by Laura Rossi
That’s how I’d found out about Sasha.
Italian, short, thin boned and one of Alonso’s favourite whores. Her body had been reminiscent of that of a teenager. She’d probably been no older than twenty, and she was pregnant, just like me.
With a subtle difference.
She’d been pregnant with Alonso’s bastard child, while I’d been pregnant with Roberto’s child.
Subtle difference.
Two children of sin, both brought into this world to suffer.
But I’d grown into a fierce, strong lioness. I was going to protect my child, both my children from any threat. I wasn’t going to let a whore and that bastard of my husband hurt my kids.
No!
The world is held together by a thin thread. The balance is fragile, but I’d been determined to land on my own two feet, no matter how bad the ground shook.
I feel the baby kick, right where I place my hand, and my stomach tightens. No smiles, not one sign of emotion or weakness on my perfectly still, marble face.
The mask of lies is going to be my shield.
How did I know it was Roberto’s son and not Alonso’s? A gut feeling. I’d known the truth without proof. I’d been sleeping with both men, not by choice, but less and less with my husband. He’d started to avoid me.
“What happened to you? You feel dead. You don’t want to make love to your husband anymore?” he growls, getting up from bed.
I’m far, far away where you can’t touch me.
I eye him coldly as he slips on his trousers.
As usual he’d dumped all his frustration on me. When things had gone wrong, it was always someone else’s fault. Our marriage had been falling to pieces and it was my fault.
I was a bad wife, for not wanting my husband, for not seducing him.
An exemplary husband like Alonso.
I’d hidden my anger behind a look of disgust.
“Perhaps it’s because you’ve been fucking every woman in town,” I snap back, knowing what is to come.
He marches back to the bed and slaps me right in the face. The skin right under my eye stings, as if his fingers have slashed my flesh open.
I swallow down the fire inside me and hold his stare.
Serious, controlled, unemotional.
“Or perhaps it’s because you continue to hit me. I don’t know, Alonso. I just don’t know why I’m not so eager to make love to you.”
“Shut that trap, you cunt.” His eyes flare.
I smell the alcohol on his breath as I stare at his dilated pupils with loathing.
“Never talk back to me. NEVER!” he roars. He shouts thinking he can scare me, like at the beginning.
But I’m not afraid of him anymore, not like I once was.
He’d needed me to be a mother for Alejandro. He’d needed me by his side more than he ever admitted.
My name had been out there: Donna Filomena had earned the respect and appreciation from those living in the ghetto. I’d been there to give them hope, to listen to their needs.
I’d made a name for myself. I was still the daughter of Antonio Del Monte and one of the reasons Alonso was making business in Rome. Thanks to my father.
I’d known what my position was, what I was worth, and I made sure Alonso would never forget.
“Then don’t disrespect me, Alonso,” I warn him, showing him just how much his shouts have affected me.
Not one bit.
I keep my face straight while he shouts the vilest things to me.
Let it wash over you.
“My father always said respect and you will be respected.” I speak, despite his yelling.
“Your father is fucking dead!” he shouts back.
“Because he respected the wrong people.” I glare at him, watching his face harden. “He let the wrong people in his home.”
“Watch your mouth…” He puffs out air from his nose like a wild animal ready to destroy.
“I know you killed him.” I don’t stop. It was now or never. “I know you gave the order, you don’t need to admit it or deny it. I know.”
Alonso glares, standing up, taking a step back away from the bed, not saying a word. Not another word.
I’d always known, from the very start. I’d known it had been him, just like I knew weeks after our fight in the bedroom that the baby that hid inside me was Roberto’s.
Sometimes, your heart feels what your mind refuses to see.
***
There are times when the truth is all that matters and we fight body and soul for it.
I had been fighting against the truth—fighting to keep my lies in check. Real.
A woman’s heart is a maze, so complicated, intricate and layered.
I’d had to hide the truth from the man that I loved. I never told Roberto about the baby, never told him it was his. I convinced myself it was the right thing to do.
He eyes me, shocked, worried but hopeful. There it is, that look again in his bright merciful eyes. Hope. He hopes it is his, even though it scares him.
“I’m sorry.” It is all I can say and he understands. The child is Alonso’s because I leave no room for doubt.
It’s better this way. No pressure on him to be a father.
I had done it for Roberto, to protect him. He wouldn’t have survived the torment, his son growing up under Alonso De la Crux’s—‘The Bloody Colombian’s’—house.
Just that year, Alonso had been suspected of killing three major gangsters working in the city. He was powerful, deadly and vicious.
Roberto would have never survived the truth. So I’d hid it well and saved us both the trouble, the worry.
I was enough to protect both of my children.
And that would be my only mission, until my last breath. My children would be my reason for living.
So I set him free.
“I think we should stop seeing each other.”
It had hurt my soul, each and every word. But I’d had to do it. I’d been selfish and irresponsible. And I loved Roberto too much to see him ache. Or watch him die because of me.
I walk over to him and cup his cheek, watching him close his eyes then open them again to search mine.
Lie, lie.
“Don’t hate me.” My voice trembles.
“I could never,” he sighs, breathing in my scent.
I shiver and close my eyes, to hold onto my feelings, to remember this moment forever.
We’d known it wasn’t meant to last, but it had still hurt to say goodbye.
I’d kissed him, long and deep, until I hadn’t been able to breathe anymore, until I wanted to cry. I’d held onto him a little tighter, let him touch me and enjoyed his big, warm hands on my skin.
“I’ve never loved a man the way I loved you.” Selflessly, unconditionally—to the point of giving them up to save them.
“I will never stop loving you,” he says quietly, his lips pressed against my knuckles. I let out a soft cry, letting his words sink into me, deep down inside where no one can find them, where I can hide and cherish them.
Forever.
“Fino alla fine.” Until the end, I whispered back.
More than I can ever say, more than you can ever imagine.
Chapter 14
That wasn’t the last time I’d seen him. I kept away as much as I’d been able to, slowed down my visits, blaming it on the baby and the fatigue of having a six-year-old to take care of, too.
We’d continued to go to church on Sundays and play in the football courts nearby after school. When Alonso wasn’t around, Roberto and I would give in to temptation and stare at each other from afar, say the occasional greeting.
“You’re glowing,” he tells me as I watched Alejandro play with the other kids on the field.
The guards are at a distance, enough to give us a moment to talk. We keep it light, conversational, but I can hardly catch my breath, my body shaking from feeling him so close to me.
So close to us.
I instinctively
caress my bump.
I ache for his touch. We’ve been a part for so long now, months.
You’re glowing.
I meet his eyes and smile.
It’s because of your son.
I hold on to the thought, trying to tame my heart. “Thank you, Father Roberto.” I clear my throat. He isn’t my Roberto anymore. “How have you been?” I ask, searching his face.
“I wish I could say well, keep up the appearances, but I don’t do well with lies, Donna Filomena. You know that well.” He gives me a bitter smile and I look away.
A sharp pain cuts through my chest, as I suck in a breath.
That smile, his eyes… HIM.
He isn’t a good liar, but I am.
I keep my hands on the bump, keep my hands on the biggest lie I’ve ever told.
And I’ll take my responsibilities before God one day. I won’t hide my sins, my lies. I’ll take his too. I’m the one who’s tormented him; I’m the one who’s made him sin. He’s a good man.
I eye Roberto cautiously, careful not to give away anything.
“Is he treating you well?” His body stiffens. Father Roberto stares ahead and claps, seeing Alejandro score. “Bravo!” he shouts.
My eyes drift to my son, who is smiling and waving our way. “He’s never home. He doesn’t touch me, doesn’t lay a single finger on me. I’m not appealing to him anymore; he has other distractions to play with.” My voice trails as I think about Sasha, the prostitute he’s gotten pregnant—my dear husband.
“Good.” He continues to stare ahead. “I have a confession to make.”
My stomach clenches. I turn his way and he meets my stare. “What do you want to confess?”
“A sin,” he is quick to say.
I swallow down hard and wait, my pulse picking up hearing him lower his voice.
“I dream about killing your husband.” His stormy, tormented green eyes are back, staring at me desperate, hurting. He is hurting, all because of me.
“Roberto.” I bring one hand to my mouth.
“I dream of him dying, never coming back home, leaving you alone. Never hurting you again.” lines start to form on his forehead, as his face contorts with pain.
What have I done to him?
I feel the tears pooling in my eyes as I shake my head a little.
I’d given him my problems, my worries, my sins and had taken him down to the dark pit that was my life. I’d dragged him down to hell with me.
“Roberto, please,” I whisper, but he shakes his head.
“I had to say it; I had to confess my sin… to someone…” he begins to say, but he can’t finish his sentence.
Alejandro runs towards us then, happy, laughing and cheering, his shirt covered in mud, cheeks flushed.
“We won, Mommy.” He hugs me tight, his head pressed against the baby bump. “We won!”
My shaky arms wrap around him. My lips are smiling, but my eyes stay on Father Roberto and his serious face.
“Yes we did.” I try to smile at my son while Father Roberto ruffles his hair.
He congratulates Alejandro. “You played very well.”
“Grazie, Padre.” He grins then turns back to me. “Can me and my friend, Valerio, get an ice cream, Mommy?”
“Uhm, sure. Why not.” I try to smile again. “Are you coming with us?” I say to Father Roberto.
I don’t want to leave him, not yet, not like this. I want to talk; I want to make sure he’ll never do what he’d said.
He’d scar his soul forever, march down to hell. And he’d never get away with it.
“No, it’s better if I don’t.” Staring down at Alejandro, he ruffles his hair again and wishes him well. “My respects, Donna Filomena.” He gifts me a half smile, staring down at my lips, and then he is gone.
I’d watched him leave—watched him walk back to his church with a heavy heart; his sad eyes.
I will never forget the way he looked at me.
My torment had become his torment.
I suck in a breath and bite my lip, tears stinging my eyes.
Roberto.
I stare at him until he is of sight. He doesn’t turn to look back.
That was the last time I saw him before the baby was born.
Our son arrived two months later during a storm.
***
A mother welcomes her new-born child with tears of joy.
Or so it would have seemed to anyone who had walked into the hospital room where we were staying. I’d held Ramirez in my arms and cried like I’d never cried my whole life. His hazel green eyes stared back at me wide, curious… not a sound from his tiny, little mouth.
Mommy was doing the crying. He’d just looked at me peacefully as he greedily suckled at my breast.
Ramirez De la Crux.
I scan his little wristband and let the letters sink in.
De la Crux.
I swallow down hard.
De la Crux.
I breathe in and out, trying to calm down my sobbing.
He wasn’t. He’d never truly be a De la Crux, but he’d grow up like one.
In that moment of confusion and weakness I’d considered telling the truth, giving him away and so many other things.
What am I doing? How can I let him into this world?
But then, as the adrenaline from giving birth slowly had washed away, I’d gained control over my feelings again and convinced myself I was on the right path.
Lie.
Build a life of lies to protect my sons—both my sons.
Their blood didn’t matter. I couldn’t risk leaving them without a mother, sentencing them to an unhappy life, or worse: death. I couldn’t confess my sins. It wasn’t the right time.
I’d straightened my back and done what a mother is supposed to do: sacrifice everything for her children.
I’ll find away to get them out of this mess.
One day, one day…
I let Alonso hug me, kiss my forehead in the hospital room.
“Another son,” he says, proudly.
Another son you’ll care nothing about.
I’d kept quiet for Alejandro’s sake, but it was true. He’d seemed to have no interest in spending time with his child. It didn’t bother me one bit, but I could see it was hurting Alejandro. He hadn’t known what his father was—what he was really like. All he understood was that his father didn’t have time for him.
Always too busy.
I’d watched my son become quieter and more introverted day after day.
The school had called once, telling me they’d noticed Alejandro’s change of attitude. I’d blamed it on the arrival of our second baby. Maybe he was jealous of his brother.
I’d bought some time, saved appearances and tried to talk to him.
“Your father loves you.”
It had killed me to talk about Alonso like that. It had killed me to lie to my son. Alonso didn’t love anyone but himself, but I couldn’t tell a seven-year-old that.
“He’s just so busy working for us all day out of the house.”
“He wants me to go with him” he mumbles, and I swear, every single drop of my blood freezes in a split second, my whole body starting to shake.
“Go with him…” I repeat the words to try to make some sense out of them. “Go with him where?”
“Around town. He said he wants me to cruise with him one day, in his car, and we can have a man talk,” Alejandro tells me.
I shake my head, gaping not knowing what to say to him.
But I’d known what to say to Alonso.
“You’re not taking him with you.”
“What are you talking about?” he grunts, not even looking up at me.
“You’re not taking Alejandro with you.”
“I’m taking him wherever I want, whenever I want,” he retorts, giving me no importance.
“No!” I shout, my chest heaving frantically.
Alonso stands, walks around his desk, straight towards me, one hand in his pock
et.
Don’t step back. Don’t step back.
I blink several times, trying to slow down my breathing.
He marches over to me, so determined, but I hold my place until he is too close and I step back, right into the wall behind me.
“Let’s make this clear once and for all, Filomena,” he growls, grabbing my chin with one hand, smiling arrogantly down at me. “You don’t have the last word in here. I decide what to do with my son.”
I pant, squinting at my husband, hating him more and more.
Figlio di puttana. Son of a bitch.
I never thought I could hate someone the way I’d hated Alonso: someone that I’d loved, that I thought I’d loved.
Until he’d touched my son, until he’d become interested in him because he was growing—Alejandro had been starting to understand.
“He’ll come with me. I’ll teach him everything I know and he’ll become powerful and strong like his father.” He glares at me, squeezing my chin as I shake my head, making me flinch.
No, no, never like you.
“He’s too young. You’ll get him killed. I can’t stand it. I can’t stay here at home knowing he’s out with you. Someone might hurt him…” I let the tears run down my cheeks, but my face stays hard, like marble.
“I care about him, Filomena. Nobody will lay a single finger on Alejandro, I guarantee you this.”
“You can’t do this to me,” I say through gritted teeth. “You can’t do this to me. You can’t take him.”
Alonso laughs in my face, his head tilted back, then glares down at me again, pity in his eyes.
“I can and I will. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me, Filomena. Nothing.”
Chapter 15
The next six years were terrible.
I spent them trying to get Alejandro out of the house as much as I could, keeping him as far as possible from his father, but it hadn’t always worked.