Potere | Book II ✓

xxii | with me or against me

xxii | with me or against me

━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

It all came back to me, just at the sound of her voice.  A voice I never thought I would ever recognize, nor one I thought I would hear again.  The car accident took more than just my biological family away from me, but it took my memories of them with it.  Yet as quickly as my life changed that day and as swift as a young Federico's finger pulled the trigger, everything I thought I had forgotten returns.

But the images of my childhood that flash before my eyes now are clear, so perfectly vivid that I begin to doubt that I ever forgot them at all. 

What scares me is the idea that I've remembered all along, and that my subconscious pretended to forget what I've seen and what I heard as a child for my own safety.

I see days, happy days where we all sat as a family around the dinner table.  Those late spring, Maryland evenings where the weather was utterly perfect, accompanied by the slightest of breezes.  I can hear my father's deep laughter, and witness the bright smile my mother sends me from across the table.  I hear my sister's delighted scream as the world around me transforms from a beautiful spring evening to frigid winter.  The slight spring breeze turns cold, producing the prettiest snowfall I ever remember witnessing.

I recall the snowball fight that my father, Ellie, and I had so clearly that it felt like I was experiencing it again for the very first time.  Her laughter was contagious, while my father's throws were deadly.  I could hear my mother shouting from the back porch, telling him to ease off on the intensity of his throws.

And yet as just a child, I remember watching her smile vanish as quickly as it appeared. 

Her attention drifted from us for but a moment, taking a second to glance across the street.  My father's gaze followed hers, and I stomped my small foot in annoyance at the pausing of our game. 

The stranger walking towards the house meant nothing to me and I turned away. But the man that approached my parents that day was no stranger.  He walked with a chip on his shoulder, and every stride was taken with purpose.  The stranger was the same then as he was when we officially met.

Michael Luciano.

An intense pain in between my ears forces me to shut the door on that memory, but not before I promise to re-open it. 

I press my palms to my ears as all my senses return to the present.  My mind is racing, my head is beginning to hurt, and it doesn't help that the air inside Liam's office is so thick I can hardly breathe.  It's hot in here, boiling, but when I open my eyes, I realize the heat is originating from the glare my mother is sending Zara Luciano from across the small room.

Recognition washes over my biological mother's face and an intensity I have never seen before forces a scowl across her lips.  Her words are nothing but a whisper; a whisper everyone, including Liam's security detail can hear from their position behind him.  "I know you. You were his first wife.  You were married to that son of a bitch." 

Zara doesn't even blink.  She stands facing her son, who's seated behind his desk as calm and as composed as I've ever seen him.  You wouldn't have believed Liam was just on television, threatening one of the most vicious members of the Russian mob.  Liam works one earring out his ear, his gaze on nothing particular within the room, but there's no doubt he hears it all.

My mother, whom I haven't seen in years – who according to everybody, was sent to a psychological institution after the loss of her husband and child, who was then stripped of custody of me after failing a mental evaluation has hardly even looked at me.  She hasn't even given me a hug.