The Lions Den

Chapter Twenty-Six: When the Lion Sees His Reflection In the Stream

Matteo

One month, six days, two hours, five minutes, thirty seconds and counting.

That was exactly how long I'd been sitting in this toxic hell of a prison. The only sunlight that I got when I was inside this concrete cell was from the small rectangle hanging high near the ceiling. The air was filled with musk and dryness. The harsh lights from behind the bars illuminated the room highlighting the cells nearby. There was no solace, no peace, no space to think inside these confined mold-stain slabs of concrete.

I kept to myself so much people swore I was mute. I walked around stone cold. I refused to talk to anyone I didn't want to: so essentially no one. There were just enough men here that I knew because of their direct relationships to the Mafia. I talked to them, and them only if we were ever near each other. I saw no need to make new friends or prove anything to anyone. There simply was no reason to do so. I was in a maximum security prison where everyone knew my name. If not for the stories told of my family, then for the fact they'd been deep enough into the streets to know how disturbingly  true they all were. There were enough people in this hell that owed my family in some way or another that I couldn't be touched on my worse day.

There wasn't a space to breath outside of these walls either. For about an hour or so every other day I was able to sit outside on the yard. The loud ruckus of men playing basketball, hustling money, or trading items for their books filled the dreary air. It didn't matter if there were clouds or sunshine, the outside still felt only a fraction of a bit less stifling than the inside. The faux freedom they tried to present by allowing us time outside was absolute rubbish. It meant nothing and did nothing for me except increase the longing that I had to go home.

Home was the only thing that kept me going through the long days that had started to drift into one long continuous song. I only knew the days based off of what my family told me, the things they wore, and the check-ins that they gave me over the phone. I couldn't find differentiation in the slowness of the actual day from dawn to dusk. I couldn't do it that way if I tried, so I settled without problem for aligning my days with those who gave me some kind of optimism for the tomorrow.

I saw Mama and Kat at the beginning of the week. They always came in together, and their antics always made for my most amusing entertainment until we had to part ways. Seeing the hurt in my mothers eyes paired with the torn emotions of strength and helplessness in my sisters killed me inside. It was why I only saw them twice a week. I hated to see that pain in their eyes, but I also knew that I couldn't keep them away for their sake and selfishly enough my own.

I saw my father and Clementine the most. They kept me in constant swing of the business, our family, and anything in between. They had to oversee that everything stayed afloat while I was in here. From running files, handling money, and organizing trades to ensure that those who relied on us stayed secure, they'd managed to strike a balance that worked while I was away . It was hard, but it was necessary. Just because I'd gotten myself locked up didn't mean that others outside still living life had to suffer.