Dark Saint [Romano Brotherhood, #1]

53 | Santo

My father is battering my face with his fists, and my only thought, as my head whips back and forth against the grass damp with morning dew, is that there's got to be someone out there laughing at my expense.

I mean, really.

The number of times both my parents have tried to kill me, at this point, is ridiculous. I suppose it's about time that one of them succeeded.

It was getting embarrassing, quite honestly.

He's screaming at me. Or, not at me, it seems. There's a haunting glint to his eyes that makes me wonder if he's not fully present in this moment. I'm no longer the deranged son begging to be punished, instead I'm a creature who has brought him hell and deserves the very same. 

"You don't understand how fucking hard it's been, how poisonous this family is. You're the problem. You turned me into this. All I've wanted is to be set free. Please, set me free," he half moans, half screams. 

Spit and froth splatters into my face. I don't recognize this man. He is a man possessed.

Bright laughter spills out into the air, and it takes me a few moments to realize it's mine. Searing pain spreads across my jaw but my laughter doesn't stop. What a fucking maniac. The more I laugh, the more he loses himself. His face reddens comically as I spit blood up at him. 

This feels familiar. This is the second time in my life one of my parents have been on top of me, with my life held in their trembling, sweaty palms. And Simo isn't going to save me right now, but he will be watching as the light drains from me.

Because I feel it now. I feel it draining.

My father's whole bullshit story about peace and fucking relaxing on a tropical island is gone, nowhere to be seen. The reality of the situation presses me deep, deep into the ground in acceptance. True crazy doesn't have reasons—yet I've been trying to prescribe reason to it all this time. I've been trying to take on the blame, shoulder some invisible weight made from the nihilistic oblivion of a life that just never made sense. I've been acting like I've been in control. Like it's been my choice. 

The frighteningly humorous part of it is that instead of not caring, I've been trying desperately to attach some meaning to a thing that is void of it. Maybe, this monster on top of me could have been responsible for the demise of our family all on his own. Maybe, there was a time when all I asked for was love and all I got in return was pain—so I stopped asking for what I couldn't have and embraced what I knew would stay. 

"You're—the—problem," I choke out, smiling around the blood in my mouth as it drips down my chin. My laughter becomes uncontrollable. "Look at you."

He lets out this guttural sound that sounds more animal than anything else, and I know his next hit will be the one that kills me.

Suddenly, his weight shifts off me. Tommaso's hitting him again with a strangled yell. I draw in a ragged breath, finally getting a break from the pummeling of fists in my fucking face.

Antonio growls in rage, swinging for my brother now, but he's absolutely fucking stupid in the haze of his madness. He moves wildly and thoughtlessly, and Tommaso hits him three more times with ease. 

Antonio falls back, off my body, and I roll to the side, blinking and trying to pull my battered bones into motion. My head feels like an open wound and I can barely see out of my swollen eyes. The only thing I taste is blood and my stomach heaves. 

Then there are hands on me and I'm not sure whose they are. They help to lift me. Then there's another set of hands.

"Nina," I mutter thoughtlessly. She better not be here. She better be—