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PROLOGUE

ROMIRO

Age: 7

I t’s dark. I’m in the closet again. And I’m scared. Ma locked me in here…I don’t know how long ago. I’m so hungry. My stomach keeps making noises. I wish Nicolo were here but I think he’s out doing something for the Capo. I pull my legs further into me, and I keep my head on my knees and my eyes firmly closed.

Don’t move, Romiro. I repeat the words over and over again in my head. My back still hurts. Ma hit me extra hard with the wire today, which opened the old, scabbed scars —and created new ones. I wince, and tears well up in my eyes when my back hits the cold, damp wall. I try to shift to a position that doesn’t hurt, but there isn’t one.

It’s hard to breathe in here. The air smells musty and wet, and tears slide down my cheeks. I hate crying. It makes me feel weak, and Ma doesn’t like weakness. “Stop being a baby,” she says. “You think I have time to take care of you?” I just wanted to eat something, just wanted to be safe, to not be in this dark, cramped space. I can’t even tell how long it’s been since I last saw the light.

I hug my knees tighter, wishing I could disappear. The dark is thick and heavy, like a blanket wrapped around me. I hear the muffled sounds of the world outside—the TV playing loudly in the living room, Ma’s voice slurring as she talks to someone, the bass of music thumping through the floor. I can’t tell if it’s night or day, but the sounds feel far away, like they’re coming from another world.

I think about Nicolo. He’s the only one who ever seems to care about me. He always tells me to be brave and strong. “You’re tough, Romiro,” he says, ruffling my hair. “You’re my little warrior.” I wish he were here now. He always knows how to make things better, even if just for a little while. But he’s gone, and I don’t know when he’ll be back.

Ma said he’s busy with the Capo, but I don’t know what that means. Sometimes I hear things I’m not supposed to, things that scare me. Words like “business” and “money” and “danger.” I don’t really understand, but I know it’s not good. Nicolo is always trying to protect me, but I can’t help feeling that something bad is coming.

I press my face into my knees, trying to block out the noise, the smell, and the cold that seeps into my bones. I can’t think about it. I need to focus on something else.

I remember the last time we had spaghetti. The smell was so good. I can almost taste it. Ma had cooked it with too much salt, but I didn’t care. I just wanted something in my stomach that wasn’t pain. I remember how Nicolo smiled when he took the first bite, his eyes lighting up. “See, Romiro? I told you she could cook!” he said, and I laughed along with him, the sound ringing bright and clear in the small kitchen.

But that was a long time ago.

Now all I can think about is the hunger gnawing at me, the pain in my back, and how I’m still locked in this stupid closet. I try to distract myself. I imagine I’m in a big field, green grass stretching out forever, and the sun shining bright overhead. I can see the blue sky and the fluffy white clouds drifting lazily. I’d run around laughing, feeling free.

But then I hear a crash from the living room, and my heart drops. I sit still, holding my breath, listening. Ma’s voice rises in anger, sharp and loud, and I feel the fear creep back in. I don’t want to be here, but I also don’t want to be part of whatever’s happening out there. My heart races, thudding against my chest like a wild bird trying to escape a cage.

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter, wishing for it all to go away. I think of the field again, but this time it’s harder to picture. The colors blur into darkness, the laughter fades, and all I hear is the pounding in my ears.

“Romiro!” Ma calls, her voice cutting through the haze. “Get out here!”

I freeze. I don’t want to go. I want to stay here, curl up, and disappear. But I can’t ignore her. I can’t. I slowly push myself up, the pain flaring in my back as I stand. I hesitate, heart racing as I reach for the doorknob. It’s cold and feels foreign in my sweaty palm. I’m not allowed to touch the doorknob. Ever. Ma has always maintained her strict rules. One of which has me knocking three consecutive times on the bottom of the wooden door, otherwise it’s a beating and no food for the next three days.

With a deep breath, I turn it and step into the living room.

The brightness stings my eyes, and for a moment, I’m blinded. When my vision clears, I see Ma sitting on the couch. Her eyes are wide and unfocused, her hair is a mess, and her clothes are rumpled. She looks different—almost like a stranger.

“Where were you?” she snaps, her voice cutting like glass. “I told you to stay close!”

“I was—” I stammer, but the words get caught in my throat. I don’t know what to say. I was just hiding. I was scared.

“Did you think you could just run away? You think I’m playing with you?” Her face twists in anger, and I shrink back, feeling the shame creep over me like a blanket of lead.

“I’m sorry, Ma,” I whisper, looking down at my feet. The carpet is sticky beneath my toes, and I don’t want to think about what that means.

“Get over here,” she commands, and I shuffle forward, my legs feeling like anchors, refusing to cooperate. I stand in front of her, not knowing what to expect. The dark circles linger under her eyes, the way her skin looks pale and clammy. I wish Nicolo were here.

Why couldn’t he be here? Why am I always left behind?

“Look at me!” she shouts, and I jump, meeting her gaze. There’s something in her eyes, a wildness that makes my stomach drop. “You think you can just hide away and pretend like I don’t exist?”

I don’t know how to answer, so I stay silent, hoping she’ll calm down. I think about the spaghetti again, about the way it felt to eat until my belly was full. I wish we could go back to that.

“Speak!” she barks, and I feel tears prick at my eyes. “Don’t you dare look at me like that! Don’t look at me the way your bastard father looks at me!”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper again, and it sounds so small, so pitiful.

Ma rises abruptly, her movements quick and erratic. She grabs my arm, her grip painful as she pulls me close. “Sorry? Is sorry the only thing you can say to me? Pathetic! You think I want to be stuck with you? You’re a burden, Romiro! A little rat that I can’t get rid of!”

I flinch at her words. They hurt worse than the wire. I want to tell her I’m trying, that I’m not a burden, but I can’t get the words out. My throat is tight, and my tears spill over, hot and stinging as they slide down my cheeks.

“Stop crying!” she yells, shaking me a little, and I can’t help it; I cry harder. “You think I want to see you like this? You think I want to be your mother?”

I shake my head, but it doesn’t matter. She pushes me away, and I stumble backward, nearly falling into the coffee table.

I look up at her, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of something else. Fear. Something unravelling just behind her gaze. But then it’s gone, replaced by the anger, the rage that’s familiar and terrifying.

“Go back to the fucking closet, you pathetic vermin,” she snaps. “I don’t want to see you right now.”

I don’t argue. I turn and run, my heart pounding in my chest. I don’t want to be here, don’t want to be around her. I just want to disappear again, to find my way back to that closet where it’s safe and quiet.

I reach the closet and slowly close the door behind me, making sure not to slam it. The last time she thought I slammed the door, I received thirty lashes. I still remember the way my shirt soaked up the blood and stuck to my back.

She’s still yelling. Her voice is echoing down the hall, but it’s muffled now. I sink to the floor, wrapping my arms around my knees as I try to calm the storm inside me.

“Don’t cry,” I whisper to myself, even though the tears keep flowing. “Stay calm. Be strong.”

But it’s hard. It’s so hard. I don’t want to be strong anymore. I want to be a kid, to run around and play without a care in the world. I want to feel safe.I don’t want to be stuck in this closet, scared, alone, and in pain.

I reach for my favorite toy, a small worn-out bear that Nicolo gave me. Its fur is frayed, but it’s the only thing that brings me a sense of comfort. I hug it tight against my chest, wishing it could take away the fear.

“Please, Nicolo,” I whisperinto the bear’s fur. “Come home.”

Time drags on, the sounds of the house fading into a dull hum as I sit here, trapped in my thoughts. I think about what Ma said, about being a burden. I don’t want to be a burden. I want to make her happy, but everything I do seems to only make her hate me.I don’t want her to hate me.

A loud crash from the living room jolts me upright, and my heart races again. I stand, peering through the crack in the door. I watch as her silhouette moves in the dim light, and I hear voices. They’re muffled, but I catch snippets—angry shouts, words I can’t quite make out.

I want to go back in time, back when Pops still came home and Nicolo and I could play outside, back then I felt safe. I should stay in here but something pulls me forward. I want to know what’s happening. I tiptoe toward the living room, my heart thudding in my ears.

As I peek around the corner, I see two men in suits, their faces tight and angry. They’re towering over Ma, who’s sitting on the couch with trembling hands. I can’t see their faces clearly, but the tension in the air is thick and suffocating.

“Where’s the money?” one of them demands, his voice low and dangerous. “You promised. You think you can just keep running?”

Ma stares up at them, her eyes wide, darting frantically from side to side. “I’m trying! I just need more time! Please!”

A rush of fear surges through me. What money? What are they talking about? I want to turn away, to hide, but I can’t move. I’m frozen in place while watching the scene unfold like a terrible movie I can’t turn off.

One of the men leans in closer, his voice menacing. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t a game. You’re in deep, and you’re going to pay. One way or another.”

I back away slowly, my chest rising and falling rapidly. I want to run, but my feet feel glued to the floor. Questions swirl around my head, but I can’t process them. I’m just a kid. I don’t understand.

As I inch back toward the closet, I hear Ma crying, her voice trembling. “I’ll get it! I promise! Just give me more time!”

The men scoff, and their voices fade into the background as I close the door quietly behind me, sealing myself in. I hug my bear tightly to my chest, rocking back and forth as the tears fall freely now.

“What do I do?”, I whisper to the stuffed animal, feeling so lost and scared. “What do I do?”

I don’t know what to do. I feel so small, so powerless. I don’t want to be small and powerless; I want to be like Nicolo. Strong and big. And safe. I want Nicolo to come home and make everything okay again.

I know he can’t. He’s out there, somewhere in a world I don’t understand, and I’m here, alone, trapped in a life that feels like it’s spiraling out of control.

And all I can do is hold onto my bear, keep my eyes closed, and hope that somehow, someday, things will change.