Page 35 of Psycho

Psycho turns his head to the door, and speaks low, but matter-of-factly.

“When I can stomach looking at you.”

The flashback is instant, and attacks me head on, as he slams the door shut.

“I can’t even stand to look at you,” Carlo says, as he stands with his belt in his hand. I know what happens next. He’s going to beat me with it, it’s become his go to, whenever we argue, which lately is constantly. His green eyes are wide with anger, as he steps closer to me. I won’t fight him. We both know I won’t, because I won’t risk waking Michael. The last thing I need is for our three-year-old to walk in on his daddy beating mommy. Children learn what they see, so I’m careful to never cause him to lose his temper when Michael is awake. It’s my fault, I know it is. I shouldn’t have questioned where he had been. I knew how this would play out, but I was pissed when I saw a smear of lipstick on his shirt. Now it’s not worth it.

He wraps the belt around my throat, and tightens it, until he cuts off my air supply.

“I told you I’d make you learn your place, one way or another. Of course, I’m fucking other women. You disgust me.”

I’d like to ask him why he makes me have sex with him every day, if I’m so repulsive, but I can’t, with a belt strangling me.

“Mommy. Mommy,” my little boy cries, as he races toward Carlo.

The evil glint in my husband’s eyes causes me to shake my head, as his grip loosens. I take in a gulp of air, and plead with him to not hurt my son. When Carlo becomes angry, there’s no stopping it, so I know this is going to get worse before it gets better.

“Don’t hurt him. It was me, all me. I’m sorry.”

He removes the belt from my neck, and turns to the son we created together. Carlo has never been a great father, but he’s never hit Michael either. With the belt in his hand, he raises it, and I grab a knife. I’ve never fought him off, but for my son, I will kill him with my bare hands, if I have to.

Racing over to him, he places the leather around Michael’s neck and, as he tightens it, I stab him in the back with a butcher knife, but it doesn’t stop him. It doesn’t slow him down. I wrap my arm around his throat, trying to pull him back, and away from our boy. My everything. It doesn’t work. Instead, he pulls tighter, until I watch my sweet dark-haired boy slump to the floor.

I pull the knife out, and plunge it into his back over and over again, until he falls to the floor, beside the little boy that not only made me a mother. He gave me life. In only minutes, Carlo took everything from me.

That day is never far from my mind, and neither is my part in it. The guilt weighs heavily on me, and I spend most days feeling like I’m carrying a boulder on my back. After it happened, I had no one to turn to. Mrs. Bonetti was no longer in my life, and my own mother was already in her depressed state. The loneliness was crippling, and the flashbacks are still intense.

I let out a shaky sigh, as I try to remind myself that I hate Massimo Bonetti. His words don’t matter. Yet, somehow they do.

There are some things in life you never get over. Losing your child, to an act of violence at the hands of his father, is one of those. The darkness fills your heart and never leaves. You somehow manage to keep breathing, even when you don’t want to. The pain never leaves. It’s always there, and all-consuming. The only thing possibly worse than the pain itself is the guilt. I am the reason my son is dead. I knew better than to fight with Carlo. His blood is on my hands, and I will never forgive myself.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

ANASTASIA

I’ve been staring out the window, through the bars, for hours. His property is beautiful, and I’d love nothing more than to explore it. I won’t ask for that. Making Massimo angry seems easy, and dangerous.

I spot movement near one of the two large gardens, and it catches my eye.

He catches my eye.

Massimo is running back toward the house, in black sweatpants and no shirt. My breath hitches, because he’s evil, but beautiful. A large frame, with chiseled muscles, and so much ink. When I last saw him, he had one tattoo on his arm, but now, he’s covered with them. As he gets closer, I notice his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, and ignore my drenched panties.

You will not be attracted to him.

First crushes die hard, but this one has to. After Carlo, I vowed to stay away from bad boys. I didn’t know, when I met my ex, that he was affiliated with a mafia family. I didn’t find that out until after I got pregnant, three months to the day after we started dating. Then it was too late.

His gaze lifts to the window, and I know I’m caught. I dart away so he can’t see me, and run back to the bed with my hand on my chest, as my heart thumps wildly.

When we were kids, he was both kind and cruel, although mostly the latter. There were times he showed me that he cared. I wonder if that part of him is gone, or if there’s any of the boy I knew left at all.

I lay on the ground, blood covering my knees, and Massimo and Lorenzo run through the empty field to me, like they somehow knew I was here.

“Lorenzo,” he barks, “Grab that fucker.”

Kneeling beside me, Massimo stares at me with concern, as he pulls my dress down, now covering my thighs appropriately.

“You are not supposed to be over here by yourself. What the fuck did he do to you?”

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