Bishop |18+|

Ch.40

Antonio

[TW: mentions of domestic abuse, gore.]

~16 years ago—Sicily~

What was that?

Footprints. Heavy footprints. My mind was snapped awake after getting close to passing out and I shot out of bed, my eyes blinded by the darkness that enveloped me. As the soft white curtains continued to dance to the whistling tune of the wind along the sea, I glanced around the bedroom, allowing my eyes to adjust.

There. Another creak. And another.

After finally making out the outline of the door, I kept my eyes fixated on it, hearing the apprehensive sound of creaks along the wooden floorboards, getting closer and closer.

Mio Dio, please don't be Padre.

The circular knob of the door twisted with a whine and I braced myself, keeping my breaths steady.

"I didn't do anything, I swear." I thought. "I didn't.."

The door finally opened, its hinges creaking with a high pitch as the wooden plank unveiled a shadowy character. "Antonio?"

"Mama." I gasped with relief and raised my hands, opening my arms to her. "I thought you were Padre."

"No no, Tony." She let out a light chuckle, the moonlight finally shining a spotlight onto her body once she grew near. Wearing her white nightgown, she strode towards my bed, wincing in the process with her black curls in a bun and an obvious hint of exhaustion in her eyes. "Why are you awake?"

"I couldn't sleep." I mumbled. "What happened? Are you ok?"

She came to my side, finally allowing me to wrap my arms around her neck before she planted a kiss on my forehead. "Padre is being a bit of a... cagna."

"Mama..." I whispered with a chuckle. "That's a bad word. Don't say that."

"I'm only saying the truth, sweet boy." She gave me a little tickle before laying me back down onto the mattress, her hand moving over to sweep the hair out of my face. "Do you want some company?"

It didn't take me a second before I nodded confidently, watching Mama pull the sheets of the bed back before slipping down under the blanket, cuddling me. This happened pretty often, especially when Padre was in a bad mood the night before. I try to ignore it, but the colour's obvious whenever the moonlight made its disturbing appearance into my bedroom.

My hand moved up, rubbing the purple bruise on her cheek and she held onto it, kissing my palm. "I'm fine, baby."

"Mama I know it hurts." I whispered to her, feeling her pull me closer into her body to kiss my forehead. "Do you want me to get some ice?"

"No no baby. It's ok." She whispered back and let out a sigh, caressing my back. "The men are outside, and I don't want them to tell Padre anything."

My fists clenched against the pillows upon shifting to make myself more comfortable, staring up at the ceiling with my Mama's arms around me. She gulped. "Padre's just tired, baby. Don't worry too much."

"He's tired all the time." I scowled. "Cagna."

She smiled in the corner of my eyes. "He's just a bit busy at the moment. The Americans are just scaring him. He's stressed."

I did remember Padre explaining this to me at some point—extradition. Since Padre has been trying to move his work to the US, the bad people have been scaring him—telling him they'll lock him up if he gets caught but in America.