Page 125 of Forgotten Comeback
“Now what?” I ask.
“If Papà already knows, he’ll come to us,” Luciano says. “So we wait.”
Chapter
Forty-Eight
Gavin
“What happened with your dad?” Taylor asks, squeezing my hand.
“A few days passed, andnothinghappened. We hoped the incident had been swept under the rug, never to be brought up again,” I tell her, still refusing to look her in the eyes. “We were about to find out how wrong we were.”
Gavin
Fifteen-years-old
“Your papà is not answering any of my calls!” Mama drunk rages, throwing a wine glass across the room. It shatters, the red liquid dripping down the wall, reminding me of Maria’s blood. “He’s abandoned me, all because of you! Rocco, I can’t believe you ruined this for me!” The back of her hand connects with my cheek.
And I snap.
“Always fucking about you!” I charge, wrapping my hand around her throat and slamming her body against the wall.
She claws at my hands, drawing blood, but I don’t feel it. I don’t feel fucking anything anymore.
“Rocco, stop!” My brothers pull me off of her.
“You want to act like a crazy person, Rocco, I’ll treat you like one,” she promises, her eyes having shifted to midnight black. She grabs her phone, turning on the water works. “Yes, please send someone. My son, Rocco, is having a nervous breakdown. He attacked me, and I’m afraid for my life.” And through her crocodile tears, she smiles at me.
“Run,” Luciano whispers to me, and I take off in a dead sprint, out the door and down the street.
I’m in hell of good shape, but the problem is I have nowhere to go. The boxing club’s gone. Coach’s gone. Maria’s gone. And I feel like I’m gone too.
A few miles in, and I turn around and jog back to the house.
Blue lights are there to greet me.
“There he is!” Mama points, and I don’t struggle when I’m swarmed by the cops and thrown on the lawn.
I’m in my corner, shadowboxing as I wait for the orderlies to bring in my “opponent.” These sick fucks found out I’m a boxer, and now, I’m the nightly entertainment.
The new patient’s brought in, bound with a straightjacket. His eyes are wild, like the lights are on but no one’s home. There’s some commotion as one of the orderlies pulls out a needle and stabs the patient in the neck.
“What the hell was that?” I demand.
“Let’s see how good you are now that your opponent is amped up on speed.” The orderlies laugh, and money’s thrown down in bets.
“See that guy over there?” An orderly points at me. “He ratted you out and is the reason you’re here.”
My opponent lets out an ungodly cry.
Oh fuck me.
Someone makes a ding sound, and they let the guy out of his restraints. He screams an ungodly sound as he charges, and I sidestep him.
This isn’t boxing; this is something fucking else.
Like a man possessed, he throws a wild punch, his fist going through part of the sheet wall. Jerking his arm out, he’s even more enraged, with no signs of pain.
