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I could barely breathe, suffocated by the harsh reality that nothing could mend this. I couldn't fix Zander, not now, not ever again. I couldn't take back what I had done or erase the time between us and fill it with memories.

My mother had inevitably lost two sons.

No. I'm here, I'm back.

There were no tears in my eyes, they were as dry as the desert. I knew that most people would be inconsolable at a time like this, but I wasn't normal. Even if I tried to force myself to cry, it wouldn't work. I didn't have any tears to shed for my brother, there were none to give him.

That didn't mean I wasn't sorry he was gone, it didn't mean that I lacked empathy for what she was going through or felt some form of sadness that he was dead. What it did mean was all the anger I lived with finally had a function, it had a purpose.

Revenge was bittersweet. It was time for me to open Pandora's box and let the world know I was back with a vengeance.

If Marcos has anything to do with this, he's fucking dead.

My heart stopped, returning to beat with hatred and rage for whoever was responsible for taking my brother from this woman—from this family.

I'm going to kill them all.

The sound of feet thudded behind her back, drawing my attention up. Lifting my head, I saw my father standing in the doorway of the living room, holding a small glass of alcohol. In khaki pants and a button-up plaid shirt, he watched me with that same dead stare I had seen when I walked out that door.

You still haven't forgiven me, even after all this time.

Our eyes locked as the battle of testosterone fueled the air, bringing back all the angst I felt when I was around him as a kid.

My father and I didn't get along, we never really had. My mother used to tell me that we butted heads because we were so much alike. I refused to think I was anything like that man. He wasn't my birth father, none of his blood flowed through my veins.

All he cared about was his alcohol and control. He treated my mother like a fucking slave, and me like I had been put here on earth to serve him.

Pushing herself to stand up straight, my mother smoothed her hair out and cleared her throat. Pulling a small cloth from her pocket, she wiped her face dry.

I felt sorry for her, even more so now with the death of my brother. It was sad that even in this state, with all the grief she felt, she couldn't show it around my father.

Fear and sadness wasn't allowed, it wasn't a part of our vocabulary when I was growing up. You took whatever shit was thrown at you like a man, regardless of what it was.

He used to tell me when I was a kid that if he saw a hint, a flicker, a damn pause in my fucking muscles—he'd make my mother a happy woman and give her the daughter she always wanted; by cutting off my balls one by one.

His tactic had worked. I didn't cry, I never whined or fussed about anything he ordered me to do. To me that was normal; all the anger, the demands, I didn't know anything else.

I did as I was told, period; no questions, no second guessing what he said. My head would bow and I would run off to complete whatever medial task he assigned me.

He might not want to admit it, but he helped create the monster I had become, the empty pit of a man that walked around without a purpose, with no skills but how to kill a man with his bare hands.

I remember being really little one time and asking my mother why he treated me like I was his soldier. I never did get an answer because she never had the chance to give it.

My father walked in, his face red, the thick vein in his neck pulsing like it was its own entity, like a parasite that had taken control of his body. He smacked me so hard across the face for questioning who he was that I never asked again.

I wouldn't say it out loud, but his hands molded me like clay into the perfect mafia soldier. I was cold, calculated, and good at following orders. I learned to be that way because of him. I didn't give a shit about the people I had killed or the suffering I brought on their families.

At least not at first. That changed, it all changed in one single night. A night that I still had nightmares about, a single moment that will haunt me forever.

“Why are you here?” he asked, taking a small sip from his cup. “I didn't ask you to come.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn't have called me if it wasn't something really bad.” Gritting my teeth, I tried to stay calm. “You should have told me, why didn't you? Why did you just hang up?”

Not letting him answer, my mother cut in. “I'll go make you something to eat.” Sniffling, she glanced at my father, then back at me. “Chicken parm, how does that sound? You always loved chicken parm.”

“Mom, no, you don't have to. You should relax, take some time to your—”

Resting her hand on my chest, she stopped me from speaking. “It will help me relax, help get my mind off all of this for a little bit.” Giving me a soft smile, she lifted her hand to my cheek and thumbed my face. “I'm really happy you're here. I've missed you, Porter.”