I'm held against a solid chest, terror racing through me at such a rapid pace I can't breathe.
There are six armed men in the room. One more comes through the door, his gun held out, ready to open fire. He too has a mask, but with his sleeves rolled up his thick forearms, I recognize his tattoo. It's a black dagger with the word eternal written on the blade and a cobra wrapped around the dagger's handle. The first time I saw that tattoo, I knew I'd never forget it. Nor his face.
I wasn't supposed to see his face the night I caught him with my mother.
That same night when I heard his voice, I realized he'd been here several times before. As he speaks now, I recognize his voice the same way. It's him.
I don't need to see his stony face or his dark coal eyes to remember how evil he looks.
That night he didn't see me watching him. No one did.
The man walks in, and a quick glance at my mother suggests she recognizes him too. I can see it in her eyes.
"William Ricci, I hear you've been up to no good," the man intones in a singsong voice. The deep timbre and the air of menace in his tone linger like a bad dream.
"Please, let my wife and daughter go," Papa begs, but his pleas are met with laughter. "Take me. You want me."
"Tell me where the information is," the man demands.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Papa answers.
"Fucking dog, you won't lie to me. You pick the wrong method to save your family."
Oh God... what does he mean?
What did Papa do?
The other night when Papa found out what was happening to Mom, I don't know what he did after. Whatever it is, has resulted in this.
"Please, let them go. You want me. Let my wife and my girl go."
"Tell me where the information is."
This is about information. On what, though?
What information did Papa find?
"I don't have it."
"You dumb fuck. We know what you did, and the boss isn't happy. Bring her here." The man points to Mom who starts screaming when she's dragged over by her hair.
"No, please. Don't hurt her," Papa cries.
"Where is it?" the man demands.
"I don't have the information anymore. I don't know where it is. My wife and girl know nothing. Take me, take me, take me." Each plea that falls from his lips rises an octave higher and stirs more horror in my soul.
"Can you remember now?" The man taunts, cocking the hammer on the gun.
Click-Clack is all I hear. It's all I focus on, along with the sight of Mom trying to break free.
"Please no, don't. Don't hurt her."
"Tell me what I need to know."
"I don't have it. Please. Not my girl."
"Yours? No." The man laughs.
I know what he means, after all, I saw him in bed with my mother.
For a fraction of a second, there's a shift of sadness and regret in my father's eyes as realization dawns on him too. Everything, however, evaporates from my mind when the man takes out a little bottle from the inside of his jacket and throws some sort of liquid all over Mom. A whiff of the pungent smell burns my nose, and the instant I realize what it is, the nightmare really begins. It's gasoline.
A snap of a lighter flickers on and suddenly my mother is on fire. The man holding her drops her as the flames cover her body.
The anguished cry that rips from my throat is so intense I think I might die from the sight of the flames on my mother. My screams mingle with those of my parents and tears blind my vision.
"Tell us where the information is, and I might put the fire out," the man taunts.
"I don't have it!" Papa shouts. "Someone took it. Please. Please, I beg of you, please."
The man stares Papa down. The seconds that pass between them feel like lifetimes and there's a moment something changes, and I just know it's over.
It's over and there's no one to save us. Our closest neighbors will mind their own business and the only people who might be able to help live at the bottom of the hill.
Giacomo D'Agostino is, however, so engrossed with his ritualistic remembrance of his wife I'm sure he won't hear a thing. He'd probably never suspect anything anyway out of the ordinary happening in the Ricci household.