He held his mother's hand as she died.
He held her much smaller hand on his as if he was drowning and she would pull him back to dry land, he held her hand knowing that it may be the last time he ever held it.
It was warm, warmer than it had been before now. He supposed she must have a fever, but he did not know any way to measure it and find out for sure.
It did not really matter. Luca was well aware that the human body, sans a few litres of blood, equals death. He had been surprised to see her last so long.
How did Liliana Adornato managed to last so long on the wrong side of his father's rage? For what reason? Luca does not know. For a time, he thought it was meant to protect him and Daniele, but he hoped not. If she suffered so much just so he could grow up in safety, then he would have preferred to have grown up as an orphan in Strano.
Perhaps it was that loathsome man's fault. Either because he was sadistic or because he truly loved her in some level, he did provide medical assistance to her every time he exceeded himself.
Or perhaps it was to improve the chances of survival for that ghost on their basement. Luca knew who he was, why he was there and when he passed, but he thought it would be too much for her to know. So, he kept the secret. She would find out soon enough.
He closed his blue eyes and focused on the feel of her hand. There were small calluses along her fingers from the housework, the slight stickiness of her blood. He nails were long and uneven, the ends jagged and almost sharp.
Luca could remember holding his mother's hand before now, and how she would squeeze his to let him know that everything was alright. Back then, her hands were soft, like they knew no labour and no want, but the war required sacrifices of them all, especially from Liliana Adornato.
So, he reciprocated the action, with a tiny "I love you."
She did not answer.
Not that he expected or even hoped she would. Really. It was not like he was a complete baby. He would handle this like an adult. Even if that meant facing this alone.
Daniele is dead. A Greek, most likely, offed him in Konispol. It is war, and his half-brother was slaughtered for the wrong cause, for the losing side. He feels apathetic to the whole situation, but he knows that his mother cried for days.
A courtesy not extended by Dante.
Luca recalled seeing his father leave, but he could not remember what time it had been. How long had he been here, hunched over his mother and clutching her hand like a lifeline? It seemed like forever and not long enough.
Her breath hitched and he watched her with his own, bated. After a few moments, he let out the air he was holding. She did not stop breathing. Not yet.
"I love you." Luca whispered again.
It was the only thing he could think of saying. There was so much he wanted to tell her, but there was not enough time, so he said the only thing that mattered now.
"I love you." He repeated.
He lay down on the floor next to her. He did not care that he was lying in a pool of blood. His grip on her hand never faltered. He looked around the room wanly. Broken furniture. Pool of blood. Tipped pans. Rotting food. His father was going to have a hell of a time cleaning this mess up.
Luca wondered if the man could even manage it on his own. His wife, and servants before her, had always taken care of such things.
The boy had wanted to scream, call out for help, but there was not somewhere to go. The family estate had their telephone lines cut, there were no civilian doctors anymore, and the Brazilian soldiers occupying the town were stationed too far away. She would be long gone before he could even reach an outside source of help.
So, he lay there, holding her hand. The last thing he wanted for his mother was to die alone. No one deserved that.
There was a time when this home had not been so broken. He remembers being happy in the past, but that was all history.
What it matters is the present, and in the present his mother was dying and his father had simply run away. He ran away because he could not face the mess he created.
Luca loathed him.
The woman took a wheezing breath beside him.
"I love you."
A few bitter tears worked paths down his face. The only person who ever truly cared for him, and she was fading before his eyes.
He regretted not being around so much. He should not have gone away to Rome for college, he should not have let Daniele enlist, he should not have let his father fire the household staff. He should have protected her.
Luca let out a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry."
Could she feel him beside her? Her hand began to tremble in his, and he now noticed a sudden drop in temperature. Wheeze.
"I love you."
More tears. She was breathing more slowly now, and he turned his head to look at her.
Her skin was so pale. She did not look at all like the mother that had seen him off to school. That haunted, even if ethereally beautiful, woman that stood by the train station in Bari, smiling and waving.
He would never see that face again, would he? There were so many things he would never have again, were there not?
"It's fine to go now, mother." He said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Silence. She had stopped breathing.
"I love you."