Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
I didn’t know what to say, I barely knew what to feel. The more lives I collected, the harder it was to feel anything at all. Stealing a young woman’s life hung heavy on my shoulders.
This was a man’s world, for centuries women and children were protected from war. I hated that it didn’t matter anymore.
Man.
Woman.
Girl.
Boy.
Child.
It was all fair game in this mafia life.
“I should have known better than to give you my mother’s cross. I used to think it was protection, never realizing it was a curse until it was too late.”
I held it in between my fingers, I never took it off.
“Just when I think I’m out of this seedy world, you get pulled right in.”
In an attempt at settling his integrity, I stated the truth, “I got what I wanted. It was only a matter of time before I became like you.”
“I know.” He nodded. “I’ve known since the moment you were born. It’s why I tried so hard to keep you away from it. I can’t control your future any more than I can my own. The only thing I can do is make sure you have the backing you need to live a life of the unknown. You chose this, so this is your world now. I did my time. I stepped down a long time ago. It’s your turn to carry the burden of you reap what you sow.”
“I don’t understand.”
As if on cue, Luciano made his entrance into the room with Gino by his side, and what appeared to be a knife in one hand with a wine glass in the other. Both pieces looked old, like heirloom possessions. There was a significance and history behind those artifacts. That much I did know.
With a nod of his head, he ordered me to stand.
I did.
Upon standing in front of me, El Capo declared, “You come into this life, but you won’t go out alive. The only way you leave this family is by being buried.”
I narrowed my eyes.
What followed next could only be described as a religious experience. I grew up in a church, my parents were insistent on it.
Before I could give it too much thought, Luciano continued on, “You’ve proven yourself, Crucifixio. We take prisoners and make no excuses. You handled this afternoon in the way we needed you to.”
“That was a test?”
“What happened today just proves we are making the right choice. Protect and eliminate first, question the circumstances later.”
Again, I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed quiet. It was better that way.
“Our families were put together for a reason. I gave you my blood,” Luciano professed.
Catching me by surprise, in a slow and deliberate movement, he slid the sharp knife diagonally across his top lip. Adding, “Now you’re going to give me yours.”
Despite wanting to react, I stayed still as EL Capo brought the blade up to my top lip as well. With another quick, sudden movement, he sliced a cut from one end to the other.
Testifying, “You become part of this knife and you become part of this chalice. Along with the list of many men before you.” Swiftly, he drank the wine from the glass. Leaving behind his blood on the rim. “You never speak about this moment, it’s one of many unwritten rules of our union. You will carry this initiation to your grave.”
“Initiation to what?”
He handed me the glass.
My eyes connected with my fathers, who was suddenly standing beside my father-in-law. There was a saint card in is grasp, Pio of Pietrelcina. The patron saint of pain, suffering, and healing. I remembered learning about him in bible study.
My father grabbed the knife of out Luciano’s hand, lighting the saint on fire, he welded the card onto the blade. There was no time for thoughts, impulsions, decisions were already made on my behalf.
While El Capo recited, “As burns this saint, so will burn your soul. You enter alive, you exit dead. This blood means that we are now one family. You live by the gun and the knife, and you die by the gun and the knife. You were baptized when you were a baby, your parents did it. But now, this time, you’re baptized in mafia blood.” He handed me the chalice. “Drink up.”
I did as I was told. Downing the wine from where Luciano’s blood remained. Fighting against my instincts, I didn’t dare move an inch when my father raised the searing hot knife up to my top lip.
I hissed, fisting my hand as soon as the burning blade touched my mouth. He sealed the cut with our blood, in the name of the saint.
“You’re one of us now,” my father exclaimed. “My death wasn’t resurrected the day I announced I was still alive. It was never about me, Crucifixio. The Devil is revived by you, son.”