Property Of Vittore Martinelli ✓

65

Vittore's POV

"Are you ready mamma?" I asked my mother as she picked up her bag and put it over her shoulders.

"Of course I am sweetheart," she said and tightened the straps. I sighed.

"Oh don't be so sad Vittore. I'll just be a few weeks then when I come back, we can have diner like always and give thanks. I believe in you. I know you'll manage to take out that mafia you need to," my mother said and smiled, walking over and holding my ace in my hands.

"I know you don't want to go but you-"

"I have to I know Vittore. It's ok. I don't mind. You're just trying to protect me so I thank you," my mother whispered, her thumbs brushing my cheeks as she sighed.

"I'm so proud of you sweetheart. I really am," my mother said, her eyes watering slightly but her smile was as blinding as ever. "I'm sorry I couldn't keep you from your father but-"

"You did save me from him mamma," I responded, pulling one of her hands from my cheek and kissing it. "You did. More than you know."

I hugged her then, my grip tightening with each second that passed.

"Ti amo mamma," I whispered and her hold tightened.

"Ti amo anch'io figlio mio," she said back to me and I pulled back then. "Remember what you promised me?"

"Of course I do mamma," I said and she smiled.

"Good. I'll hold you to that," she teased and I looked over her shoulder at Maddox.

"Take care of her," I commanded and he nodded with a smirk.

"She'll get all the care she needs boss. Don't worry about it."

I nodded at Maddox and let my mother go with him. She waved back at me and I watched her go, a glance of her smile the last thing I saw.

It was all my fault.

It was my fault my mother was dead. It was my fault she couldn't be here to see another day. I was the one who sent her away.

I was the one who sent her to her death.

I took another gulp of the vodka bottle in my hands. It was mostly empty now, I didn't know what I was thinking when I picked it from my cabinet and came here. I looked around my mother's room. I couldn't find any comfort at the bottom of this bottle, I couldn't find comfort in anything anymore.

My mother was everything to me. She still is.

The days with my father... even thinking back to them makes my heart ache. I suffered so much under his hands, the scars hidden under my tattoos said as much. I'd stopped hiding them but now, they tingled with recognition. All the pain was coming back, slowly but doing so much damage.

I remember when my mother would risk coming into my room to hold me and tell me everything was fine. Hold me and tell me she was so proud of me for being so strong.

I just wanted her to come back and hold me like she used to.

I wanted my mother back but I couldn't have her.

It was all my fault.

I took another sip of vodka, the pain in my throat nothing compared to the pain in my heart. I looked at my mother's nightstand where the picture she'd taken of me and Dalia was framed. She'd been so happy when she'd taken it. I remember her smile and her excitement.