𝓗𝓲𝓼 𝑅𝑒𝑖𝑔𝑛

69

As Salvatore gazed out of the window, memories surged like a tide, dragging him back to the nightmare of his upbringing, where love was a luxury he could never afford.

Born into the mafia, Salvatore was thrust into a world of darkness before he could even comprehend its depths. His father, a feared don whose name sent shivers down the spines of rivals and allies alike, was a man carved from cruelty. His mother, once vibrant and full of life, had long succumbed to the weight of despair, trapped in a cycle of addiction and abuse.

Salvatore's earliest memories were marred by violence. He could still recall the sound of his father's thunderous voice, barking orders that cut through the air like a knife. It was a voice that demanded respect and obedience, yet it carried a chilling undertone of rage that sent Salvatore scrambling to hide.

As a child, he often sought refuge beneath his bed, curling into a tight ball as his father's shadow loomed over him. He spent more time with the lint and dust under his bed than his own father. The world outside his hiding place was a storm of chaos and screams, a cacophony of shattered glass and echoed threats. He would press his tiny hands against his ears, hoping to block out the sound of his father's violent temper, the harsh crack of his belt against flesh, the guttural cries of those who dared to defy him.

But the sanctuary of darkness offered little solace. Instead, it became a prison of its own. He could hear his mother's soft sobs, the sound mingling with the hollow thuds of his father's fists connecting with skin. Each thump reverberated through the floorboards, a haunting reminder that safety was an illusion.

After the storms would pass, his mother would crawl into the room, her eyes glassy and distant, the remnants of her last high still lingering in her gaze. In those moments, she sought to erase her pain with a haze of smoke and forgetfulness. But Salvatore was often the one left to bear the brunt of her despair.

When the world grew too heavy for her to carry, her anguish would manifest in cruel ways. She would light a cigarette, the tip glowing with an insatiable hunger for release, and as the smoke curled around her, she would forget the monster his father had become. But she would not forget Salvatore.

"Don't you ever disappoint me, Sal," she would murmur, her voice a fragile whisper as she pressed the burning tip of the cigarette against his skin. The searing pain would send tears streaming down his cheeks, mixing with the shame of his helplessness. "You're supposed to be strong, just like him."

The irony of her words cut deeper than the burn. He was her son, yet he was always meant to be a reflection of the monster that ruled their lives. The cigarette burns faded, but the scars remained etched into his flesh and psyche, a permanent reminder of a love twisted by pain and addiction.

Outside, the darkness of the mafia world crept closer, its tendrils wrapping around their lives like a vise. Salvatore witnessed the terrible acts his father committed-violence that turned men into ghosts, that left mothers wailing and children orphaned. He learned early on that to survive, one had to harden their heart and silence their conscience.

On nights when his father returned home, reeking of smoke and blood, the atmosphere shifted. Fear coursed through the air, thick enough to choke on. Salvatore would press himself into the shadows, praying to remain unseen. But there were nights when the shadows betrayed him, and his father would find him, dragging him from his hiding spot with a grip like iron.

"Did I teach you to cower, boy?" his father would sneer, the venom in his voice laced with the effects of whatever substance fueled his rage that night. "You're a Russo. You stand tall, or you don't stand at all."

Salvatore learned to accept the punishments-pushed down the pain and shame. The beatings, the ridicule, the relentless demands to prove his worth. Each scar on his body became a badge of survival, a testament to the boy who had learned to endure.

Murmurs of betrayal, of blood on the hands of men who had once called each other brothers. Salvatore absorbed it all, the weight of his family's legacy hanging heavy on his young shoulders. He was raised to be a soldier, molded by the cruelty around him.

Forwards beckon, rebound. The sorrowful lyrics of the song echoed in his mind, mirroring the pain that had become his reality.

Standing in the opulent mansion, Salvatore realized that the boy who had once cowered in the dark still lived within him. The boy who had craved love, who had desperately sought a way to escape the clutches of the mafia's grip. And as he watched Kailani, radiant and full of life, he felt a stirring deep within-a flicker of hope igniting amidst the ashes of despair. Perhaps, with her light guiding the way, he could begin to confront the shadows that haunted him and forge a new legacy-one built not on fear, but on love.

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Hello, my wonderful, beautiful, babies,

I would like to inform you all, that the next time I update will be the last time I am updating this book.

So in about a week, our Kailani and Salvatore journey will be over.

Sending all of my love to those who have been here since day 1 and have supported me through thick and thin and have been patient with me.

I read your comments daily, they literally make my day and are all so funny and relatable. I am so eternally grateful for each and every single one of you.

I hope you guys keep commenting and voting to support me and always, always, always keep in touch.

XoXo~ Yours forever: Kiki<3🫀❤️‼️