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“Did you let me have Doval just so I’d have to kill him?” I asked, petting the gray-haired hound lying in the green grass in front of me, his chest rising and falling with each pained breath he took, his pink tongue hanging outside of his mouth. Each time I petted him, he let out a soft whine like it hurt him, but each time I stopped he whimpered and looked up at me like he was upset I had stopped.
“A sick dog appeared on our lawn, you fed it, you kept it warm, you demanded we save it. You knew he was sick, you named him anyway. You knew nothing could be done, yet you cared for him anyway. I’m sure he loves you too, that’s why he wants to die with you petting him even though it hurts. You traded your smile for the love of a dying dog, Donatella; was it worth it?”
I bit my bottom lip, trying to stop the tears in my eyes from falling, but it hurt. It hurt so much that the tears were like fire ants in my eyes. I had to let them fall, but I didn’t want to cry so I screamed at her. “YES! Doval made me smile and I’m happy I kept him! Just because he was sick doesn’t mean I should have let him die!”
“Then don’t blame me for what you have to do next Donatella; you chose what you wanted, now you have to deal with whatever the consequences are.”
“I’m not shooting him!” I wasn’t going to kill him.
She knelt beside me and I lifted my chin so I could look at her. It was so hot outside but not a strand of her black hair was out of place. It was long and thick and curly, like mine, but she didn’t seem hot at all. I had to pull mine into a bun to keep from roasting. It was like the sun didn’t touch her, she didn’t even tan as much as I did when we went outside…How? Because she was her, just different.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” She said to me… Even though that was what I was thinking of her. I wouldn’t tell her that. “Your eyes, your face, every part of you is beautiful, especially this part.”
She tapped my chest, right over my heart. The corner of her lips turned up as she brushed the strands of my hair out of my face, the sun behind her made it look like a halo was behind her head.
“Your heart is beautiful Dona, which is why I need you to own it…Everyone loves beautiful things. Everyone wants to have beautiful things. Why do you think roses come with thorns? Because even flowers know that just because they are beautiful doesn’t give you the right to touch them.” She kissed both my cheeks before saying, “Donatella, lo sai no moderazione, è fame di tutto, sei come il caos in una bottiglia, il tuo amore è come un vello d'oro, e la tua rabbia vaso di Pandora. Tu sei, come me. Non voglio che tu cambi quel. Voglio che chiudi gli occhi, prendi un respiro profondo e pensi innanzitutto. Avere grandi aspettative, non dubitare di te e non compromettere. Essere più intelligenti e avere più pazienza di tutti gli altri. Vedi la grande immagine e prosperi.”
“You’re going too fast! I don’t understand, Mommy.” I frowned, looking up at her.
“I know.” She smiled, really smiled, as she spoke to me. “Just remember that until you do understand. Remember that when you are faced with much harder choices than killing a dying dog, Dona.”
When she got up, she didn’t look back at me. She climbed the stairs on the slope of the green hills. There, at the very top of the hill, was my dad, who nodded to one of the guards before he came out of side of the manor. This side was covered in dark red vines and was where we could go to play. Every time I looked at it, the house appeared as though one side had been eaten alive by the vines and the other was fighting it off. Mommy hated them, she said it made the house look hideous. But Daddy wouldn’t let her get rid of them, he said ‘the Irish aren’t supposed to look pretty,’
“What?” he asked Mom, fixing the watch on his wrist and looking at her the same way he always did when he wanted to know what was going on. I didn’t know what face Mom made back, but it didn’t answer his question, so he glanced down towards at me, his eyes narrowed on something. I wasn’t sure why until I looked where he did.
Doval!
He was barely moving, his eyes closing, all because of the needle in his side, right next to were my mom had been kneeling.
“Doval?” I shook him gently and he didn’t whimper or whine. He was gone. I didn’t even get to… Pulling out the needle, I threw it as far as I could, into the field of grass while hugging Doval. I got up angrily; marching, then running to the stone steps to get to her, but before I could, Daddy grabbed me.
“Let GO!” I tried yanking my arm away, but he wouldn’t let go. I screamed to the house instead, knowing she’d hear me, “I hate you! I HATE YOU! YOU MURDERER!”
“Dona! Dona! DONATELLA!” Daddy shook me. Kneeling before me, he pulled my arms in front of me and held them there. “Don’t ever say you hate your mother in front of me. Do you understand?”
I couldn’t stop the tears from pooling in my eyes as I glared at him. I glared directly into his green eyes, “Why are you always on her side?! No matter what, you always pick her side over mine!”
“Donatella—”
“No!” I yanked myself out of his arms. “I’m not going to let you talk me down! She’s a monster! I hate her and I hate you! I hate everyone! One day you’re all going to be sorry! One day you’re going to wish you were on my side!”
I thought he was going to holler at me again, but he just stood up, stuck his hands in his pocket, and smirked. Staring down at me before shaking his head, he didn’t say a word. Like he didn’t see or hear me.
“You’ll see.” I whispered softly to myself, balling my fists as he walked away. They’d all see one day.
DONATELLA - NOW
“Donatella,” Toby called out to me. The door was open, the cool Chicago morning air drifting into the car. I stepped out of the car one black heel at a time. I stopped, and Toby moved to close the door behind me, allowing me to see old man Moretti… As in Savino Moretti, the man who had a much more sinister reason for wanting my brother dead. His graying brown hair was combed back in waves and as he came to stand beside me, I saw he was so short that I could have rested my elbow on his head. He grinned at me before lighting the cigar he’d taken from his jacket and inhaling the scent deeply.
“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he asked, placing the cigar between his chapped lips. His mustache looked like it was trying to cover them up, but barely reached the top lip.
“Depends on who you are,” I replied, taking my sunglasses off my head, my dark hair falling slowly over my shoulder as I perched them on my nose.
“True,” Savino muttered, glancing up as the jet began its decent.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his knuckles flex.
Well, he’s anxious. Then again, why wouldn’t he be? Ethan had killed his daughter, and now he would never see Ethan alive again.
