Helena could never seem to keep her stockings from tearing on the playground as she ran around, pretending to be an action hero like in the movies her older brother typically enjoyed. She would tie the sweater that was a part of her school uniform around her neck so it flew behind her like a cape as she and her classmates chased each other around the schoolyard. As she stood in her bedroom, with its high ceiling, tall windows covered by flowing curtains, and a canopy bed fit for a princess, she stared at her reflection in the mirror that hung on the back of her door in a gilded frame. Her stockings were torn around the knees and there were grass stains on her jumper. Mother would not be happy about this, she thought as she tried to find another pair of stockings at least to change into before she was called for dinner.
Too late, as there was a knock on her door by one of the maids letting her know it was time to come downstairs. Looked like Helena would need to explain once again to her parents that she was roughhousing around on the playground.
She descended the opulent staircase in the center of the household and crossed the entrance hall into a corridor on the left that lead into the formal dining room. Polished silverware, crystal goblets, and floral-patterned china decorated the table, just like every evening.
The smell of a roast just recently pulled from the oven filled the house and for the first time that evening, Helena noticed her tummy rumbling. She took her seat in the high-backed chair facing opposite the large bay window that during the daytime provided a perfect view of the rose gardens.
Her mother entered along with two maids who were carrying steaming serving dishes that were set on the table. Pino, her older brother, a boy of twelve, hurried into the room and plopped into his chair. He was a bit round in the middle, due to too many sweets and too little need for movement.
Her father, Franco Bertinelli, entered last, taking his seat. He smiled at his family, glad to see them all seated there. "Shall we say grace then? Helena?" He looked to her, and she pressed her palms together, shutting her eyes as she spoke.
"Bless us, O Lord, and these your gifts, which we are about to receive from your bow- um… Bowty..."
"Bounty, Helena." Her father said encouragingly with a smirk.
"From your b- bounty. Through Christ our Lord. Amen." She opened her eyes to meet her father's gaze. "Was that right?"
"Yes. Well done, my dear. Perhaps we should have you lead the grace before every meal from now on." He winked in her direction.
"Thank you, Papa." She rolled up her sleeves carefully and then reached for her glass of water. It was still a bit heavy for such a tiny girl, but she managed to take a sip and return the glass to the exact spot where it had already left a glistening ring on the table. She never wanted to show weakness in front of her father, who was the strongest man she had ever met, in her opinion. He was her hero.
"Helena!" Her mother was glaring, pausing from passing the bowl of green beans to Pino. "There is a stain on your jumper. And you've got a bruise on your elbow. Now what have I been telling you about being more careful and not to run around like a vagrant?"
"I was just having fun, Mama." She whined. "And you've always got bruises, so why're you so mad?"
It was beyond the understanding of an eight year old to know the bruises she had occasionally seen on her mother's thin form were caused by her father whenever he was angry, stressed, drunk, or a mixture of all three.
Maria Bertinelli fell silent, passing the beans to Pino and continued to fill her plate without another word about it.
After several awkward moments passed, Franco turned toward his daughter, speaking as he chewed his supper. "So, 'Lena," as he called her affectionately, "I hear that Monday night your tutor took you to see Pagliacci and you haven't told us what you thought of your first experience with the opera."
"It was so boring." After she had eaten the slices of roast on her plate, she didn't care for the other healthier items and pushed them around the plate with her fork. She put her elbow on the table and her head upon her hand, but only for a second before her mother hissed her name. "It wasn't fun."
"Even with a clown in it?" Her mother asked.
"Especially because of the clown." Helena quipped with a bored expression, uninterested by the topic. Though suddenly she perked up, remembering something her tutor had said. "Was there ever a girl pope, Papa?"
"Nonsense. Only men are ever Pope." Pino butted in, speaking with his mouth full just as his father had.
"But Miss Justina said that there was a lady Pope and that she was the best Pope ever." Helena argued. Her tutor had never actually said that she had been the best, but that this female Pope was a personal hero of hers, now to become a hero of Helena's as well. "I wanna become Pope someday."
"Well, Helena, that sure is ambitious." Her mother said with a tinge of sarcasm, finding her daughter's wish to be unattainable.
"Perhaps with all that ambition, 'Lena here will instead take over the family legacy. She's certainly got more drive than Pino." Her father chuckled heartily. Pino just sulked into his meal.
"Maybe I will." Helena smiled proudly, not even aware of what taking over the family legacy meant. "And I'll do better than Pino ever could." She stuck her tongue out at her brother, who in turn threw a green bean in her direction, missing entirely.
Suddenly, her father stood up, pulling his napkin from his shirt collar where he had tucked it in before digging in to his supper. His eyes glued to the bay window, or what was outside of it.
"You're never gonna become Pope. Or anything. You're only gonna just be some guy's wife, like mom." Pino obviously didn't respect his mother very much, as he had been taught so by watching his father's treatment of women. Though it could be argued that even Maria valued herself very little.
Franco hushed his children harshly, never taking his eyes off of whatever was outside. "Maria, take the children upstairs." Forms in the darkness had begun to move, approaching the house.
Maria stood, placing a hand on her husband's shoulder, peering out into the darkness outside the home as well. "What is going on?" she asked.
A bullet came in through the window, shattering a good portion of the glass. "I said take them!" Franco yelled, ducking down, pulling his wife with him. "Pino, 'Lena, go, hide!"
Helena was so confused. It was like watching another one of her brother's favorite action movies. Nothing seemed real to her eight year old mind. Another bullet flew through the window, just missing one of the maids who ran from the dining room.
Maria was hiding behind the table, as Franco crawled across the floor to the doorway, where he tapped the baseboard in just the right place, causing a secret compartment to be revealed where he kept a gun hidden in case of emergencies. There were compartments like this all over the house.
Helena had finally jumped from her seat, meeting her brother at the far end of the room. Pino was shaking and taking forever to decide the best place to hide. With a sigh, Helena pushed her brother aside and made for the small supply cupboard, pulling open the door just enough so she could slip inside.
"I saw it first!" Pino grabbed her arm, trying to pull her away from the closet so he could hide there instead.
"No!" Helena pushed him, catching him off guard as he fell backwards. With a slight triumphant smirt, she shut the doors. The double doors were wooden, with glass window panes adorning the top half. Helena would need to stay low in order to remain hidden from the intruders, though her curiosity got the better of her. Her eyes were glued to the window panes, watching as two men climbed in through the destroyed bay window.
Franco Bertinelli knelt low on the ground with his gun out. "Leave this house, now! My body guards will be here any minute." He had been wondering why they hadn't arrived already to hold these intruders off. Though in his gut he knew why.
One of the gunmen, who had a dark green ski mask hiding his face, laughed as he shot a bullet that hit Franco in the calf, causing him to yell out in pain.
Helena watched in horror, too scared to scream, but torn between staying where she was or running to her father. Her father had demanded her to hide, so she felt obligated to not let him down, no matter how much she wanted to make these men stop hurting him. In her mind, she was begging God to please help her papa to be safe and to stop these men.
Franco shot at the man, hitting him squarely in the chest, but the bullet didn't seem to do anything. Obviously from the assistance of bullet-proof vests. These men had come prepared.
The other man aimed his gun at Maria, who was hiding underneath the table, whimpering and shaking visibly. Without a word, he shot twice at her, once in the neck, the other right in the head. Her body crumpled, colliding into a chair as she fell over causing it to screech against the floor.
Franco growled as he shot at the gunman who had just killed his wife. He knew better than to waste his bullets aiming at the bulletproof vests, so he shot him in the shoulder, this time drawing blood and a yelp of pain followed by a swear.
Now enraged, the gunman shot Franco in the chest, just below his heart where a bloody stain bloomed quickly. Franco's eyes rolled back slightly as he let out a moan of pain. He tried to lift the gun again, but another shot hit him in the temple, ending his struggle.
Helena wanted to scream out for her parents, but was silenced by her fear. As fearless as always she tried to act, she had never before been in a situation so terrifying.
The man who had pulled the trigger on her parents was grasping his shoulder, trying to staunch the bleeding. "Mother fucker." He lifted his foot and brought it down on Franco's gun-hand with an audible crunch of bones.
Both men were looking around the dining room, when at the same moment they both became aware of a noise coming from the far corner. Behind a tall potted plant, Pino stood shaking and whimpering through pursed lips. The men approached, and one pushed the lush green leaves of the plant aside to reveal the boy. "Ah, we've got a plump one here." A laugh followed. "You must be the son. The heir to the Bertinelli family, huh?" The man spoke sardonically, chuckling as he raised his gun. Pino lost control of his bladder, trembling more violently.
"Please, d-d-don't." He had just begun to raise his hands to shield himself, not that it would've helped, when the trigger was pulled at practically point-blank range and the bullet found it's way into his skull. The boy fell over the plant, laying on the pot motionless.
Helena gasped behind her hand which was clamped down upon her mouth. She dropped to her knees and slid herself to the back of the closet. Her entire family had now been shot. Every single one of them. Her parents hadn't gotten up, despite Helena's prayers. They were dead. Everyone was dead but her.
She gripped the crucifix hanging from her neck so hard it hurt as she wrapped an arm around her knees, hugging them close to her body. They were going to find her. She could feel it in her bones. It wouldn't be long until she was with her family again.
The men's heavy footsteps approached the closet door, and she could see their shadows coming through the window panes.
She began to pray so softly, it was barely a whisper. "Holy Mary, Mother of God, the Lord is with thee. Uh…" She suddenly couldn't recall the rest of it as her mind was clouded by fear, so she skipped to the part that had made her think to use this particular prayer. "P-pray for us sinners n-now and in the hour of our death." The men were right at the door.
She mouthed her "Amen" just before the door was opened and the two masked men were staring down at her. The one man pointed the gun at her, but was stopped by his accomplice.
"We was told to 'spare the sister', remember? She lives." The gun was lowered, and the one man walked off with a disappointed groan. Killing seemed to be a joy of his.
The other man stayed, kneeling down in front of Helena.
She glared at him tearfully, but so full of hate. "You're a monster."
The man pulled off his green ski cap to reveal his face. He looked to be in his twenties, and had an unsettling grin on his face, looking proud of what he had done. "Little girl, life is chock full of monsters. You'd best get used to it." He spoke in a rough, raspy voice.
His gloved hand reached out for her crucifix, seeming to admire it before giving it a good tug, causing the chain the snap. The cross fell to the ground as if it were nothing. Its power couldn't save her family. Her prayers had been useless, and for the first time Helena realized that God had to be cruel to allow her family to meet such an end.
Her faith was hindered for a while after this night, and it took years before she stopped blaming God and instead blamed those who had anything to do with Gotham's criminal underworld, a culture that took everything away from a little girl all because of money and power.
"Now why don't you run along while we tidy up here." The man finally stood, leaving the closet. Helena could now see the other gunman pouring a can of gasoline on the corpses of her parents and brother, whose bodies were all dragged to one area of the room, left in a heap like they were trash.
Helena's heart pounded against her ribcage and she couldn't help but follow the man's words and run. She sprinted out of the front door and across the property to get to her neighbor's home, where she was taken in and awkwardly comforted as they awaited the police. Through the window, she could see the smoke and orange glow of the fire being fed by her loved ones and memories.
She had been spared, but she wished she hadn't been, and she couldn't imagine anybody ever understanding how she felt. It would be years before she even understood it herself. By that time, she also would understand what needed to be done.
It is said to never leave the son of your enemy alive, for he may choose to take revenge, yet there was never any mention of daughters. The daughter they allowed to live would prove to be their doom. Judgement Day would come to the criminals of Gotham in the form of the Huntress, who would see they are tried accordingly, in the only court that mattered.