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“Mariella, is he really going to kill me?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
“To be honest, child, I don’t know,” she says, leaning back on her hands as she rests on the bed and continues to speak.
“Since my husband died… Marco has been very angry, haunted almost. As if the demons of that awful night have stayed by his side. I will tell you though that he doesn’t keep his captives alive for long. They last a day, at most. And I’ve never seen a woman other than the cook and myself in this mansion. So, thus far, you are an enigma to us all,” she says, tilting her head to look at me.
“You said he’s been angry… was he not like this before his father died?” I ask, curious to know if the cold man has a heart, if he ever did to begin with.
I see her lips quirk up to a smile, as if she’s lost in a warm memory.
“Marco was a sweet boy, my only child. He’s been loyal to me his entire life, even more loyal to his father when he was alive. He became Leone’s second man at the young age of sixteen, eager to carry on the legacy of his father. Though, we didn’t expect him to become head of this family at the young age of twenty-seven. We didn’t expect him to be thrown into this unforgiving business without any kind of help,” she whispers, crossing her legs and scooting back on the bed as she continues to shed light on the monster that snatched me away from my life and my family.
“I remember the day he turned sixteen. He picked me a bunch of roses from our garden and his hands were all bloody from the thorns when he gave them to me, a smile on his perfect face. He told me then that he was going to make this family proud, that he was going to do right by me and his father.” Her tone darkens at the last of her words, the air changing in the room, becoming denser almost.
“And then I remember the day his father died. I remember looking at his bloody hands then, as he held my husband’s lifeless body. I remember his cries filling the halls, his constant prayers for his father to come back. That day I lost more than just my husband; I lost the sweetness of my son too,” she says, sniffing back tears as my own set of sadness gathers behind my eyes.
I don’t want to think of Marco as a boy picking flowers for his mom. I don’t want to picture him crying and holding his father’s dead body. I don’t want to see him as anything other than the monster that he is, but right now, I can’t help but feel my heart break for him and his mother. For the loss and the anguish that they’ve had to endure.
“I didn’t know. I had no idea my father did this. To be quite honest, Mariella, I didn’t want to. I’ve stayed out of my family’s business my entire life because this is what it brings. It causes death and horror and heartbreak, and I didn’t want any of that to touch me,” I say, swallowing my tears as I bow my head to my chest, my neck screaming from the tenseness of it.
“But I can see now that was mere wishful thinking. I’m sorry that you lost your husband, that you lost the purity of your son. I’m so sorry for it all,” I say, her hand reaching back to touch my leg once more as my head lifts towards her direction.
“There is no need for you to apologize, dear. You are not at fault for any of this. It just pains me that no matter how many times I say that to Marco, his vengeance will not let him understand,” she says, the reality of her words stabbing into my chest like a sharp knife.
“Why are you still here in this house? Witnessing the constant brutality of this life? Why have you chosen to stick by it still? It must haunt you just as much as it haunts him,” I whisper, staring at her hazy form on the bed.
“My son is all I have left, demons be damned. He’s my child and without him, I have no protection. I have nothing. I’d rather coexist with this anguish than with fear and loneliness,” she says honestly and right then, I know that I can trust her because I understand her.
“I know what it’s like to be lonely,” I admit. “I’ve been lonely my whole life.”
“And what of your life?” she asks. “What has your life been like, being hidden away with a vision impairment? That must have been difficult enough. Without a mother no less,” she asks, her voice laced with empathy.
“It’s been hard, but it’s beautiful. I love my life. I love what it’s filled with. I’ve made sure to find joy at every turn, to experience as much as I can,” I say, sadness overwhelming me as I think back to the life that was ripped from me.
“But that’s all in the past now. This is my life from now on, my future,” I say, tears falling from my eyes as my throat burns.
“Mariella… how much time do I have left? Before he… takes my breath too?” I breathe, my voice just as shattered as my heart.
I can’t see her face, but dear God, do I feel her sorrow.
“I don’t know, Lori. I wish I did. I wish I had an answer, or some hope to give you, but it seems all that I can offer you now is company,” she admits, her words settling inside of me, breaking me to my core.
I sniff back my tears, shifting my body on the bed to try and gain whatever comfort that I can find.
“Would it make you feel better if you could talk about something that you love?” she asks, not letting the room fall silent.
I smile at her, nodding as she scoots closer to me.
“Then tell me, Lori, what is it that you love?”
“Pictures,” I say instantly, my fingers practically itching to feel my camera beneath them.
She chuckles in surprise, amazed by my admission like most people have been my entire life. It’s not every day that you hear about a blind photographer.
“Do you like looking at them?” she asks, propping her chin on her small hands as she stares at me in wonder.
“I like taking them,” I say, a smile on my face now.
“Really?” She smiles wide, a small giggle leaving her lips, the sound warming me all over.
