Brooklyn:
After being forced to spend one summer in Italy with her grandma, Brooklyn always found her way back to the cobblestone streets but not for the feeling of a summer never ending, but for Valentino, a boy who radiates trouble and sees throu...
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POV: Valentino "I was being who you wanted to see, not who I wanted to be" - Abraham Rodriguez Unsent letter to Brooklyn
I've forgotten many things.
Correction, I've tried to forget many things.
At home, I tried to forget the screams of my mama as she begged for mercy when my papa beat her or the smell of whisky on my father's breath.
At work, I've tried to forget the blood that would stain warehouse floors and the cold, lifeless eyes of dead people.
I've tried so hard, Brooklyn, but it would never go away. Then I met you.
With each passing day, I would replace the harshness of my world with your soft laughter, touch, and smile.
You made it easier, not only to forget.
But to live. Love, Valentino 🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮
The first thing that comes to mind in my haze is the smell. It's so strong that it threatens to pull me back under.
Gasoline.
Every inhale I take burns my nose so badly that I stop momentarily breathing. Through my dizzy glaze, I see an exit and try to get up, but something weighs me down. I look down and spot a ball anchor attached to my ankles.
Dima wanted me to try, but I failed. There's no way I can make it from here to the end of the hall, where the only exit is.
Shoot.
I keep my eyes on my goal and start to slowly crawl. The blood still on the floor causes me to slip with each attempt, but I keep going anyway. Inch by inch, I drag myself through the dead bodies and try not to think I'll be one of them. I can't be.
When I thought about how I was going to die, this wasn't one of them, and I won't allow it to be.
I thought that maybe I was right when I crossed half of the ballroom, but then I felt it. The heat was snaking through the room with ease, turning everything it touched to ash. With each inch I take, the monster comes closer and closer.
I don't even see the exit anymore due to the smoke blurring my vision and burning my lungs. Each time I cough, more somehow comes in.
I stop for a second to try to see where I'm at, but I instantly regret it. A hot, angry fire licks up my feet. The scream that bounces off the walls doesn't sound like mine, but I know I'm the only one here.
In this freaking ballroom, being burned like a sausage on a grill Dima will probably feed my burned body to his dogs as a treat for attacking normal civilians.
I laugh but end up coughing more from the smoke. Man, I'm starting to get hazy. All jokes aside, I think I'll make a pretty good treat, though. I mean, I've always been a snack.
I sober up when I think of a girl who loves snacks. No, not any girl, my girl. Regret hurt my body more than the fire slowly burning up my back. I wish I never messed everything up, so I could be at peace knowing that she knows how much I love her.
I don't deserve her; I never did, and I never will. Nobody deserves to see or hear her smile or laugh, which puts anyone at ease. Selfishly, I hope Brooklyn never forgets me. Us. Because I've never forgotten about her.
No matter what she may have thought. I've been there with her the whole time. Her graduation. Birthday party. Freaking prom. Not even her hatred for me then could keep me away.
I smile and roll onto my back, letting the fire lick it up some more. Through the flames by the windows, I see the sky and the stars that inhabit it. Before I close my eyes, I pretend the brightest one is Mia Piccolo Stella.
"Come on, buddy." I feel a body drag mine and instantly groan from the pain. Seconds later, my body jumps at the feeling of water touching my burns. It hurts at first, but eventually it eases the pain away. Sprinklers.
"I'm sorry, Valentino, but Dima threatens my mamma." Ava's voice is calm and soft, despite the situation. She's not just my employee, but a friend I've acquired over the years, and I've never been more thankful for her.
The last thing I see is her warm smile before everything goes black again. 🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮🝮
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I hate the hospital. The smell of sterilization made me scrunch my nose in disgust. I instantly sit up despite the dizziness I feel and start ripping off anything attached to me. The beeping gets louder.
"Slow your roll, buddy." I see Ava's occupancy nurses standing in front of the doorway with a worried expression in their eyes. I ignore them and start looking for my clothes. This gown is so rough that it's practically scraping my skin off.
I pull back the white comforters to see my ankle to calf wrapped in white cloth. Freak, I forgot about that. The previous pain I felt basically evaporated, so they probably have me on painkillers.
Shoot.
Ava walks towards the side of the bed and pulls the covers back. "You're lucky, you know. After a couple of weeks, I'll get as good as new." She smiles again. This time, it isn't as comforting as the others.
Call it a sixth sense, but I know when someone is lying or hiding something from me, and Ava is definitely hiding something.
"What is it, Ava?" I look her dead in the eyes to let her know I'm serious.
"Promise you won't freak out," she says, bouncing from one foot to the other. From that only, I already know that I'll freak out, but I lie, "I won't."
Ava starts to pace the room. I don't miss the way she distances herself from me: "When we returned to your house, we noticed something." Ava glances my way warily before continuing, "All the men guarding the house were gone. Like they never existed, so we decided to investigate more, and," Ava's face grimaced, "we couldn't find Brooklyn anywhere. She wasn't at her apartment or at a friend's. Valentino, she's gone."
Gone.
My blood grows hotter by the second, and it's not long before the anger takes over. I swiped the objects from the side table.
Hand sanitizer, plastic cups, and a wired phone went crashing to the floor with the pieces of my heart. How could I have let this happen?
How could I lose her again?
I won't be in condition for another mission for weeks, and if I were, who would I lead? Most of my men followed Dima like he was one of the Gods of Olympus.
An unfamiliar feeling coasted down my spine, tightening it. I wish I could say it was from the fire, but I knew what it really was.
Self-pity.
It's a feeling I've never embraced with open arms. As a matter of fact, I usually drowned it down with Vodka until it went away, and it did, but sitting in this hospital room made me realize that it won't go away unless I do two things.
One: get Brooklyn back, and two: finish my brother once and for all.