*Flashback 1922*
The room was dimly lit by a single flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling. Dust particles danced lazily in the slivers of sunlight that managed to creep through the worn-out curtains. Anthony, a nine-year-old boy with a mop of unruly golden-brown hair, stared at the daunting book in his hands, "The Prince" by Nicolo Machiavelli. It was a gift from Umberto Andreoli, the family's trusted consigliere.
Anthony's father, Pops, had insisted that he read this book, claiming it was time for him to absorb its wisdom. Even his older brother, Enzo, had been assigned this literary task when he reached the tender age of nine. Anthony couldn't help but find it ironic that his father, who was barely literate himself, was pushing him to read Machiavelli.
The young boy shifted on the narrow, creaking bed in the room he shared with Enzo. Umberto had recommended reading only the first two chapters, as they were short and simple. But Pops, always one to push his children, had insisted on three chapters because the first two chapters were only a paragraph long.
Anthony struggled with the archaic language of the book. Although it had been translated into English, the words still felt foreign to his young mind. Phrases like, "Such dominions thus acquired are either accustomed to live under a prince, or to live in freedom; and are acquired either by the arms of the prince himself, or of others, or else by fortune or by ability," left him feeling lost and confused.
But Anthony's struggle with Machiavelli wasn't the only thing on his mind. Ever since Enzo turned ten, he had taken on the responsibility of getting his younger siblings ready for school. Their grandmother would have breakfast and lunches prepared, and it was a matter of scarfing down their food and heading out the door.
Their school was a two-mile walk from their brownstone apartment home in Brooklyn. The journey was often tiring and tedious, but it was the only way. Rain or shine, they had to make the trek on foot. The only exception was during heavy rain or snow when they were driven to school. Anthony and Molly were old enough to endure the weather now, and Pops insisted they tough it out.
As Anthony lay on his bed, struggling with Machiavelli's words and his thoughts drifting to the responsibilities of the day ahead, he couldn't help but feel the weight of growing up in a world where lessons in politics and life's harsh realities began at such a young age.
Sabina's presence in their lives had become intermittent, a mere reminder of family ties that were gradually fading. She was no longer the central figure she once was. But Anthony's distractions went beyond Sabina. It was Enzo, his older brother, who had taken on a new role in the family that was causing him the most concern.
Enzo's daily routine was grueling. He dropped Anthony and Molly off at their elementary school, then attended his own seventh-grade classes nearby. After school, he retraced his steps to pick up his younger siblings, embarking on the long forty-block walk home. Once they were under their grandmother's care, Enzo changed into a suit and headed out to fulfill his duties in the family's business.
Nights were no respite for Enzo. He would return home, utterly drained from whatever tasks he'd been assigned, and muster the energy to complete his school assignments. Sleep was a luxury, and he'd often find himself finally slipping into slumber close to 2 AM, only to rise again at 7 AM to wake his siblings.
On weekends and school-free days, Enzo was fully immersed in his role within the family's business. Anthony admired his older brother's dedication and work ethic but couldn't help but worry about the toll it was taking on him.
Today, something was different. Anthony had gotten to his feet and had traveled to the second floor landing when he had heard his older brother burst through the front door. Enzo had returned home looking utterly distressed. His breath came in short, uneven bursts, and his body trembled uncontrollably. The expression on his face was one of sheer terror, his deep brown eyes wide and wild, darting around the foyer of their home as if seeking refuge. His hands shook violently, and his pallor had drained from his usually olive complexion. He seemed on the brink of tears.
Molly, the youngest of the siblings, shared Anthony's concern and curiosity. She wanted to know what had happened to their brother. But Anthony knew better. This was a family matter, something related to the business that they were not meant to be involved in. He shook his head at Molly, silently conveying that they should respect Enzo's silence, even if it meant bearing the weight of uncertainty and concern in their young hearts.
As an hour passed, the atmosphere in the house grew increasingly tense. Pops' return was announced by the thunderous slam of the front door, and the fury in his voice was palpable. Henrico Ragno, though proud of his eldest son Enzo, knew that no one was exempt from their father's heavy-handed punishments. If anything, Enzo was held to a higher standard than Anthony, and if Pops was this furious with him, something significant had transpired.
Enzo, seated anxiously at the dining room table, had mentally prepared himself for the worst. His father's arrival sent a shiver down his spine as Pops' face resembled a storm cloud on the brink of unleashing its fury. Words were unnecessary; the searing intensity of Pops' gaze communicated all that was needed.
When Enzo saw his father's stern visage, he knew he had to face the consequences of his actions. Without uttering a word, Pops strode forward and seized Enzo by the arm, pulling him away from the dining room and toward the study. The young brother and sister, Anthony and Molly, stood at the top of the staircase, their hearts heavy with concern and fear as they strained to hear the escalating confrontation between father and son.
Behind the closed door of the study, Pops' voice thundered with anger. His words were a torrential downpour of disappointment and fury, berating Enzo for his perceived foolishness and emphasizing the potential consequences of his actions on the family. The heated exchange between father and son was a storm raging within the walls of their home, and the young siblings could only listen, their own emotions swirling in turmoil, as the tumultuous scene unfolded below.
"I'd expect this shit from Anthony," Henrico's snarl echoed from the study, carrying a bitter tone of disappointment. "Not from you. I raised you better than that!" Enzo remained silent, his fear and confusion rendering him incapable of explaining himself. His silence only seemed to fuel their father's rage.
At the top of the staircase, Anthony and Molly stood frozen, their young hearts heavy with helplessness. The closed doors of the study, cutting off any view of the confrontation, but it couldn't stifle the sounds that followed.
The sharp, distinctive crack of something cutting through the air made Anthony's blood run cold. He knew that sound all too well; it was the ominous prelude to the belt's impact against flesh. It was an experience etched into his memory, the painful consequences of their father's anger. Tears welled up in Anthony's eyes as he could almost feel his brother's pain with each merciless blow.
Enzo's wisdom shone through in his silence; he didn't cry out, knowing that doing so would only invite more brutality. The sickening sound of the belt striking his brother's skin repeatedly tore at Anthony's soul. He felt utterly helpless, unable to do anything except bear witness to his brother's silent suffering, amplified by their father's thunderous anger.
As the leather strap continued to lash out, slicing through the air with painful precision, Anthony's chest tightened with anguish. He knew that the memory of this torment would haunt him for the rest of his life. Molly, sensing the unbearable cruelty of the moment, touched Anthony's wrist, a silent gesture of shared sorrow and understanding.
In unspoken agreement, the siblings slowly retreated from the stairs, leaving behind the tormenting sounds of their father's wrath and their brother's stoic endurance. They returned to their respective rooms, each carrying the weight of the family's secrets and their father's unyielding discipline.
In the dimly lit room, Anthony had been attempting to make sense of the passages in Machiavelli's book, trying to push aside the horrifying sounds and images of his older brother's suffering. It was a few minutes later when he heard Enzo laboriously ascending the creaky staircase. The pain in his brother's groans and every step he took was palpable, and Anthony couldn't ignore his brother's evident agony.
Closing the book and leaving it behind, Anthony hurried out of his room, concerned for Enzo's well-being. What he encountered in the corridor was a sight that chilled him to the core. Enzo stood there, bare-chested, his once wiry torso now marred with massive and broken bruises, bloody welts, and cuts. His face was swollen, one eye shut, and his lips split. He bore the unmistakable signs of a brutal beating.
The jacket and dress shirt Enzo had worn earlier had vanished, leaving his upper body exposed as a canvas of suffering, a testament to their father's ruthless cruelty. It was clear that Pops had used his authority to abuse his oldest son mercilessly.
Anthony tried to speak, to offer some help or comfort, but his words were cut short as Enzo lashed out, striking his younger brother hard in the stomach. Anthony fell to the ground, clutching his aching midsection, tears of pain welling up in his eyes. Enzo, consumed by rage, loomed over him, ready to deliver another punishing blow.
Molly, their fearless younger sister, couldn't bear to see her brother in such pain. She rushed to Anthony's side, her grip on his shoulders tight and unyielding. Her eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and determination as she confronted their assailant.
"Stop it!" Molly cried out, her voice trembling with a potent blend of rage and worry. "Why did you do that?! He's done nothing to deserve that!"
"He was born," Enzo growled, his words dripping with bitterness as he staggered away toward his room. Molly's heart ached as she struggled to comprehend the transformation in her brother. She grabbed his arm, her fingers trembling, but Enzo's cold stare offered no remorse or explanation.
"This ain't like you, Fratello," Molly protested desperately. "Anthony was only trying to help!"
Enzo remained unresponsive to her pleas, and with a heavy heart, Molly let go of his arm and returned to her wounded brother. Anthony, who had slowly risen to his feet, offered Molly a reassuring smile, silently promising her that he would be okay. He staggered slightly as he made his way back to the room he shared with his older brother.
Inside the room, Enzo lay sprawled on his bed, his gaze fixated on a point in the ceiling. Anthony closed the door behind him and took a deep breath, struggling to cope with the pain, confusion, and loneliness that engulfed him.
"Mi dispiace, fratello maggiore, (I'm sorry, big brother,)" Anthony whispered into the oppressive silence, speaking in Italian in a heartfelt attempt to convey his apology and sympathy to his older brother. Enzo's silence remained unbroken, a heavy and oppressive presence that lingered throughout the night, leaving Anthony to grapple with the darkness that had settled over their lives.
*End Flashback*
"Your own... brother?" Charlie struggled to comprehend the situation. "He hit you just for wanting to help? It's just... it's difficult for me to fathom that someone could harm a family member like that."
Angel shrugged and shared a sentiment that resonated with many, though a hint of yearning colored his words. 'You know, sometimes, family just ain't worth a damn,' he said with a wistful sigh. 'Just 'cause yah share the same blood, don't mean they'll give any fucks about you. Fratello used to give me a rough time when we were comin' up, but that was par for the course in mob families. Pops, he encouraged it too. He'd have Fratello and I fight each other to see determine who he saw more deserving of his fatherly affections. Even if Fratello felt sorry for hurtin' me, he couldn't show it. I reckon that was his way of toughenin' me up for the life we were destined for. He wanted to make sure I understood that nothin' would come easy, and that things like family love and respect had to be earned... not handed to yah on a silver platter."
"I guess I can understand that," Charlie agreed. "Respect is something that is earned, that's true. But there's no point in trying to earn respect from anyone when there's no one who is willing to acknowledge the effort put into it."
"Fratello did have his moments of kindness from time to time," Angel noted. "But those moments only surfaced when Pops wasn't around, giving him the freedom to be more compassionate. Remember that incident I mentioned? The morning after, Molls and I walked to school with Fratello as usual. Then, when the school day ended, he discreetly passed me some notebook pages and whispered that I could use them to make sense of the book Pops had assigned me to read. Fratello had spent his break periods that day dissecting the first three chapters of "The Prince", simplifying it so I could grasp its content. He did it to ensure that when Pops and Andreoli quizzed me about what I'd read, I could provide a coherent response.
"So he did that as an apology," Charlie grasped at what Angel had told her.
"Yeah, I reckon that's it," Angel nodded, a touch of emotion creeping into his voice. "It was his way of apologizing without uttering the words, you know? He didn't want Pops to catch wind of him aiding me, 'cause that would've been a blow to his image, but he still cared enough to do it on the down-low."
Angel's pleased smirk faded as he continued his story. "But the next year, our family would be shattered once more," he somberly recounted.
*Flashback Summer 1923*
The warm summer evening cast a golden hue over the cozy Brooklyn home as the Ragno family gathered around the dining table for a hearty lasagna dinner. The scent of bubbling tomato sauce and melted cheese filled the air, inviting everyone to take a seat. Umberto and Sabina, invited guests to this special occasion, exchanged subtle glances, sensing something unusual in the atmosphere.
Henrico Ragno, the patriarch of the family, a sturdy man in his late forties with salt-and-pepper hair, carved the lasagna into generous portions before clearing his throat. His usually stern expression was tinged with a touch of uncertainty, noticeable to his family.
"I got a bit of an announcement to make," Henrico began as the clinking of forks against plates momentarily ceased. "There are gonna be some changes." His eyes shifted towards Enzo, his eldest son, who was on the brink of turning 14 in September.
Enzo stoic looked at his father with anticipation. He knew that this announcement held significance.
"You're practically a man now," Henrico continued, his gaze lingering on Enzo. "I think it's time for you to have your own room back."
Anthony, the second oldest, furrowed his brows, trying to decipher the implications of his father's words. There were only four rooms upstairs in their modest Brooklyn home. His father's room, the guest room occupied by their grandmother, Molly's bedroom, and the room Anthony shared with his older brother, Enzo. If Enzo was going to have his own room again, then something had to change.
"I've been talkin' to my sister Felicia recently," Henrico explained, his voice taking on a serious tone. "My sister and her husband agreed to have Molly come stay with their family."
Molly gasped in horror at her father's revelation. "You're sendin' me away, Papa?" Her eyes welled up with tears. "Why? If I've done somethin' bad…I'll be good, I promise. Don't make me leave."
Henrico's heart ached at the sight of his distraught daughter, and he reached out to gently pat her hand. "Sweetie," he said, his voice tender but still held a forced sincerity. "You ain't goin' 'cause you've been a bad girl. You're going 'cause in a handful of years from now, you'ze gonna become a woman. And that sort of stuff is sort of dame to dame, so to speak."
Molly's tears flowed freely now as she tried to understand her father's reasoning.
Molly's determination to resist the changes life had in store for her rang out in her words. Her eyes remained fixed on her father, her small form defiant as she proclaimed, "Then I won't go through those changes. If becoming a woman means I need to be taken away from my home and family, then maybe I don't want to be one."
Sabina, the unexpected voice of reason and compassion in this tense family discussion, spoke up, her tone calm but firm as she put down her wine glass. "May I speak?" She waited for the room's attention to shift towards her before continuing. "I agree that Molly should be around women who could teach her about the physical changes that she will experience. I don't feel it is necessary for her to be separated from her brothers. It might be better to have her stay with Umberto and me. We have space where she would be comfortable."
Henrico's irritation flared at Sabina's suggestion, and he growled in response, "That's why I didn't ask you." His eyes narrowed, showing his stubborn resolve. "Anthony and Molly are too close…I had thought that having him share a room with his brother would teach him how to properly be a boy. That hasn't worked so far, and I can't afford distractions in this family. Soon enough, I'm gonna need him to start pullin' his weight."
Enzo, the pragmatic older brother, chimed in with a perspective rooted in reality. "Tony's no good for the family business, Pops," he remarked bluntly. "The kid's too soft-hearted, being in the family would eat him alive."
Umberto, always observant and analytical, supported Enzo's assessment. "I know that boys are typically raised with the expectation that they would be involved in a certain lifestyle and ethic. However, there are some exceptions to this. Anthony is still too young to be considered as an associate of the family. In my observation, I believe it would be better for him to support the family in other ways."
Henrico's resolve wavered for a moment, his anger tempered by the reasonable arguments from his sons and Sabina. Enzo continued to offer a potential solution, saying, "Zio Matteo was looking for someone to work in his machine shop. Maybe Tony could be of use there, and then when he's a bit older, he could come back to New York and prove himself to the family."
Henrico pondered the suggestion, realizing that it might indeed be a way to give his soft-hearted son a chance to find his place. "Possible," he grumbled thoughtfully. "But Felicia said she only had room for one, and she said she wanted Molly…there is an all-girls private school prepared and everything. Besides, Felicia has two girls around Molly's age."
Anthony couldn't hide his frustration as he muttered, "Kate and Sarah, those two entitled witches..."
His father, Don Ragno, swiftly admonished him with a stern look. "Anthony," he said firmly, "it's not nice to speak of family in that way. Besides, they're older now than they were when you saw them last. And your aunt does insist the two of them are perfect angels."
Molly, her eyes brimming with tears, pleaded desperately, "Pops, please don't send me away. I'll hate it upstate, and her daughters have always been mean to me. The last time I saw our cousins, they…"
Henrico cut her off, his voice unyielding. "I don't care what they did to yah," he declared. "This is the way things are gonna be. Felicia and her family will be coming this weekend. You have until then to pack up..."
The weight of her father's words hung in the air like the toll of a funeral bell, rendering everyone present at the table into an uncomfortable silence. The impending separation weighed heavily on their hearts, and the family dinner that had started with warmth and togetherness had taken a somber turn, leaving them with a sense of impending change that none of them were ready to fully accept.
In a frenzy of emotions, Molly abruptly pushed her chair back and rushed away from the table, her footsteps echoing through the wooden staircase as she fled upstairs. Her hasty exit left the room in a heavy silence, broken only by the disapproving mutters of their grandmother in Italian. Nonna's wrinkled face bore a stern expression as she chastised Molly, her voice firm and filled with concern, "Molly, sei maleducata! Torna al tavolo e finisci la cena!" ("Molly, you are being rude! Come back to the table and finish dinner!") The scolding was a reminder of the old-world values that still held sway in their Brooklyn household. Despite the turmoil and heartache, tradition and respect for family remained steadfast, even in the face of wrenching decisions and the emotional storm that had overtaken them all.
The atmosphere in the Ragno household remained tense after the dinner discussion, and as the two boys, Anthony and Enzo, made their way upstairs, there was an unspoken understanding not to engage in conversation. They knew better than to disturb the ongoing discussions between their father, Henrico, and Andreoli in their father's study.
In the study, their father's voice carried a weight of authority, mixed with frustration and determination, as he discussed the impending changes with Andreoli. The low rumble of their voices and the occasional sharp tone were muffled by the thick walls, but Anthony could still sense the seriousness of the conversation.
Meanwhile, Sabina and their grandmother conversed in the kitchen while washing the dishes. Their conversations were conducted in Italian, a conscious choice to maintain a sense of privacy, but one that didn't go unnoticed by the children. Anthony and his siblings were fluent in their native language, and their curiosity led them to eavesdrop, if only inadvertently.
Nonna Ragno's excitement was palpable as she learned about Molly's upcoming move upstate. Her joyous exclamations and animated gestures filled the kitchen. She spoke passionately about how it was high time Molly learned how to be a proper Italian woman, expressing her concern that the girl might lose her cultural roots in the midst of American influences. In her eyes, America didn't raise its women properly, and she saw this as a chance for Molly to embrace her heritage.
The conflicting emotions and opinions within the family were becoming increasingly apparent, and the house seemed to buzz with unspoken tension, leaving the young Ragno siblings to grapple with the uncertainty of their family's future.
As Anthony grappled with the mystery surrounding his family's discussions, the unspoken tension that permeated their home weighed heavily on his young shoulders. The concept of this elusive "family" that Enzo and his father spoke of had begun to feel like an impenetrable secret, a realm he was forbidden from entering. It was a puzzle he couldn't piece together, and it left him feeling like an outsider in his own home.
What troubled him most was the realization that Molly's departure wasn't solely about her. It was an indirect consequence of their father's desire for Anthony to conform to some undefined expectation of how a boy should behave. Molly was being sent away because her presence was deemed a hindrance to this vision, and it was a realization that gnawed at Anthony's conscience.
Questions swirled in his mind, questions he couldn't voice to anyone. What did they expect from him? How could he prove himself to a family that refused to share its secrets with him? The uncertainty and the toll this family's secrets had taken on Enzo troubled him deeply. His older brother had transformed into a stranger, carrying a weight of anger and anxiety that was increasingly difficult to bear.
Enzo's demeanor had shifted, and it pained Anthony to see him change so drastically. The boy he had once looked up to was now distant and guarded, constantly on edge. Their home, once a place of warmth and laughter, had become a place of hidden tensions and danger lurking in the shadows.
Feeling overwhelmed and excluded, Anthony quietly slipped out of the room the shared room and headed to the hallway. Enzo was absent and was likely out on the small balcony that connected their home to the Andreoli's. He could make out Enzo's silhouette shrouded in the dim evening light as he indulged in a cigarette, a habit he had picked up from some of their cousins.
Anthony hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether he should approach his brother. He knew Enzo had been increasingly unpredictable and volatile, and he wasn't sure if their encounter would be met with hostility or indifference. Ultimately, he decided to give his brother some space, leaving him to his thoughts and the swirling smoke of the cigarette.
As he wandered down the hallway, a profound sense of isolation settled over Anthony. The secrets that surrounded his family, the changing dynamics, and the burden of expectations had created a divide between him and the people he loved most. It was a loneliness that was difficult to bear, and he couldn't help but wonder where this path would lead and whether he truly wanted to be a part of this enigmatic "family" that seemed to demand so much and offer so little in return.
Anthony quietly approached his sister's room, his steps cautious as he observed Molly sitting on her bed, lost in contemplation as she gazed at a cherished picture frame. He hesitated in the doorway, not wanting to intrude on her moment of reflection, but it was clear she was aware of his presence.
The room held a profound sense of nostalgia for Anthony. It had been a place of shared memories, from their infancy in the nursery to their early childhood when they had shared the space as siblings. Despite Molly's vibrant presence, the room still seemed to carry a hint of loneliness, a testament to the changes that had occurred within their family.
"Fratello," Molly greeted him, her voice tinged with sadness as she brushed away tears. She made no effort to hide her emotions from her older twin brother, understanding that they were both grappling with the unfairness of their situation. "I don't like this..."
Anthony nodded in agreement, sympathy etched on his face as he placed a comforting hand on his sister's shoulder. His gaze drifted towards the window, thoughts of running away and escaping the turmoil of their family crossed his mind, if only briefly. But the harsh reality of their situation grounded him. Leaving wasn't a viable option, especially not without Enzo.
"I don't want this either, Sorellina," he admitted, using the Italian word for 'little sister.' He couldn't help but wonder what kind of presence he would leave in this room when he eventually moved back into it.
Molly's attention returned to the picture frame she held, a tangible link to their happier times. In the photograph, their mother smiled warmly at the camera, her arms enveloping her two young children, Anthony and Molly. Nestled in their arms was a small black cat, named Bojangles. The cat's expression in the photo seemed less than thrilled about its position, but it had endured it for the sake of the snapshot.
Their mother's passing had been a devastating loss, and Bojangles had provided comfort to both siblings during that difficult time. However, the joy of having him had been short-lived when their cousins, Kate and Sarah, took a fleeting interest in the cat during a family gathering and took him for themselves. Only for said interest two become lost, allowing Bojangles to disappear into the world and never be seen again.
Molly's voice trembled with emotion as she spoke, "I miss Mamma, and I miss Bo, why did Kate and Sarah feel they could take him like that? And then..."
Anthony shared Molly's sadness, his voice soft as he remembered the cat they had both loved dearly. "I miss him too," he acknowledged. "They never should have taken him. Unfortunately, that's the sort of people they are. They want what isn't theirs because other people have it, and they take it because they can. If they can't have something, then they destroy it so no one has it."
He paused for a moment, his gaze filled with determination as he continued, "However, there is one thing they can never take or destroy, and that is the fact you have two older brothers. So, if they get you down, Molls... hold on to that. It ain't like they can keep you upstate forever. There are bound to be breaks, and an end to school."
*End Flashback*
"That's the whole spiel," Angel recounted, his accent tinged with a Brooklyn twang. "Molly's stuff was all neatly packed, and she was hightailing it upstate. Before she took off, both of us decided to hand over Mom's precious recipe journal to Sabina. We figured it was best for Sabina to hold onto it, 'cause we were dead sure that our cousins, Kate and Sarah, might just snatch it if Molly kept it. And with Pops being all old-school 'bout certain chores being women's work, there's no way I could keep or use it myself. Zia Sabina, bless her heart, agreed to look after it and swore to give it back to Molly on her big day."
"That does seem unfair," Charlie remarked. "I understand that puberty in females can..."
"That's the real deal," Angel agreed with a thoughtful nod. "Growing up can be a real rollercoaster for guys, but in Molly's case, the whole puberty thing was more of a handy excuse. If it had genuinely been about that, they would've shipped her next door to Sabina's. The actual reason was that around that time, I was starting to figure out I was gay. I'd always been drawn to what some might call the 'softer' side of things for a boy. It hadn't struck me as all that peculiar before, but it was getting clearer that I wasn't exactly like the other boys my age. Pops figured that by living with another guy, I'd somehow get a grip on what it meant to be a 'proper' boy, so he kept me with Fratello. Having Molly around was seen as too much of a 'girly' influence on me, which is why they wanted her to hightail it upstate."
"But she wasn't the issue," Charlie clarified. "She was merely someone you cared about and considered a friend."
"Yep," Angel hugged himself, his demeanor shifting as he delved into more painful memories. "That's when Pops started trying all sorts of things to set me straight. You see, back in the day, being gay came with a whole lot of stigma."
"Yeah," Charlie said. "Husk told me about that, how people could be committed to mental hospitals if their homosexuality was discovered."
"In the Mafia," Angel spoke with a heavy solemnity, "even a whisper of being gay could spell your death sentence. Being the son of a mafia boss gave me a bit of protection, but Pops was hell-bent on making me fit the mold. He had this storage room down in the basement. If he caught even a hint of me showing interest in another guy, he'd toss me in there for days. My sustenance was basic at best, just some bread and water. I wasn't anywhere close to being ready for the family business, and having a 'queer' son was seen as a vulnerability by rival families. I was considered a liability just because of who I was, because of who I was attracted to, something they saw as unnatural. I was told I had to change, become someone else to gain their acceptance. My own identity was deemed insufficient. Without Molly, I felt utterly isolated and alone, like I had no place in the family unless I could prove myself otherwise."
"When I started sixth grade, Pops figured I was old enough to make the walk home on my own. Fratello was already in high school, deep in the family's business. Alongside his schoolwork, he had family duties to attend to. While Fratello could be tough on his own, there were others in the family who took pleasure in tormenting the younger ones. Jose, a cousin from my mother's side, was one of those family members with a strange inclination for picking on the younger kids."
"One fateful day, as I was walking home, Jose and his gang cornered me, giving me a hard time, and eventually shoving my face into a pile of dog droppings. I did my best to fend them off, but the humiliation had already left its mark. After they scattered, I noticed that Fratello had simply stood by, watching the whole ugly scene unfold."
"I don't hold it against my brother for not stepping in. After all, I was just twelve years old back then, and I knew I had to handle my own battles. Nevertheless, it hurt to realize that he had merely observed it all happen without intervening. The only time he looked like he might speak up as a witness, he was silenced by a menacing glare from Pops. That's the kind of power Pops held over us—neither Fratello nor I could defy him, because he ruled through fear. He ensured that we lived in constant dread of him. For Fratello, it was probably simpler to go along with Pops' demands to avoid becoming a target of his anger. He also tried to persuade me to adopt the same cold and unattached mindset, particularly as my traning for the family became more intense."
*Flashback 1926*
The dimly lit basement was filled with the pungent scent of gunpowder and the harsh clatter of brass casings hitting the floor. A single hanging light bulb swayed gently above, casting eerie shadows on the concrete walls. Enzo's sharp, dark eyes, watched with a mixture of frustration and determination as young Anthony struggled with the Thompson Machine Gun.
"Anthony, you're doing it again," Enzo growled in irritation, pushing himself up from his seat. Pops had suggested his twelve-year-old son should be trained to use the heavy firearm, believing he needed to become a proficient gunner in the family's business. But Anthony's slender frame struggled to control the weapon's recoil.
"What are you trying to do, make the target tap-dance?" Enzo asked, gesturing toward the silhouette target. Only the feet of the target had any sort of damage, while much of the bullet riddling had occured in the white space underneath the target.
"I just don't feel right about this," Anthony admitted, setting the Thompson down on a nearby crate. His youthful face was a mixture of doubt and unease.
Enzo couldn't help but smirk, though he tried to suppress it. "You have a problem with shootin' people?" He found the irony in Anthony's statement almost laughable. In the world they lived in, there was no room for hesitation.
Anthony hesitated, then sighed. "I guess not," he conceded, his gaze shifting to his older brother.
Enzo stepped closer to Anthony, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Here, Fratellino," he said, using the Italian word for little brother. "Look at me. Think of this target as a Made Guy from another family. You think he's gonna care about you not feelin' right about shootin' him?"
"I guess not," Anthony repeated, starting to absorb his brother's logic.
"You guess?" Enzo's voice grew stern. "You guess…not?! Tony, this guy is going to be armed, and if he's coming at you, he ain't gonna give two fucks about whether you want to shoot him. Because he sure won't hesitate to shoot you. Your only concern is taking him out before he can fire off a single shot. Yeah, you can disable him by taking out his leg, but you don't need your legs to fire a gun. When you make a kill, the only thing that matters is the guy coming at you and the weapon in your hand. The only thing that counts is your survival, and there's only one chance to land a killing blow. If you don't, you're as good as dead."
With newfound determination, Anthony picked up the Thompson and squeezed the trigger, sending a burst of gunfire into the target. The center of the silhouette was torn to shreds, a testament to his growing proficiency.
Enzo whistled in approval as he came up behind his younger brother. "Not bad," he said, his tone no longer critical. "Keep that up, and you could be a Made Guy yet."
Anthony nodded, his eyes still fixed on the shredded target. The reality of their world was harsh and unforgiving, but he was beginning to understand that survival often depended on doing things that made you question your own humanity.