Dark Redeemer by Raven Scott

5

Massimo

Luciano is sitting at my bedside. He sits up, wide-eyed, and quickly makes a call. “He’s awake.” He hangs up, looks at me. “Massimo.”

I try to sit up but I groan in pain. My vision fills with stars and I lay back down. My head pounds.

I gaze at my brother, doing my best to ignore the aches I feel all over. “What happened?”

“You didn’t make it to the party,” Luciano says.

I feel a tight knot forming in the pit of my stomach. “Tell me what happened.” I say each word firmly, succinctly.

“You got T-Boned on the way,” Luciano says. “Another driver ignored a red light.”

It happens all the time on the streets of Italy. Red lights are considered optional. In Sicily… wait a second. The first part of his sentence finally registers.

T-Boned.

The knot grows tighter.

I hold Luciano’s gaze. “Matteo. Is he…” All right?

Luciano swallows uncomfortably. “He’s.” My brother’s eyes tear up. “He’s.” But he can’t finish.

And I know that Matteo is gone.

I shift my gaze to the hospital ceiling. White. Spotless. Sterile.

“I killed him,” I say simply, without emotion.

“It’s not your fault,” Luciano tells me. I can hear the anger in his voice. “The guy who T-Boned you survived. He got a broken leg for his troubles, and that’s it.”

When I look at Luciano again I’m vaguely aware that his eyes are not his own. It’s as if a thin film has slid over his irises.

I can barely see for the red haze that fills my own vision. “That’s it?”

Luciano nods wrathfully. “The police want us to press charges. And we will, but it’s a formality. Because as soon as he’s released from the hospital we’re going to rip out his intestines and feed them to his dog. What’s left of him won’t live very long after that.”

“Take photos,” I tell him with barely restrained rage of my own. “And videos. I want to see everything.” I’m not going to tell him to wait for me, considering I can’t even sit up. I want the other driver to pay as soon as possible.

“I will,” Luciano promises.

My other brothers arrive with Rosa and they try to comfort me, but I’m hardly aware of their presence. Darkness flows through me. I want to kill all the hospital staff for letting Matteo die. In fact, I want to kill everyone in the city. And in all of Italy. I blame them. Them! If there were no people, there would be no cars. And if there were no cars, Matteo would still be alive.

And through it all, a part of me can’t help but think, maybe it’s better this way.

Matteo escaped the darkness.

Meanwhile, I’m losing to it. Losing badly.

And there is no escape for me.

* * *

I lay backin the hospital bed, watching the video that Luciano is showing me on his phone. Stefano and Roberto sit behind him with their arms crossed, haunted, angry looks on their faces. The volume is low, but I can hear the man whimpering and begging for his life.

I feel nothing as I watch the video. The emptiness inside me can’t be filled by the death of the man who killed my brother. It’s true what they say, that revenge won’t bring back the dead. But it was necessary nonetheless. The man owned us a debt that had to be repaid in blood.

When Luciano closes the phone, he sits down next to Stefano and Roberto. I can see the anger lingering in all their eyes. Killing that guy wasn’t enough. It’ll never be enough.

“We should kill his wife, too,” Stefano says.

I press my lips together. They’re waiting for my approval, but I can’t give it. They have to make their own choice in this matter.

“Enrico participated, too?” I ask.

Luciano nods. “We all did. Except Rosa. She doesn’t know.”

Good. I don’t want her to know.

I run my gaze across them, lingering on Roberto. While I see anger in his eyes, I also see pain. Too much pain.

“Are you okay?” I ask him.

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“First the jockey, now this…” I tell him.

“Yeah, except this fucker deserved everything he got,” Roberto says. “Listen, I don’t want you worrying about me. Worry about you. Concentrate on healing.”

“And I don’t want you spending nights alone on the beach drinking wine and bawling your eyes out,” I tell him. “If you want to drink and cry, do it here.”

He doesn’t answer.

“Do it here,” I repeat.

“All right all right,” he says. “If I drink, it’ll be here. Fuck the hospital rules.”

“That’s what I want to hear.” I glance at Luciano. “How was the funeral?”

The anger fades somewhat from his eyes, which become distant. “It was what it was.”

I hadn’t been able to go, stuck as I am in the hospital.

“Michela was there,” Luciano says, his mind still elsewhere. “Crying like a baby.”

“Luigi’s daughter?” I ask.

Luciano nods.

That endears her to me a little. I understand now all the little furtive glances they used to share whenever I saw them together. I never thought anything of it at the time, but it’s obvious they had a crush upon one another. I’ll never know if they acted on it, because I’ll never ask her. Not that it matters now. Nothing does.

Stefano leans forward. “How long do you have to undergo rehabilitation therapy?”

I shake my head. “No idea. My physiotherapist doesn’t know, either. She’s clueless. I still can’t walk, or even get up off this bed. I’m worried I’m going to have tubes stuck up my ass for the rest of my life.”

“You can do this,” Stefano says. “You’re a Moretti.”

I give him a wan look. “I used to think that stood for something. That we were strong together… that we could never die as long as we were together. And yet I was with Matteo when the time came and I couldn’t protect him. There was nothing I could do. Hell, I don’t even remember what the fuck happened.”

“It’s not your fault,” Stefano says.

“If it’s really not, why do you keep saying that?” I ask. “Why do you all keep saying it?” When none of them answers, I add: “Fuck this.”

I’ve been watching the nurses and I’ve figured out how to lower the bars that hem me in on both sides of the bed. I put them down and try to swing my legs over so I can stand.

Luciano sits up stiffly. “Maybe you should wait for the nurse.”

“At least let me help,” Stefano says, standing.

“Fuck off,” I tell him when he tries to put a hand under my arm. The tubes connected to my body twist as I reposition myself, and I know there’s a good chance I’ll rip some of them out, but I don’t give a shit at the present moment.

I swing my legs over the edge and shove off.

My feet can’t hold my weight and I crumple.

But Roberto and Luciano are there to catch me.

They reposition me back onto the bed. I look at them, feeling grateful to them for being there, and I tear up.

They’re too good to me. I don’t deserve this.

“Even if you can never walk again, we’ll hold you up, every step of the way,” Stefano says.

Luciano glances at him. “He’ll fucking walk again. Don’t you talk like that.”

“But you heard the nurse…”

Luciano’s glower deepens. “I don’t give a shit what the nurse said, he’ll walk.”

Stefano bites his lower lip and nods.

“I must have missed what the nurse said,” I say dangerously.

Luciano gazes at me for a moment, seeming unsure whether to tell me. Finally he says: “It’s not important. You’ll walk.”

I can tell he’s hiding something. The doctors and nurses think I’m going to be a cripple for the rest of my life.

Maybe they’re right.

“Roberto, I need you to go to my room at the villa,” I tell him. “In the chest at the base of my bed you’ll find a bag of cocaine. Bring it to me.”

“But Massimo—” Roberto begins.

“Do it!” I order him. “Don’t come back tomorrow without it.”

My other family members exchange worried looks, but say nothing.

When he arrives the next day, Roberto waits while the nurse changes my IV bag.

I only spare him a glance. Instead, my eyes hatefully follow the nurse, watching her every move. Luciano had told me how the doctors and nurses tried to save Matteo when he was brought in, but they gave up in the end, confirming what I already suspected: it’s partly their fault he’s dead. They gave up.

I would’ve never given up. Ever. She’s a murderer, like the others.

The thought only stokes my rage all the more.

“There you go, all good,” the nurse tells me.

I leer at her and she starts slightly before leaving in a huff.

When she’s gone I relax. I turn my attention to Roberto, who tosses a cocaine bag to me. I’d almost forgotten about my request. I stare at the bag for a moment, then quickly shove it beneath my pillow.

“Enjoy.” He has an angry look on his face and turns to go. But then he freezes. When he faces me again, his expression is softer.

“Remember what you told me about not wallowing in self-pity?” Roberto says. “How I should get back to my routine?”

“It’s kind of hard to get back to my ‘routine’ as you call it at the moment,” I retort.

“Yeah well, start a new routine,” Roberto says. “Throw yourself into physiotherapy. Make little daily goals for yourself. First day you’ll wiggle your toes. Second day you’ll move your ankles. And so on.”

“You sound like my therapist,” I joke.

“That’s because I am,” Roberto replies in all seriousness. “Please Massimo, don’t do this. You don’t need drugs to dull the pain. You’ll just make things worse.”

“You’re wrong,” I tell him. “I need all the help I can get right now.”

“Let me take the cocaine home.” He extends an open palm. “Give me the bag.” When I don’t move he sighs and his shoulders slump as if he has all the weight of the world pressing down upon him. “If you want to get on your feet, drugs aren’t going to help. I’m not going to bring you any again.”

With that he turns around and leaves.

When I’m alone I retrieve the translucent bag.