Brutal Hunger

Three years ago

My small frame, shivering, hid behind Elisabetta, who’d been my guardian for four years since I arrived in Sicily. A cruel fear and overwhelming sadness enfolded me, streaming down my eyes. My chest heaved with every breath, my stomach revolting at the urgency tugging at my excretory system as I watched the terrifying figure stalking into our living room.

The Capo Die Capi of Cosa Nostra, Maximo Viltinó Rochetti IV. He was that man who should never set his eyes on me again. The man who was out for my blood. He'd haunted me for years. I'd been on a run since then. But tonight, with him and four of his men in our living room, I realized that I'd reached a dead end.

Four years ago, a notorious crime lord who went by the code name Lord forcefully sent me on a mission to kill Maximo in exchange for my foster family's life. Then I was only twelve. I couldn't kill a breathing human, not to mention someone as powerful as Maximo. I couldn't have pulled the trigger if I wasn't pressured.

Call it a taboo, call it naiveness… I fell deeply in love for the terror standing before me with his cold gaze tunneling through mine.

Dense silence followed his entrance, mine and Elisabetta’s tremulous breath sounding like a background orchestra, the tension swelling. He drew in a long smoke from his large cigar, his gaze, now dark, moored in mine. Victory and dark intentions sat clearly as day in his eyes.

He blew a cloud of smoke from his nose and slightly parted lips. Something about the way he delivered the action, together with his black long overcoat, fedora hat, and latex gloves, sent goosebumps through my skin.

“Look who's hiding from me. Shouldn't Little Cruella be pointing a Beretta right at my head like the other time?”

Elisabetta's body tensed up before me, and I quickly realized she was in a shock. Guilt spread through me. My hands uncoupled from her dress as I reflexively stepped back, only looking up to find her eyes questioning me, her brow furrowed.

“Your daughter is just like her father, Fiore.”

Daughter? Father? Confusion tugged at my insides, crawling onto my expression. I tried to string the words together, but the further I tried the unfathomable and impossible it got. I became the one to throw a questioning gaze at Elisabetta while she played the guilty one with her head lowered, avoiding eye contact with me.

Elisabetta, who'd been my caretaker for four whole years, was my mother. Now it was clear why she was shaken up back in the church when the Cosa Nostra family came to hold a memorial service for their late boss. I wasn't the only one running from Maximo. For some reason I’d die to know, my mom also had something with Maximo.

Why did she keep the truth from me all these years? Rage and sorrow engulfed me, winding up as unconstrained sobs. What could be worse than finding out a sweet truth in a bitter situation?

“You can't stop me from using your daughter as a tool for my vengeance, Fiore, that's a serious offense.”

My confusion rose. Vengeance?

“But we can make the consequences less unbearable.” He held out a hand to me. “Let’s go, Laura.”

Terrified as I was, my eyes danced from his face to his hand. My body, compelled by the fear he instilled, willed me to take his hand. But knowing that his hand would drag me to hell kept me still, even though I was hopeless.

I'd run away from church and left Elisabetta when I saw Maximo. I never would've returned home tonight if I hadn't thought that coming to take Lord's mask would save me from Maximo.

I'd had the mask with me for years as evidence that I'd seen Lord's face, knowing Maximo's biggest prey was Lord and telling him the secret would save me. But it seemed it was stupid to think the mask would save me from Maximo.

He was here to take me, not because I tried to kill him, but because he wanted to use me as a tool for his vengeance for something I was unaware of, something my parents caused.

Maximo's eyes darkened. He put his hand down. A deadly smirk spread across his face, revealing the cigar that hung between his teeth. He took the cigar in his fingers. “Get her.”

Two among the three of his men charged toward Elisabetta and me. A panicking Elisabetta wrested my hand and pulled me behind her, falling to her knees.

“Maximo, please. Laura had been through a lot as a child. She knows absolutely nothing about this. Laura shot at you, I know, but someone had made her do it. Tell him, Laura, tell him who made you do it,” she cried, shaking me vigorously, panting.