over control of my mind so I’m just shoving everything that comes my way down my throat.
I’m starting to feel better and stronger. Not that it benefits me. It just means lasting for as long as I’m needed here.
When I finish eating, I go back on the terrace. Today I sense a storm brewing. I can smell the thickness of rain in the atmosphere. The temperature has dropped, making it more bearable than the other day.
I haven’t seen Tristan since then. Just like when he avoided me the day after that inappropriate moment we shared.
After what I said to him, I can’t quite predict when I’ll next see him. There’s something bothering me though, so I’m glad for the limited contact with people today.
In my dreams the other day I saw that man again. This time I actually saw him, clearly.
My nightmares since my mother was killed only featured my father. I’d forgotten the other man was there too. It was almost like I’d stepped into a room in my mind where my memories are stored away.
I have no idea who the man is. I’d never seen him before the incident.
In my delirious state I remembered him. Now that I think of it maybe my mind held on to the memory because seeing an Italian man in my home was strange.
Back then I wouldn’t have thought it odd, now I definitely do.
My father hates anyone linked to the Italian mafia. Those he’s done business with are complete exceptions and wouldn’t have come into a house he shared with family.
My father’s family was killed by a powerful Sicilian mafia boss when he was younger. The man’s name was Federico DeLuca
My father was twelve when it happened. His whole family were taken from him. His mother, father, two sisters and a baby brother who was only three months old.
Federico killed them all because they were part of the Bratva, and he was on a rampage to kill those linked to the loss of his business. He spared my father though, but only because he was in the habit of collecting young boys to keep as slaves or to fight for him. He did both to my father. He kept him as a slave, beating him near death on many occasions. Then when he got older, he trained him to be a cage fighter.
My father used to tell me the gruesome stories. The Circle of Shadows began there. He managed to overthrow Federico with the help of others who were taken, and they formed the group with my father as the leader. The only member I know of from that time is Nickoli.
At first, they were part of the Bratva but as they gained power and strength, they didn’t need anybody anymore.
During the time my father killed my mother it would have been at the height of his power. Seeing him with anybody of Italian descent would have been odd.
That man was as guilty as my father in killing my mother. He was there, just standing by, watching.
I still don’t know why she was killed so violently. Dad stabbed her over and over again in her stomach. He did it with rage.
The worse part of it, the part that throws me for a loop, was he’d always told me she was the most important thing to him, and I was the result of their love. Living proof that their love existed.
That was before he changed to what he is today. Or maybe that was what he was all along and at ten years old I was too young to see truth.
The door clicks open, pulling me from my thoughts and I stand waiting to see who’s come to see me now.
If it’s Candace or Tristan’s brother, it means they’re still showing some mercy. It’s neither of them.
It’s Tristan so that means he’s back to badger me again for my father’s location.
“I’m taking you downstairs for some questioning,” he announces and a shiver snakes down my spine.
He hasn’t done that before. I haven’t left this room.
“Why?” I ask nervously, fear lacing through my voice.
“Just come with me. You’ll see why,” He answers and that feeling just intensifies.
What’s happening now?
What could this be now?
I walk toward him, and he takes hold of my elbow to lead me out of the room.
As we step through the door and proceed down the corridor I realize this is the furthest I’ve gone in this house.
The corridor is wide with a high ceiling and the wall is stone, the