Rage

♠THIRTY♠

•Salvatore Camara•

The flowers were pale pink, their edges oddly frayed. I needed this exact kind, but when I got to the store, everything was gone except this one, already dying.

How hard is it to water a plant every day? I shrugged it off and placed the lilies on her stone. Her name was etched in bold cursive, In loving memory of Eryle Kelli Ann Camara.

It’s been over two years since she died, and I still can’t believe this stone is all I have left of her. It’s messed up, and I can’t stop thinking that if I’d stayed that night instead of running halfway across the world to be alone like the piece of shit I am, she might still be here.

She’d probably be in the kitchen right now, baking her favorite cookies, scolding Antonio for swearing too much, begging Nico to finish his food, calling Rocco boring for not knowing how to have fun. And she’d sneak extra cookies onto my plate just to make the others jealous, blaming it on “my irresistible charm.”

That woman deserved the world, and I should’ve given it to her. Instead, I chose to be selfish and left.

The day I got the call about her death, I told them to leave her body untouched, that she wasn’t dead. Maybe she’d just passed out. I made every excuse to convince myself she hadn’t taken her own life.

By the time I landed in Italy, her body had already been zipped in a bag and sent to the hospital. It was surreal, how one moment we were laughing, talking about putting Nocco on a dating app, and the next, she was pale and lifeless.

I refused to believe she killed herself. There were no signs, no reason that made sense. A week before she died, she called and begged me to come home. I told her I couldn’t make it until the end of the month. Truth is, I just didn’t want to go back to that house, the one stained with my blood and haunted by the man I despise most.

I wasn’t thinking beyond myself, and to this day it kills me that I wasn’t there for her.

“Of course you’d be here,” a voice interrupted my thoughts. I turned to see Nico, dressed in a long coat, hands in his pockets, hair neatly parted, tie perfectly knotted. His eyes scanned me. If there were an award for fastest emotion detector, Nico would’ve won it a dozen times over.

I looked away.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” I muttered, standing. “Didn’t you have something urgently important to do?”

He’d mentioned it in the group chat Nocco created a few weeks ago the one I’d left multiple times, only for Nocco to keep adding me back. Eventually, I gave up and stayed.

“You know Nocco,” he said. “Always begging for my presence. That dinner was a mess, wasn’t it?”

I said nothing. I wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of knowing we can’t make it through one dinner without chaos.

If I’m being honest, Nocco’s usually the reason we argue but that’s a story no one’s ready to hear.

Most times, Rico smooths things over with his words. I don’t know how he does it, but by the end of the night we’re either ignoring each other or trading death glares across the table.

“That’s what I thought,” Rico said. “I still can’t believe two grown men are holding grudges while people your age are planning generational wealth.”

I sighed. “I don’t have a grudge with him. If I did, I wouldn’t live under the same roof.”

“Goddamn,” he said, glancing at the flowers. “You’ve got a lot to talk about. Nice choice, by the way. Guess now I know why they were sold out.”

I dropped the flowers on her grave and turned toward him.

“Wow,” he said, pointing at my face. “Didn’t believe in second puberty until now but that’s… very convincing.”

“You sound gay,” I muttered.

“And you, my dear brother, sound and look depressed,” he replied. “My car’s not far. Maybe you can tell me about all these feelings you’re suddenly experiencing, on the way there.”

He was baiting me. And damn it, it was working.

“Shut up,” I said.

“You’re messed up, I can tell. And it’s not just Mom’s death or Nocco’s controlling tendencies,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“Stop trying to psychoanalyze me, creep,” I snapped.

“Oh, it’s a girl,” he said casually, walking ahead.

“The fuck?”

“Yeah, a girl’s got you all twisted.”

“First of all, I’m not twisted. Second, I know how to handle my brain without anyone screwing it up,” I said, standing beside the black BMW.

Rico unlocked the car. I got in first. He gave me a look full of pity.

“Anyway,” he said, ignoring me, “I hope she likes Gregory. Good thing I bought him a new gold chain.”

I turned to see a white, fur-covered dog stretched out on the leather seat.

“What kind of idiot leaves their dog in a car with no ventilation?”

“Relax, the windows were cracked,” he said.

I eyed the sleeping dog. Gregory was the kind everyone adored, all long hair and charm, like something out of The Adventures of Tintin. I've never really read the book but I've heard Raquel talking to Dior about some shit like that with the description of this exact looking dog

I remembered when Rico brought him to our last family dinner. Nadia wouldn’t let him go, it was the first time I’d seen her care about anything.

Nico once said Gregory had “hidden magic” that made people love him. That was bullshit. I didn’t like him. And neither would Raquel.

“I’d bet she wouldn’t,” I muttered before realizing I’d said it out loud. “Shit.”

Rico grinned, victory clear on his face. “God, you’re so easy to read,” he said. “Once again, I was right.”

“Go to hell with your dog,” I said flatly.

“Lead the way.”