atroceblasonate

[atroceblasonate]

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨: 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐫, 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐈

The quiet in the room wasn't just around me; it was inside me, wrapping over my ribs and settling in my bones like frostbite. I couldn't take my eyes off the screen. The dirt that stuck to her golden hair made it hard to see her wounded and bloodied face. My jaw clenched, and my fists curled so tight that my knuckles became white. I was so angry that I felt like acid was in my throat. She didn't deserve this.

"Let her go, Father," I murmured in a quiet voice, already breaking under the pressure. "This has nothing to do with her." Giovanni laughed. That chilly, empty sound told me everything I needed to know. "That anger you have?" He leaned in, and his eyes sparkled. "That's precisely why we're here." I stood there, my eyes going back and forth between him and the screen before landing on him again. He was always calm because he was certain of his victory. "Now," he stated simply. A scream came across the speakers. My head turned quickly to the screen. Vittoria was lying on the floor, her busted lip shaking as she begged, "Malik, please… Malik…" Her voice had a sharp edge that pierced me deeply.

I staggered back. My father laughed, believing that my pain was amusing. "You forget, son," he continued, his voice full of anger. "I own you." And the more you fight me, the worse it gets. You think this is a punishment?” He pointed to the screen. "This is just a peek." He didn't care if he was right or wrong. He just cared about power; he wanted to make me into the obedient heir he could show off, bending my will until it broke. “Let her go,” I said softly. "I'll do whatever you say." Giovanni's smile got wider. "Oh, Malik. You still believe in kindness. That's what makes you weak.” He gestured in Ricardo's direction. A few moments after the man spoke into his earpiece, two more individuals entered the scene. They were Vittoria's parents. Blood covered both of them. Shaking. Scared. My chest collapsed in. "No…" I took a breath. "Yes," Giovanni hissed beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder. Giovanni's words were a twisted mockery of fatherly affection. "Son, the choice is yours." "Save one of them, or you'll lose them all." I looked back and forth between them. Three lives. One choice. All of these weighed heavily on my shoulders. I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe. “Follow me,” my father commanded. But I stayed frozen. I remained rooted in a moment where no outcome led to salvation. “Time is running out, Malik,” Giovanni said, his voice firm, final. “You don’t want me to decide for you.” I turned to him slowly, my soul already unraveling. In that instant, it dawned on me that whoever I chose, I would ultimately lose her.

The room they walked into was so cold that it made it hard to breathe. It was an unnatural shiver that went through my bones and echoed the hollow ache in my chest. The air seemed clean and steely, like a place made for peace, not death. As I looked around the room, my breath caught as I saw Vittoria sitting on the floor, battered and dirty. But even though she was terrified, her blue eyes held mine with unshakable tenderness. And then, despite everything, she smiled. That smile helped me believe in hope once. She had a smile that made the inferno seem manageable. "Malik," she whispered, her voice feeble yet brimming with a faith that shattered my heart. I pushed forward, instinctively clenching my gut, but as I did, a hand gripped my shoulder tightly. Giovanni answered, "No," in a voice that was as icy as the air around us. "Not yet." I struggled to break away, but Giovanni's grip was strong and his fingers dug in like claws. Giovanni looked at Vittoria with the same smug disdain that I had always been afraid of. "You see what happens when you don't listen, Vittoria?" Giovanni remarked this as he walked slowly and carefully around her. "I told you so. A few months ago. I told you to let Malik go.” Vittoria's eyes didn't move. She narrowed her eyes into slits and raised her chin boldly. "Go to hell," she said with a hiss. Giovanni's laughter sounded like thunder. “Hell,” he said again, showing his teeth like a wolf, “is where I live.” Then he looked at me, and the excitement left his face as he gently withdrew a sleek black gun from his suit. I knew that the rifle was heavier than anything I had ever handled, even though it appeared small in his hands. "One bullet," Giovanni remarked, his voice flat and final. "Three choices." He stepped closer and put the gun in my hands. The gun felt chilly, just like everything else in this horrible world. "You can shoot one of her parents," Giovanni said, his words cutting like glass. "You can shoot your precious Vittoria or yourself." A wicked grin pulled at the corners of his mouth. "You have one minute."

As I looked down at the firearm that was now heavy in my hand, the world became quiet. One shot. One life. One choice. My heart kept beating hard. I could end it now, kill myself, and steal Giovanni's satisfaction. But then Vittoria and her family would still die. My father would make sure of it. Turning the gun on Giovanni would result in our deaths within minutes. The guards served as the backup plan since Giovanni always had a contingency in place.

The seconds ticked by. I lifted my eyes to Vittoria, and her face crumbled. She shook her head once, barely perceptibly, silently begging me not to give in. But I was already too deep. Too trapped. My father had orchestrated this moment with precision, a final severing of the man I wanted to be and the monster I was being forced to become.

I curled my fingers around the grip and pulled the trigger, causing the gunshot to crackle through the room like a thunderclap, and Vittoria’s father fell to the ground, blood pouring from his temple in a furious, scarlet blossom. After that, only her cries remained, a brutal, guttural sound that tore through my soul and left me breathless. I let go of the rifle, and the weight of what I had done pulled at every part of me. Giovanni slowly clapped his hands and smiled in a strange way. He said, "That's my boy," with a lot of pride in his voice. But I couldn't take my eyes off of Vittoria, even as my father was speaking to me. She looked at me as if I weren't there, as if I had already died and maybe I had. At that moment, the sparkle in her eyes faded, and the warmth that used to reach out to me without thinking turned frigid. Not attached. She was leaving me, going far away where I couldn't follow, and I had been the one to push her.

•••

That day haunted me; it always had and I hated how easily it still unraveled me. Clearing my throat, I grabbed my phone, pressing it to my ear. “Ralph,” I said, my voice sharper. “Do we have eyes on Vittoria and her mother?” The answer came swiftly. “Yes, sir. Our men in Italy are watching the compound. Her mother just left.” I nodded slowly, my gaze drifting toward the window but seeing none of the world beyond it. “Good. We’re changing the plan. Meet me at the warehouse. I’ll brief you there.”

“Yes, sir. And… happy birthday.” The line went dead. I scoffed under my breath, shaking my head as I set the phone down. My gaze shifted to the framed photograph on the desk's edge, a timeless image of me and Vittoria sharing laughter in a world that had long since crumbled into ashes. I stood, buttoning the sleek black jacket of my suit, my movements methodical. Controlled. The man in the mirror looked polished and powerful, but the man inside was fractured. “I’m sorry, Vittoria,” I murmured, almost too softly to hear. Giovanni had sculpted me into this: a weapon with no mercy, no softness. A king built in his image. Vittoria was the lone beacon of hope amidst the darkness. She was the sole individual to perceive a human aspect beneath my fortifications, and she had borne the consequences of this intimacy. With blood. With loss.

People thought I was untouchable because I was cold, calculated, and hard to read. But deep down, the reality hurt like a wound that never healed because I still loved her. This love lasted even after all those years had gone by. Despite my current state of ruin, I still loved her and knew that I always would.

[atroceblasonate]

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞: 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐫, 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

My thoughts were that one mistake could alter your entire life and propel you down a path you never anticipated. As I fought between the man I wanted to be and the man my father had made of me, the pawn, he kept gnawing at me. He was aware that I would never be able to go back, no matter what happens now, but I still had hope. Despite the strange idea of hope, I still held it in the very depths of my heart. Although my father may not have been physically present, I was aware that he made it his mission to monitor me. One might think that the distance between Italy and New York would provide some comfort, but that was not the case. Because I was still haunted by the memories of the place I called home, it was a suffocating sensation. My father, the great Giovanni Romano, who was always looking for ways to ruin his son, would never let me forget that it was never my home but rather a constant reminder that I wasn't my own man. It was funny how that played out, continuing the cycle that his own father had started.

•••

"Mr. Romano, good morning.” I stopped when I heard the soothing voice, and my head tipped slightly. "Who the fuck are you?" I asked a pointed query to the brunette lady I didn't recognize, but I didn't give the receptionist any thought. "I was hired by your father, Lilly." I ought to have realized that this was just one of his strategies for exerting control over the circumstance. I tightened my jaw, a reflex I had learned to use when I was irritated or angry; in this instance, it was irritation. "Let me be clear: please don't refer to me as Romano. Levine is my last name. I advise you not to aggravate me if you want to keep your job.” Lilly apologized while nodding her head. “I simply made an assumption.”

"When you assume—you make an ass out of yourself," I said, laughing dryly. You may have been employed by my father, but I have no issue with firing you”. Giovanni knew that I didn't like it when he brought people into the office—this was my firm, not his—so I was already irritated with the entire scenario. "Sir, your father has sent you a package in your office." My father felt the need to demonstrate his dominance over me, even though it was only nine in the morning, and he had already managed to ruin my mood. "Mhm..." I muttered and turned away from the brunette, just in time to hear her soft voice. "Mr. Levine, happy birthday." My head shook and I paused for a second, taking a breath. The conversation just made me more irritated; I slid into my office and noticed the red box. Eyes fixed on the box; I took a seat on the leather chair. I shook my head, thinking about how the hue of crimson was like the blood on my hands. "Get a hold of yourself." Upon carefully opening the package, my eyes widened at what I saw, and I muttered only to myself. My finger pads stroked the gold frame containing a photo of Vittoria, my sunshine—the one person who still touched my heart. Or that was her former self. I blinked a few times as I gazed at the image, which showed Vittoria sitting on my lap with her arms encircling my neck and her head thrown back in laughter. The sincere grin on my lips in the picture was one I no longer wore. I was startled out of my thoughts by the ringing of the office phone, but I managed to clear my throat and continue speaking while the phone was pressed up against my ear. "Malik Levine speaking." My jaw tightened as I felt the other person's laughing send a shiver down my spine. "Levine, really? Is it what you now identify as yourself? Pathetic.” My fury was subsided by my tight hold on the phone. “What aid can I provide for you, Father?” Giovanni was not amused when the laughter abruptly stopped, and Giovanni’s tone did not include laughter. “Your sarcasm does not go unnoticed, but I will get right to the point; It's time for you to follow suit; your mother is doing her part. Your father is not Spencer; you are a Romano, not a Levine. Remember your origins.” I was aware that the call and picture were to prove a point. "Or have you forgotten what transpired on your sixteenth birthday with your beloved Vittoria?" I was moved by the question, and before I could answer, the line went dead. The phone fell out of my hand, and tears started to run out of my eyes. Before I drifted back to that particular date, the memory began to gently fill my consciousness in flashes: 𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟓, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟓.

•••

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟎𝟓, 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟓 – 𝐒𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲

"Baby, it's your birthday." I looked down at the girl who had won my heart, and she ran over to me, her arms encircling my neck as I stared down at her. I smiled at the sparkle in her dark eyes. “Yes, that is the case. It is only another day.” She shook her head, and I pressed a kiss on her forehead. “No, sorry. This year, you are coming over to celebrate with my family after having dinner with your father.” I just nodded in response to her remarks, which unnerved me because my father didn't like the way I was with Vittoria and I didn't want to go visit him, St. Louis School was the one place where my father couldn't easily get in touch with me or my life; it was my haven. "I'll see you tonight; I have to go meet the girls. I love you.” She spoke, we kissed briefly, and she vanished into the throng of people. I lingered in the courtyard for a few minutes before turning around and bumping into someone else. My head shaking as I managed to stop myself and looked at the blonde girl with the piercing blue eyes. "I'm sorry." I smiled down at the girl and chatted while I rubbed the back of my head. "No, I'm to blame," The girl answered back.

"What is your name?" We've never met before, I believe." Her lips slowly began to grin. "It's Melina and what’s your name?" My eyes landed on the man behind the girl before I could answer her. "Your father is waiting for you, Mr. Romano." I gave a nod, the smile gradually subsided. "Sorry, but I have to go. I hope you have a good day.”

It had been over eight months since I had seen my father, and yes, I had been keeping count. It implied that if I saw him again, I would be forced to recall why I had stopped caring for him. “Malik, it’s been too long.” I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something felt strange about his tone. “Father.” I gave a nod, settling in on the leather sofa at the furthest end of his office. "I thought it would be nice to watch a film together today since it's your birthday." My head tipped back as Giovanni's menacing smile gradually widened, adding to the unpleasant sensation. "A film?" I asked, surprised by his suggestion. "See, I thought this would be the ideal time because I've noticed you've been putting distance between us." I looked away from him and at the screen that materialized behind him, and as I staggered to my feet, my eyes grew wide with shock. "Mailk.." I could hear the agony in her voice piercing my ears. “Father, what is this? Stop this!” My voice had the wrath in it, and I never took my eyes off the screen. "This is what happens when you cross me. Please unwind and enjoy the show I have planned for you."

I remained silent as I knew that this would be the moment when my father revealed his true self to me.

Tᴏ Bᴇ Cᴏɴᴛɪɴᴜᴇᴅ.

[atroceblasonate]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞: 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐁𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐫, 𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐈𝐧 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝

Malik Romano was knotted up in knots. From the time of his birth, Giovanni Romano, his father, manipulated and subverted every aspect of him to turn him into the ideal pawn: someone to obey, someone to dominate, someone who was never his own man. All promise that could have been realized—hope that could have grown, light that could have existed—had been extinguished. His mother Lillian saw Malik as only a fixture in the ideal life she so desperately wanted, treating him like a sad prize on the Devil's arm. She never did anything to protect him from the destiny his father had set for him, so to speak. He was nonexistent to her. He had dreams once, a love for the arts, to venturing out into the world to show the beauty in this life we have, creating life with a brush. He was once an artist. But the flames of hell never let their charges go very far Giovanni brought his son right back, more broken than before. Malik was being trained to carry out all the grubby tasks that his father would never do—all to make Malik uncomfortable and torment his son. In his lowest point, Vittoria was the only thing that remained for Malik. She was present. She was there for him when he thought he was going insane and there was no way he could go on. Then he stopped, and everything worth fighting for was engulfed by the darkness his father had created. Before everything is lost, can the Devil's pawn get off the board? Or will the worst come to pass, and he turn into a monster much worse than the one he was raised to fear?

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐍𝐚𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐈𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐲

Malik Romano was a small child, and his dark hair was just a few inches above his dark eyes, which shine with innocence. Children could feel danger before it happens and to notice things that adults notice differently. Even at the tender age of nine, Malik understood that his father wasn't a good man. Being the only child of Giovanni and Lillian Romano. His father was a violent man. Malik was going to discover how accurate those words were on this particular day.

“Malik today is a special day and I need you to behave, you cannot make any noise. Do you understand me?” The words that left Camila, his nanny, were confusing. He blinked his eyelids a couple of times. “Please be a good boy. No noise.” Camila uttered; her gaze landed on him as she spoke. “I..I..I don’t understand.” Camila signed; pads of her fingers brushed against his cheek. “Let’s play a game, okay?” Malik nodded his head a couple of times as his smile widened. “It’s called the quiet game; you will run upstairs to your playroom. No matter what noise you hear downstairs, you do not come out of your hiding spot. And, if you succeed, I will ask your grandfather to buy you the art set you want. Deal?” The young boy nodded his head repeatedly, the smile that was plastered on his lips stretch against his face. No sadness, just pure happiness. Camila stared down at him, giving him a quick kiss on his forehead. “The game starts now, go.”

The game was in full effect, Malik’s back pressed against the wall. The space was small and pitched black which made Malik feel uneasy and uncomfortable. He blinked his eyes a couple of times as he shifted from left to right. “Where the hell is he, Camila?” The stern voice echoed through the home, the sobs of Camila echoed in Malik’s head and in that moment, he knew that she was in danger. Was the game still going on? Should he stay hidden? “No.” He mumbled to himself as the sounds of his bare feet hit against the tile. “Papa, I am here. I am right here.” His words escaped in a high-pitched tone as his heartbeat increased. “No, don’t hurt him, please.” The pleads that left her mouth caused a shiver to run down his spine as his father’s gazed was now locked on Malik. “Camila, I suggest you close that mouth of yours or I will have to permanently do it for you. Ricardo, remove her from my sight.” In a matter of seconds, the only two people that were left was Malik and his father, the little boy shaking with fear and the uncertainty of what was to come.

“Son, I am going to ask you this question and you have five seconds to answer the question. If you lie or if I am not convinced of your answer, then you will have to answer for your sins.” Malik was confused, he didn’t understand what his father was saying but he couldn’t show fear. The young boy was still riling from the last time he lied to Giovanni, so he stayed silent, and he simply nodded his head. “Have you been telling people that you want to be a painter and not a businessman like your father?” The little boy blinked his eyes, clearing his throat as he spoke in a low voice. “Yes.” The grin that stretched against Giovanni’s lips caused Malik’s small feet to take a couple steps back. “Son, I was hoping that you would attempt to lie or save yourself, but I am actually proud of you for being truthful.” Malik was stunned and the fear that he once felt was fading away.

Stupid of him to believe his dad meant what he said.

“Giovanni, what are you doing?” The soft voice of his mother pulled him from his thoughts as tears ran down his cheeks and his little feet kicking forward, the grip his father’s fingers held on to his ankle. “Mama, please. Tell him to stop..i’m scared.” Malik pleaded and his father just laughed. “She won’t help you. Don’t waste your breath. Lillian, please stop deceiving the young boy and run along.” Malik’s vision was blurred due to the height and the tears the left his eyes but, in his heart, he knew that she was no longer there and when he heard her heels against the ground—it just proved to his mother didn’t care for him. “Mama, please. Don’t go.” His pleads went unanswered, the only sound that he heard was the laughter that came from his father. With a flick of Giovanni’s wrist Malik’s small frame released from his grip, the tears blurry his vision but Malik still caught the smirk on his father’s lips.

His days of innocence had come to an end when he saw the pictures of his family crumbling. This was his life as it had become. His father was a despot who would be furious with everyone in the home, especially Malik, who he felt was never good enough. A sharp agony shot through his tiny body as it struck the tile; he felt his father's foot pressing into his chest and felt blood run down his cheeks as his eyelids continued to flutter. “I am not going to raise a bitch. Play time is over.” Those were the words that circulated in his mind as he closed his eyes, the darkness swallowed him whole.