Love is a dangerous game (mlm)

Remembering

Fun fact: Alexandro is fluent in Italian and Lucas constantly asks him to teach him Italian curse words.

(Alexandro's POV)

As I lay the bouquet of flowers at the foot of the headstone, a flood of memories washes over me. Closing my eyes, I'm transported back to that horrible night. The sound of that gunshot is etched in my brain. I've learned not to fight against the flashbacks, because that will only make it worse. I just have to let it happen. It all began when I was fourteen years old. It would have been my second street fight. My trainer at the time had told me this street fight would be different. Younger me was only getting excited at the thought of a big battle field. It was the perfect time to show off my boxing skills, I thought.

As I stepped into an alleyway alongside my dad, I saw a group of twelve people. A friend of my father pointed at a guy two years older than me. "You think you can handle him?" He asked. I didn't want to let my people down, so I said yes. I approached my opponent. The boy was stronger than me, that was clear from the moment our fists collided. His blows landed with a huge force. But I refused to back down, fueled by a stubborn determination to prove myself in the eyes of my peers.

When he punched me in the gut, I lost my balance. I locked eyes with my father. "Shoot him, Alexandro," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. For a moment, I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest as I struggled with the enormity of what was being asked of me. I slowly reached for the gun tucked into my waistband, the metal cold against my trembling fingers. I looked at the boy one more time. The fear in his eyes made my stomach drop, but I had to obey my father. If I didn't kill him, the boy would probably kill me, I convinced myself. 

And then, with a single pull of the trigger, everything changed. The deafening roar of the gunshot echoed through the night. As the boy fell to the ground, life draining from his eyes, I knew that I could never truly escape the consequences of my actions. Guilt clawed at my insides as I saw the look of shock in his eyes. I heard two more gunshots, before my father yelled: "Let's get out of here!" We left the crime scene and I could hear someone cry from a distance.

The next three days I locked myself up in my room. I was responsible for his death. The gravity of my actions sank in, and my heart froze in my chest. He was still young with so much life ahead of him. I imagined the pain his family must be in, which only made me feel worse. I had nightmares for years, haunted by the image of his mother waiting for him to come home. Eventually, I had to face reality again. I had to bury my feelings in order to be a good gangster.

A month later, I visited the graveyard where the boy was buried. His name, Kai, was engraved in a marble stone. I felt this overwhelming urge to pay my respects, even though I knew that he couldn't hear me. I said some kind of prayer. I'm not sure to who I prayed, because I am not religious. It just felt like the right thing to do. So, I made it a custom to visit him at least twice a year. Sometimes I bring flowers, other times I clean his tombstone. As time went by, I found myself talking less about the death and more about life. I began to find comfort in that quiet place where we were both at peace. For a while, talking to his grave was how I coped with my guilt. Now, I go there not to beg for forgiveness, but to honor his memory.

It's been two days since Lucas proposed the idea of an alliance between our gangs. I don't know what the Ruby gang thinks of us, but my people hate them. To be honest, mostly my father has a thing against them. The others just follow their leader. That means that once my father isn't the leader anymore, it's actually possible. But he isn't the kind of person who would give up his position easily, even if it means the best for everyone involved. Though I also know that something needs to change. It would bring some much-needed stability and peace of mind, not to mention financial benefits.

The thought of waiting years or decades for me to become the new boss is exhausting. I know that it isn't going to happen overnight, so I would have to find another way. "What am I supposed to do?" I whisper to the grave. My question is met with silence, like always. I decide that it's time to go home again. I'm lucky I brought an umbrella with me, because it suddenly starts raining. I quicken my pace, the puddles splashing beneath my shoes.

When I finally arrive home, I'm met with a sight that sends a chill down my spine. My mother sits in the dining room, her eyes swollen with tears. I rush towards her. "Mamma, what's wrong?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. Her words come out in a choked sob. "He's drunk again." I feel a familiar sense of anger bubbling up inside me. It's a scene I've witnessed far too many times. I usually stay out of my father's way for the rest of the day to avoid conflict, but I'm getting sick of his behavior. It's time for me to finally confront him, tell him everything I've been wanting to say since I was little.

My father is in the living room, his steps heavy as he paces back and forth, the scent of alcohol clinging to him like a suffocating cloud. With a deep breath, I approach him, preparing myself for the confrontation that is about to unfold. I tell him that we need to talk. He turns to face me, his eyes bloodshot with intoxication. "What is it now?" he snaps, his words slurred. I take a moment to gather my thoughts, knowing that this conversation could very well determine the course of our family's future. "It's about your drinking. It's tearing our family apart."

His reaction is immediate, a flash of anger igniting within him like a fire. "You have no right to tell me what to do," he growls, his voice rising with each word. I hesitate for a moment. I have a feeling that I will be in big trouble tomorrow. He's probably going to ground me for the rest of my life. But then I remember my mother's face. There is this tiny bit of hope for a better future for us. "I just want you to realize the damage you're causing, not just to yourself, but to all of us. Your drinking causes you to be more violent and it's putting our gang in danger. We could have easily avoided many gang fights against the Ruby gang if we just negotiated with them. If we just gave them a chance-"

Before I can finish my plea, my father's temper boils over, his fist hitting me in the stomach. It's such an unexpected move that it sends me reeling backward. The pain radiates through my body while I gasp for air. Without a word, I jump forward, my own fists clenched in fury, and we collide in a whirlwind of violence. Blow after blow rains down, fueled by years of pent-up frustration. He's too strong for me, so I have to find a different solution. In the chaos of our struggle, my hand brushes against something metallic. I grab my gun out of it's waistband. "Stay back," I warn, my voice trembling with the weight of my resolve. 

His eyes widen in shock, his drunken stupor momentarily replaced by sober fear. His face... He has the exact same expression as that boy from more than ten years ago. The memory crashes over me like a tidal wave, threatening to drown me in its depths. This moment is way too similar to that fateful night. No, no, no. My instincts are telling me to run away from everything, though my body refuses to move. My chest tightens, the air growing thin as I struggle to draw breath. The walls feel like they're closing in on me and I can't seem to focus. But father doesn't wait for me to calm down. He notices my weakness and sees it as an opportunity to attack me again. He lunges at me, trying to steal my gun, when suddenly- BANG!