Page 30 of Forgive Me, Father

I pissed myself watching it, and paid for it in the dark room.The worst part wasn’t the punishment.It was when Nunno left me there, alone.I’d take ten beatings over an hour in that place.There was something sinister in that room.Something that watched.

Our older cousins called itLa Sala della Morte, The Room of Death.Plenty of men and women had breathed their last within those walls.And some of them never left.They became part of the shadows, tormenting little naughty boys and girls.

I remember how I used to beg, how I cried for Nunno to let me out.Most times, I’d cry myself to sleep, worn out from the panic.I think I passed out from sheer fear.

Between eight and ten, Nunno made sure I watched lives get snuffed out.Some days were easier than others, but if I dared look away, I’d spend the next few days locked in that dark room.

At eleven, Nunno placed the gun in my hand.The gun was heavy and cold in my hand.If not for my fear of the dark room, I would’ve dropped it, and never looked back.But that fear made me pull the trigger.Nunno’s explanation of what the man had done made it easier too.He was a bad man.

But the nightmares haunted me.I struggled hard, and Nunno hated every second of it.He called me weak, pathetic, said I was no grandson of his.Then he threw me into the dark room.I stayed there a long time.When the door finally opened, I was never the same again.

It was like I made the shadows my friends, or maybe I let them in.It’s the only way I can explain the darkness inside me.The thing that craves the kill, that needs to see pain just to feel the calm.

My mother was devastated, and my father lost it, said I was just as fucked up as he was.Said Nunno didn’t raise humans, he raised monsters.

That was the last fallout I remember.Killing became easier after that.From eleven to thirteen I finished a dozen more.

I craved the power that came with Nunno’s approval.He didn’t give it often, but when he did, it felt like you could fly.

Through my darkness I became his favorite grandson.

Back in boarding school, they forced me to see a psychiatrist.Said I was disruptive in class, and whenever there was a fight, you can be sure I started it.

She came to the conclusion whatever happened to me in that dark room had nothing to do with shadows or demons, but with what was done inside it.

Told my mother I invented them to cope, to function, barely, as she put it.I laughed it off, and made it my mission to sleep with her.Pulled it off just before graduation.

She lost her job after that.Word was, that one mistake ruined her reputation for good.

Still, there were moments I wondered if she was right.I don’t remember anything truly horrific, just a beating or two.And if that’s all it was, then maybe I should be thankful my mind found a way to survive.

My biggest takedown was at sixteen.I went with Nunno, my dad, the uncles, and a few of Nunno’s brothers, we wiped out an entire family.

Nunno was strict about the rules: betray us, you die; talk to the authorities, you die.Simple as that.And honestly, how stupid did you have to be?We owned the police.

Nunno gave me a faulty gun on that annihilation expedition.It taught me a brutal lesson, but through it, I learned to kill with just about anything.I cut the one man’s main artery with a piece of glass.Another one died as I stabbed a pencil up his nose and into his brain.

Dad handed me his knife and it became relatively easier taking them down.I slipped into a state of pure rage, something almost supernatural.When I came to, all I could see was the damage I’d left behind and the blood.Some of it was mine.

I’d passed out and then woke up in hospital.

Dad didn’t say much.At this point in my life, he’d just turn around and walk away, while Nunno stood there, praising me for a job well done.

A knock shattered it like a warning shot.I snapped upright just as Father stepped inside, and one look at his face told me: this wasn’t going to be a conversation.

He was pissed off.

His glare was a weapon in itself, sharp and ice-cold.He yanked off his jacket and tossed it over the back of the chair with all the restraint of a storm about to break.

He closed the distance to the whiskey cart in a few determined strides and poured himself four fingers, neat.He took a sip and sighed audibly.

"Why do you insist on defying me?"His voice was low, lethal."Do you have any idea what you cost us yesterday?And you marrieda rust blood?Are you out of your damn mind?"

“Stop, if Nonno were still alive?—”

“I’m not my father.I’m not that ruthless.”

I stood up, locking my gaze with his, the anger simmering in my chest."No,you'reweak.And it's obvious, especially with our generation.I'm the only one with all the markings and thenumber oneunder my eye.”

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