it’s all because of me. You’re trapped in this life because of me.”

“That’s not true,” Enzo argues, his words snappier than usual.

“Can’t you see it?” I ask; my lip begins to tremble, and my eyes fill overwhelmingly. “Our life always revolved around me being the secret weapon for our father. Without me, there wouldn’t be such a race for who could kill when they could kill. There wouldn’t have been that pressure. I have been bringing this family down for years, whether it be due to my hits or because of my behavior. In some way, I am the culprit for Giovanni snapping, of bringing Zane into this mix, of making you two feel like you have some obligation to stick by me. I am the bottom line to Manuel’s death.”

“You cannot take that burden onto yourself, Lia,” Enzo whispers, the softness and grace he always implements when calming me coming back in force. “This clearly isn’t anyone’s sole blame. We all had a hand in what’s now happened.”

“Then prove to me that this isn’t going to continue to tear us apart.” My gaze flicks between all three of them. I watch them all, but mostly I watch Enzo. I await a response out of him and I say the one thing I really need to. “I need to know there’s some semblance of hope left for our family to survive this anymore.”

And suddenly, Enzo’s face softens. The coldness, the indifference, the distant glaze to him weakens before allowing my brother to step forth once more.

“We will get through this,” Enzo states quickly.

“Then come back to me,” I utter, training my gaze on him, hoping he’ll feel everything he has to. I flick my gaze to Carlo, too. “Both of you. Don’t alienate me because of what happened. Not when we need one another so much. Ever since waking up, I felt like I lost not only Manuel, but you two, too. Don’t make that something permanent.” I fall against the door, losing all the strength I had propped my bravado up with. “Come back to me.”

As I start to falter, I find my facade demolishes and the wreck that resides in me becomes ever more evident. Grief arises from the belly of my core, talons so sharp they pierce me like a thousand needles, and I can feel myself fading. But just as it all becomes lost to me, I collapse into my brother’s arms.

I don’t know about that heavy air of woe that we linger in, the amount of blame is almost culpable of exceeding any ounce of bereavement we’ve given into.

“We’re not going anywhere, Lia,” Enzo whispers as he clings to me and stops himself from breaking away anymore. “No more.”

That was all I needed to hear.

I thought I’d be happier to be home, but all I feel is dread.

I always saw my version of a home morph and change, shatter and break, but now, I really know this is – and never was – my home. This is the breeding ground of nightmares. I just wish it hadn’t taken such a fatal run to make me realize this. I have lived in the belly of hell and even though I had allowed that thought to caress my rationale, I never indulged in the notion until now.

Originally, I had woken up on my own, but now all I can hear is muffled voices as they bellow from the rooms downstairs rousing me from whatever light slumber I’ve struggled for. They started off slightly calm, but now they’ve escalated into malicious snarls, screams of betrayals, and I cannot stay here and listen to the ruckus erupting below me.

Throwing the sheets off me, I gingerly sit up, pulling myself to the edge of my bed. I climb from the side, a hand wrapped around my tender stomach, and slowly make my way across the vast space of my room until I’m able to throw my door open. The moment I do, I am met with a barricade of voices, all screaming, all shouting, all wanting the same thing –
for Bruno to stop
.

The moment I hear that, I’m hastening myself down the corridor toward the stairs and am making my way down them as quickly – and painlessly – as I possibly can. With every step, the voices begin to drown the room around me, they bounce from all corners, infringe upon my clarity. I’ve not been home long, but once more, hell is about to reap itself upon the Abbiati mansion.

And for once, I’m not sure if I’m prepared for it.

By design, God gave me feelings. They keep me alive; remind me that as long as my heart beats and blood pumps around my body, I will feel absolutely everything until my last breath is stolen from me. That is a beautiful oblivion to experience. It means that I will never miss a moment. After all this time, I am proud of the scars I wear, the demons I keep locked away, the love I feel, but only because it keeps my humanity intact and allows me to embrace every day I am still alive and breathing.

However, Manuel's death has opened me to a new world of emotion. It's made me feel a sense of living I never thought I would ever have to deal with – an overwhelming grief that feels a lot like dying. It’s this that weakens me the most. Not the physical wounds I bear, but the emotional state it’s reaped upon me and my brothers have me feeling like I cannot just face things like I used to. My cold-heartedness thawed and melted the moment I lay watching my brother die before me. That Amelia is gone and with it is my necessity to kill anyone anymore. For that, I am not prepared to see that sight again. I am in no place to deal with murder, deceit, debauchery. All I want is liberation and closure.

The sight I’m granted tells me that we are nowhere near our newfound state of sovereignty outside of the Dio Lavoro but very much still in the heart of it. Bruno stands with a gun pressed to Giovanni’s forehead and while everyone screams at Bruno, he stands with his eyes cast down upon the sadist on his knees. The internal battle he wages seeps to the surface, causing him to shake as he decides whether or not to pull the trigger.

It’s this that tells me no matter how far we run, or where we hide, we are and always will be peasants to this dominion. The Dio Lavoro is iron bound to each and every one of us, and even death cannot wane its binding. We are prisoners of our fate for a reason and Bruno is living proof.

But while a part of me accepts this realized destiny bestowed upon us, I cannot allow this to happen. In my heart of hearts, I know that I have the strength to fight against it all and abate my last clutch onto my father. Bruno was our first sliver of hope; he showed us once what a normal life was, and he can do it again.

I will not allow him to fall victim to this.

As my eyes drop from Bruno to Giovanni, I am astonished to see he is a sniveling mess. Not because of an overwhelming amount of grief, but because, at long last, his sins are catching up with him with deadly intent. Even though he’s reduced to this, I have to save Bruno before it’s too late. Giovanni deserves whatever life has in store for him, but it won’t be done at the expense of Bruno’s morality.

“Don’t do it!” I shout, catching a break in the arguing horde of men. The shouting disperses as my brothers, father, and Zane all look at me except for Bruno, who keeps himself fully focused on the cowering Giovanni. “Bruno, don’t do this. Please.”

“He killed our own, Amelia,” Bruno seethes, speaking through clenched jaws. “This is the least he deserves for everything he has ever done!”

“It’s not,” I say, my tone no more than strangled whisper. I haven’t the might to give a potent argument where I shout my words and execute them with my normal vigor. No more do I stand behind my normal Amelia Abbiati demeanor, but rather the wreck Giovanni created. “You didn’t build up a life for you and Allana to have it all come crashing down like this, Bruno. That wasn’t why you cut yourself out of the family. Don’t let him destroy you, too.”

“But he needs to pay,” Bruno states, his voice not even softening in the slightest.

“But not like this,” I reply, my words carrying forth with a dabble of honesty and confusion. I know he knows the truth, but I cannot understand what has driven him to the point of coming here, with a gun, to kill Giovanni. His anger has never driven him to this point and I fear he’ll regret it the very moment the bullet releases from the chamber by his will. “He took Manuel from us, but don’t let him take what you’ve made of yourself away from you.”

“It’s not just that though,” Bruno replies. In response, he pushes the barrel of the gun right into Giovanni’s forehead, weakening a once unbreakable man. “He almost took you too, Amelia. I know how he dragged you through this house while you bled out and laid you out like some fucking offering to Sal. People like him deserve to rot in hell!”

“And what about you?” I ask, making my voice the calmest I can. “His blood isn’t meant for your hands, Bruno. It’s meant for Sal’s.” I turn to face my father before looking back. “So, don’t do this when this isn’t your job to do.”

In that instance, Bruno drops the gun from Giovanni, allowing his arms to hang heavy at his side. He stumbles back, his eyes still hell-bent on staring at our fallen brother.

“She’s right,” Bruno snarls, moving toward me as he does so. “She’s right. You aren’t worth me fucking my perfect life up for! I won’t lose my chance to live with my family and my wife and kids for the likes of you.”

Giovanni doesn’t answer as he looks up at the sky, whispering his thanks. He then slowly begins to raise himself up while we all stand around deliberating what to do next. I prepare to head back upstairs, but the silence is broken by Enzo, as the moment Giovanni is back on his feet, he lashes out. He pins our brother to the wall by his throat, closing his hand around it, clasping tighter with every moment.

“You are a pitiful excuse for this family. Everything you said that day was a lie when you’re the one who’s the weak link in this family.” Enzo leans in, leering at Giovanni. “What you’ve done is neither going to be forgotten, nor will we forgive you for it. You deserve to rot for every sin you have done. I just hope the next time you fuck up, the person with a gun to your head won’t have someone like Amelia to talk them down.”

“People like me live on forever,” Giovanni speaks, albeit difficulty with the pressure held against his airway, but smiles nonetheless. “Haven’t you seen that yet?”

“No, I haven’t. People like you get what’s coming to you,” Enzo growls as his hand flexes around his brother’s throat. “We’re going to meet in years to come, and you’ll have absolutely nothing.”

“Bit like Manuel,” Giovanni goads, still smirking as he stares Enzo directly in the eyes. He then sniggers. “Bit like you now.”

Enzo’s hand clasps tighter around Giovanni’s neck, his knuckles whitening with the new grip.

“I have nothing to lose right now, Gio. Don’t test me. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain, but I would be more than happy to kick start a new life without you breathing.”

My eyes flick toward my father. He stands watching our family at war with one another, but he doesn’t move. He looks like the incarnate of a grieving father and I could almost believe it. From the way he doesn’t intervene, it’s almost as if he expected this to happen. The war has been gaining momentum until we’re at this point of battle, and the disappointing part is the man that is the catalyst for it all stands silently watching as if he’s had no hand in this at all.

“Why should we grant you mercy?”

Giovanni doesn’t beg for a verbal response, nor does he give up. Instead, he reaches out, digging a closed fist into Enzo’s stomach, right onto one of the wounds he inflicted only days ago. Giovanni laughs out as Enzo stumbles away, grunting and disabled from his feet with one swift hit.

It’s now he speaks, enamored as if he’s a charismatic leader, rightfully fixing the world. Rational sanity is lost on him as he believes his actions are somehow godlike and rewarding.

“Because I am the stronger one of this family right now.” He steps forward as Enzo stands stooped, holding himself. “And the problem is I will always be stronger!” Giovanni bellows, gathering some composure. “You cannot hurt me when I’m the one who will always hurt you most!

“You can’t hurt me though, you motherfucker,” Zane bellows, taking Enzo’s place to shove Giovanni back against the wall. “You can hurt them, but you can’t hurt me. Want to know why?” he asks, and Giovanni stares at him. “Because I’ll always be one step ahead of you.” My eyes bulge as I see the slip of a blade from his pocket. “Make one move and I will make sure this knife cuts you so deep no one will help you. How does it feel to be the one at the end of the knife?”

Once again, in quick succession, real fear ignites across Giovanni’s face. I revel in the sight and enjoy it all. This stark contrast to the man who always walked around with hisheld head high and a righteous attitude permeating from him is now reduced to a fearsome fellow. He has been stripped of all his bad traits and left a vulnerable target. One he always thought he was far too powerful to be.

The tension is broken by Zane’s laughter. It’s not the one I’ve grown to love. The one that draws tears to the corner of his eyes and has him looking well amused for a while after. This one is full of incredulity and mirthless emotion. He matches it with a step back, tearing himself away from confronting and damaging Giovanni. Like the bigger man, he declines to lash out and my heart soars at the force of nature Zane has become.

“Why didn’t you kill me?” he asks Zane, confusion laces his tone as he wonders what’s happened to his family – the one that usually attacked and thought of the consequences later.

“You’re pathetic, Giovanni, if you don’t know why!” Zane mocks, putting the blade away to slip it into the confines of his pocket. “Unlike you, some of my threats are actually empty. I know full well what I want to do to you, but I’m not a stupid man like you. I know when not to stop and still get my point across.”

“That makes no fucking sense,” Giovanni replies, striving for some strength.

Zane stills on his spot, tensions erupting. “I didn’t hurt you because I know if I did, Amelia would never forgive me for stooping to your level. I have strived to make her see how much I love her, and I will not allow someone like you to ruin it all.” Regardless of his speech, Zane does take a step forward, invading Giovanni’s personal space once more. “But mark my words, if I ever find you anywhere near Amelia again, I will cut you in so many different ways, you’ll know exactly what a slow death is like. And while I’m at it, I’ll taunt you until you take that very last breath.”

My heartbeat becomes rapid. This man, this beautiful male who adorns my every waking moment with hope and grace, will do whatever he can to protect me. At one time that thought terrified me, but now it fills me with calm. I know that whatever happens, Zane will come out of this predicament a different man - he'll be stronger, more resilient. He’ll care more, love unequivocally, and he’ll be able to stare whatever life has to offer him with dignity and a newborn potency that will make even the meanest of men quake with fear.

While I'll remain just as in love and enamored as I am. I used to imagine what corruption would look like once it crippled Zane, but now, now that isn’t an obsession. This crooked world hasn’t done anything to damage him. If anything, it’s matured him into a robust, brilliant force in which no one should cross.

He embodies the mental agility we all do, that need to use power and exert fear whenever it is needed, but unlike most in this lifestyle, Zane’s moral compass enables him to know when to stop. He is aware of his humanity and no one threatens that but himself.

It’s in that moment of power that the silence ebbs into all four corners of the room and we’re left reeling from yet a new event. However, as my mind chases multiple thoughts, I cannot stop myself from realizing that my father has said or done nothing to show his input or support.

“Cat got your tongue?” I ask, my tone lashing a little harsher than I had intended. “How can you be so fucking quiet while
this
is happening? How do you get to absolve yourself of any input now after all that has happened?”

I lash out as my father still remains silent. How dare he do such a thing when we’re all falling apart? His demand was to keep us together, maintain a ferocious exterior, but now we’re dealing with the ghost of grief, and he’s no longer aiding the moment or supporting our family.