The night he took me away

Chapter 19

Francesco

I'm sitting all by myself in the room that looks like the place where my mom and I used to spend most of our time. We stayed there to hide from my father because we feared him, both equally. But mostly her.
I remember the days where we hid in here and once my mother didn't followed one of his orders, he took me away from her until she did. Every time he did that she used to say, "You should never be like your father, Francesco. He's cruel, you are not. Its not right how he treats me. This is not a behavior of a man, but of a monster. When you really fall in love, you should never lay hands on the girl you like abusively, or against her will."
My mother was beautiful. Her tanned skin and black hair made her outstand from all of my father's whores. And men noticed that. For me, it wasn't the only thing that men wanted but women too. Her strength and courage when she walked into any room with her head raised with pride. I knew she was scared but she never showed it in front of them, especially him. They did the worst things to her that not many women could handle or go through in their life, but she only said that I made her forget about the pain.
When Ava's father offered her help, she didn't believe it. She thought it was one of my father's plan to test her. To see how long she could go. So, Liam did everything to gain her trust that in the process my mother fell in love with him. He made her believe that there were still good people in the world. But the love wasn't mutual because he had already been taken by Ava's mother, Isabella.
     My mother gave everything she had but my father kept taking and taking everything she had to give. She couldn't resist anymore. She was exhausted. That's when she fell ill. Her smile faded and the light in her eyes began to disappear. She only looked pale and coughed the whole night as I slept beside her. My father never visited her once, except for Liam. He came twice, to check on her and tried to convince me that she was going to be alright even though it was obvious it was going to be her last night alive. The following day I woke up and felt her cold hand around me. Like if she never wanted to let me go. That's when I immediately knew and began to cry. I remained that way because I didn't want to leave her alone. I fell asleep but was taken away when my father finally came in to see if she had already died. The look he gave to her was different. A bit of emotion was reflected. Maybe sorrow for the poor soul of her who was too young to be a mother. Since then I only looked at him like my mother used to call him.
A monster.
      He knows I despise him. Yet he thinks that I'll always remain loyal to him because I'm his son. Little does he knows that once he dies, this business is going to die with him. No woman will be harmed and live the things my mother went through. Ever again.
      I'm just waiting to find a safe place for her. For Ava. She was the reason, I haven't continued with my plans. 
    Now that my father believes that I'm causing her pain, he's calmer. But I know that he's still doubtful of me. Actually, He might be right about one thing: I care for her.
      "Are you busy?"
  Her soft voice comes from one corner of the room that I hadn't noticed she was standing there waiting for the right moment to say something meanwhile, I was lost in the memory of my mother and awful childhood years.
      I shake my head. "No. What's wrong?"
      "Nothing's wrong." She crosses her arms and licks her lips. "Can I?" She points at the couch and I look at her confused.
Why is she acting so nervous?
      She doesn't wait for me to answer and sits beside me, giving both of us a lot of distance.
"What was her name?"
"Who's?"
She tilts her head. "Your mother's name."
"Why do you want to know?"
She's too curious.
"You said my father wanted to help her." She pauses. "Did he helped her at the end?"
I look away.
"You should go to sleep. It's late."
"I'm not tired, " she says in a firm voice. "Please, just...tell me if he did. I'm out of my mind with these questions that impede me to fall asleep. A yes or a no will be enough."
"No, he didn't, " I finally say and she falls into stillness. I look at her and notice how her expression changes into a nostalgic one. "It was too late. She got sick and died." I clench my jaw. "It wasn't his fault."
She sucks harsh breath and we lock eyes.
"I'm sorry."
We both look away again and remain in silence. I began to wonder, how could she be sorry for a person she never met. I can only feel that way if I have an attachment with that person. But she makes it look so easy. Easy to have empathy with others. Even if it's the worst and dangerous person she's with
"She's in a better place now."
"If that place is real then she deserves to be there."
Silence fills the room again until she says, "When I escaped and left my home, I...I met a woman called Sophie. She saved and welcomed me into her house. Gave me food, a bed where I could sleep, and a job where I could help her with the bills meanwhile, I figured out where my parents were or what could I do next." She takes a deep breath. "She was good and deserved more in this life."
"What happened to her?"
"Umm...we got attacked and she died in my hands."
Erik. I remember my father giving an order to him when they found track of her.
I lower my head and look at my ring.
"But when she did, I remember singing to her one of my mother's favorite songs." She pauses. "Your mom deserves to hear it too."
I ignore the thoughts of saying to her to not believe that, and let her do.
"I thought you hated to sing." I twisted the wedding ring on my finger.
"I don't hate it. I just don't like it." She slowly stands up and walks to stand behind me. I turn my head to see what she's trying to do but she immediately says, "Don't look. I get nervous when people look at me while I sing."
"Are you sure you are not going to threaten me again with the kitchen knife?"
She softly laughs and without realizing I find myself smiling as well.
"Ready?"
"Ready, " Humorously say.
She clears her throat and begins to sing. My body stiffens at the beauty of her voice. It was smooth and clear and quiet yet powerful. Soothing, in a way. It was beautiful, and I wished that she would never stop. I couldn't even tell if it was words that came from her. Her voice was music, and grace, and the haunting feeling of knowing that her voice was brought out in a fit of rage, of pain.
"Oh take an angel by the wings...
Beg for one more day,
Its time to tell her everything."

Once she finishes, she deliberately walks towards me with a smile and asks, "What do you think?"
I stand up and look at her with astonishment. "That's the best thing I've ever heard in my life."

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