Prologue
Fifteen Years Earlier
Age Ten
Kieran
My small hands grip the splintered shovel handle a little tighter as I drive the head into the damp dirt. My palms are sweaty, making it harder to hold on to the tool causing it to tire me out. A grunt presses from my chest as I try to shake the soil loose and toss the crumbles up onto the ground which is now well above my head. Standing up straight, I barely see my dad who’s sitting on the bumper of our car, headlights blinding me in the midst of the dark night. My eyes shift to the bloody sheets wrapped around what looks like a body lying on the ground next to the grave I’m digging.
“Who is this guy anyway?” I ask out of breath. I’m not afraid or scared of what’s happening. I know if this guy is dead, it’s because he’s a bad guy. I know this guy being dead, he brought it on himself. My father always says, “I only hurt those that karma missed. Respect is earned and so is the calling of the Reaper.” Besides, fear isn’t a part of the life I’m built to lead.
Dad gives me a pointed look before removing the cigar from in between his lips. His suit without a wrinkle, and shoes without a speck of dirt, he is put together like this is another day at the office. I always look anywhere but in his eyes, because when I see those dark brown irises, it makes my stomach do weird things. The feeling reminds me of when I’m about to do something real dangerous and my stomach gets this sick feeling as if it’s a warning.
“Why’s it gotta be a guy, maybe it’s a woman?” he grumbles, pointing the cherry lit end of this cigar at me. “Just keep digging. Yeah?”
Shaking my head, I wipe my forehead of the sweat dripping in my eyes only to end up smudging dirt across my face. I huff and keep scraping the hard earth free of its dirt, but my eyes keep drifting to the body. It doesn’t look like it has boobs like a woman would, it has to be a man. I don’t dare ask a second time. If my father felt like sharing, he would have. No, I know enough to know it’s time to keep my head down and do the task at hand.
A foot steps onto the body, rolling it out of my sight.
Catching me staring at the dead person, my father yells, “I said keep diggin’!”
I do as I’m told, but I can’t help but notice him. I see my brother sitting in the passenger seat hunched over, puke caking the front of his new shirt mom just bought. His dark hair is matted down with sweat, and his face is pale. I want to climb out of the hole and check on him, but that would really piss our pops off. Dad had him down here helping me, but Romeo couldn’t handle the smell or the sight of blood and puked all over himself. Dad ripped him away from me and shoved him toward the car, cursing at him in Italian.
The smell or sight of the body doesn’t bother me, I don’t know why it doesn’t.
It just doesn’t.
I’m more curious than anything. The questions swirl in my mind rather than fear about the lifeless body in front of me. I want to know who it is. I want to pull back the sheet and see if he was shot or beat to death. Is he all bloody? In my mind, I run over the many things he could have done wrong to earn his death.
That’s the difference between me and Romeo, he’s got a heart and I, well, I guess I don’t. He’ll see a bird fall from a nest in Central Park and take it home to nurse it back to health. I’d be more intrigued if I could climb the tree the bird fell out of, leaving the bird to fend for itself. If it’s out of the nest the mom probably pushed it out knowing it was a weakling or sick. It’s the circle of life. If it can’t survive now, it won’t ever.
“That’s enough, Kieran, climb out,” Dad interrupts my thoughts.
I drop the shovel, out of breath. “Thank God,” I mutter. I flex my sore fingers, noticing a blister coming on between my thumb and index finger. I rub at it.
“Get the damn shovel!” Dad sneers, almost making me jump. I grab the tool and toss it out of the grave and then using both hands, I push up and grab onto the earth that is still intact to climb out. Managing to get mud and dirt all over me, including inside my shoes, I finally make it out.
Dad wastes no time and kicks the body into the small makeshift grave and then looks to Romeo. I stand up quickly, hoping dad will just leave him alone.
“I’ll bury him. It’s fine,” I insist, trying to protect my brother. I’m not a good brother, I still mess with him and do shit I probably shouldn’t, but when it comes to my dad, something inside of me always tries to shelter Romeo. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s because I see that Romeo isn’t cut out for the type of life dad wants him to lead. I can’t explain it. I feel sorry for my brother. My instincts scream to step in for him with our father time and time again so that’s what I do. Dad shoves me out of the way, his face looking angry already. This is a battle I obviously won’t win.
“Boy, get over here.” His voice sharp, Romeo’s head snaps in our direction.
Running my hands down my face, I already know shit is going to get out of hand. My brother and my dad can’t be around each other without a fight.
“Dad, please,” Romeo begs. Dad’s head tilts to the side, just barely, giving Romeo that look he has seconds before he snaps off and slaps one of us around. Yes, we both know exactly what our father means in a single glare. Romeo quickly gets up, crossing his arms and shuffles his feet against the dirt, slowly coming our way looking at the grave with weary eyes.
“Give him the shovel, Kieran,” Dad orders. I hold it out, handing it to Romeo, and he takes it with a shaky hand.
“Now, bury the fucker,” Dad clips. Romeo walks past me and starts shoving dirt onto the body. I watch to see if he’s crying, but he’s not. He just looks lost, as if he’s a robot and not really here. I wonder what’s going through his mind right now.
“Dad, just let me do it, he’ll screw it up,” I say, wanting to keep my brother from getting in more trouble or worse, scarring his soul in a way he might not come back from.
“Here, take one.” A pack of cigarettes are placed in my line of sight, ignoring my plea, my father is giving me a cue that Romeo isn’t getting out of this no matter what I try.
“Um,” I hesitate. I’m only ten. Mom would kill me if she knew I smoked. Even if my dad is the one giving them to me, mom will still have a fit. Romeo stops throwing dirt on the body and watches to see if I take one. He’s two years younger than me, I wonder if dad will offer him one too.
“Take it, you’ve earned it.” Dad shoves the pack farther into my personal space. Taking it from him, I pull a long slender cigarette out, the smell of tobacco crisp, reminding me of fresh-cut wood.
Putting the orange end between my lips, Dad leans over and lights it with a black lighter. I take a big puff, my mouth filling with the taste of metallic, and my lungs squeeze shut as if they’re refusing the toxic smoke making a cough tumble out of me.
Dad chuckles and pats my back hard. “Easy, buddy.” He continues to laugh, and it angers me. If I can bury a body, I can smoke a little cigarette. I try it again, this time a smaller inhale, and the urge to cough isn’t as harsh. The taste isn’t so bad this time either.
“One day, son, this will be you.” Dad crosses his arms, admiring the work my brother and I have done before him. “I’ll be the boss, and you will be underneath me. I need the best. I need you, son.” He shoves me in the arm with his elbow, and I nod in knowing.