DeLuca (Mafia Romance)

Enzo

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“Mom?” I called out when I walked into the dark house. I’d bought the small house on the outskirts of Seattle for her and my aunt five years ago. I couldn’t stand the thought of them living in the shitty neighborhood I’d grown up in.

Usually the house was warm, filled with laughter, and the smells of home cooking, but not anymore. It was quiet as I walked through the foyer and into the living room. It was cold, like someone forgot to turn on the heat and the February chill had seeped into the house.

“Mom?” I called again, louder this time. My breaths came faster and I could feel my pulse beating harder in my neck. Nothing looked out of place as I scanned the room; it was just a feeling. The house felt cold, lifeless, and empty. I searched the ground floor and found nothing, not a single light left on or a dish in the sink.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I made my way up the stairs to my mother and aunt’s rooms on the second floor. I’d stopped calling out; it only raised my anxiety level every time the empty house echoed my calls. I heard a whimper coming from my aunt’s room as I stepped onto the landing at the top of the stairs. Quietly, I pulled my gun from my waistband and crept across the wood floor to her door, careful not to make a sound.

When I reached the door, I noticed it was cracked open, revealing a dark room and nothing else. With my free hand, I slowly pushed the door open. The adrenaline was pumping through my system so rapidly it felt like my heart would beat out of my chest. I was trying my hardest not to think the worst.

Two forms lie in the bed, one curled around the other. Stepping closer, I saw the smaller of the two was silently sobbing, shoulders shaking, and every few seconds she would inhale sharply. My aunt.

“Mom?” I whispered.

The larger of the two lifted her head and rubbed her eyes. “Enzo? Oh honey, I didn’t know you were coming,” she said, sliding off the bed from behind her sister and leading me out into the hallway.

“You scared me, I was calling your name and you didn’t answer,” I said when we entered the hallway.

She hushed me and closed the door behind her. “I’m sorry, I must have fallen asleep. It’s been a hard day,” she said giving me a pathetic smile.

“What’s the matter? What can I do?” I asked immediately.

“Sweetheart,” my mother sighed cupping my cheek with a weathered hand. “My sweet boy, you look so much like your father, you know that?” she asked.

“Yeah you’ve said that before, Mom. What’s the matter with Aunt Rosa?” I asked impatiently.

“He was such a handsome man,” she continued wistfully.

“Mom,” I urged.

She clucked her tongue and patted my cheek. “Nothing you can fix. The heart needs time to heal.”

“What happened?”

“She was looking for Mama’s old recipe book; she wanted to make a cake.” She laughed pitifully and shook her head. “Just trying to keep busy, you know? Anyway, she came across an old photo album. I found her on the floor crying over baby pictures of Ed-” her voice cut out on his name and she had to clear her throat before she continued. “It’s a terrible thing to lose a child, the worst loss a person can suffer. It’s just-it’s not how it’s supposed to be. We fear it, but know it’s a possibility to lose a spouse and we expect to lose our parents-but never a child.”

I pulled her into my chest, cradling her head with my hand as she cried. Every one of her tears was like a knife to my heart. If I hadn’t agreed to let Eddie be a part of our plan with the Russians, none of this would have ever happened. His blood was on my hands. The only thing worse than the guilt was the fear that my mother and aunt would somehow learn the truth and see me for the monster that I am.

Frankie hates me; she has to. She’d been cool towards me for years. The way she looked at me now, it’s like it hurts for her just to see my face, so I’ve stayed out of sight. Not that I’d really spent a lot of time with her in the past few years; she didn’t want to be anywhere near me, and I couldn’t blame her.

I was an asshole.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered into my mother’s hair. I was sorry for a lot of things. It seemed to be a common theme for me.

“No need to be sorry. You’ve done so much for us. She just needs time; we all do,” she said softly, pulling away and patting me on the chest. Her dark hair was streaked with white and her eyes looked more tired than usual. She’d worked so hard to provide for me when I was young. I just wanted to be able to protect her, but I kept failing. The worst part was that no one knew that it was my fault Eddie was dead. I’d brought him into the fold. I’d asked for his help setting up the Russians. It was my fault my aunt couldn’t get out of bed, it was also my fault Frankie had that haunted look in her eye. I wanted to protect everyone I loved, but you can’t protect someone from the grief you caused.