That sense of responsibility was brought on by many factors but mostly because when Sia was brought home, my father put her in my six-year-old arms and spoke with his deep voice rumbling around the room.
“Ragazzo, this is your new little sister.”
I reached for her tiny hand and watched with fascination as her fingers wrapped around my finger.
“You see how small she is, how she is at your mercy? Do you feel the power you hold over her?” I nodded because I did feel it. That tiny baby was at the mercy of everyone including me. One drop and she could break like the glass cup I had dropped that morning.
“Then you see how much protection she needs. She cannot defend herself if someone tries to harm her.”
I remember pulling her closer to me at the mere thought of someone hurting her.
I promised my mother that day that I’d always protect her, and I promised my father that I’d kill anyone who even thought of hurting Sia. I meant it too.
For a child, I was skilled with a butterfly knife and I wasn’t afraid to use it, in fact, I was eager to show off what I’d learned. My father had given one to me on my fifth birthday and he spent a couple of hours every day teaching me how to maneuver it. He taught me how to flip the blade around one-handed without cutting myself, though I have many little scars to show the lessons. He taught me various spots on the human body that could cause a quick death and other spots that caused a slow and painful death. I loved my knife but when he started teaching me how to fight, I was hooked. I was determined to be Sia’s personal guard forever.
Compared to other fathers I’m sure my pop would have been considered evil and maybe a little psychotic. But to me, he was fatherly and gave me some of the best memories and talents I’ll forever be grateful for.
I don’t know who or what my father was involved with but I do know my father was someone important. We had guards in our house and my father was treated reverently like he was someone to be feared and respected. Perhaps he was but along with the fear he endowed upon others he also had those who hated him, those who coveted whatever position of power my father held. I remember the night someone paid him a visit at our home, the last night my parents were alive.
My mother had tucked me in bed, but I wanted to be close to my sister.
“Mama, I want to sleep with Sia. Please?”
With a soft smile and a ruffle to my hair, my mother picked up off the bed and carried me over to my sister’s nursery. Sia began to cry after my mother tucked me into the toddler bed so my mother picked her up out of her crib and sat in the rocking chair. I watched her rock back and forth as she sang to us.
Over the hill
And under the moon.
Around the bend
And through the woods.
At the crooked Willow
Is where we’ll meet...
It didn’t take long for my mother’s voice to lull me to sleep but I woke up later when I heard screaming. I jumped out of the bed and peeked through the crib bars, seeing Sia sleeping soundly. I went to the door and looked out trying to see down the stairs towards the sitting room where my mother and father usually spent their evenings, but I couldn’t see from this angle. Just as I decided I must have dreamt the entire thing, a loud gunshot went off followed by my father’s torturous howl.
I’ll never forget his gut wrenching and broken yell.
I jumped to action then, running to my bedroom and grabbing my butterfly knife. I wanted so badly to help my father, but his words played on repeat in my young mind.
Sia is at the mercy of everyone, you must always protect her.
I remember trying to figure out a way I could get her out of the crib but I couldn’t hold her and climb back out, so I stood guard. I waited and planned my attack. If someone came through this door, I wouldn’t hesitate to defend my sister.
My small heart was beating so fast during those moments of terror. Terror that no child should ever feel but at the same time; adrenaline and excitement flowed too. A darkness that I’ve always known was within me flowed fast and smooth, making me salivate to kill the boogeyman who dared come into my father’s home.
I never found out who it was. I never got the chance to see the evil who destroyed my life and sentenced my sister and me to a painful separation. One that I’m glad only I feel because Sia was just an infant when my aunt walked into the bedroom that night. I don’t remember her name, but I do remember her words as she tied Sia to her chest with a blanket while having me cling to her back as we ran through the darkened neighborhood.
“One day, nipote, you’ll find your way home. One day you’ll make the monster pay for what he did. For now, you must go away until it’s safe for you and Sia to return. I am going to change your name so the monster can never find you. You must never tell a soul what your real name is, ragazzo. Understand me?”
I didn’t but I did understand that she was protecting us from the boogeyman so I nodded.
I spent the next eleven years in a lonely torment unlike any other. A pain so deep that hatred and rage became the constant companions to feed the demons within me. Pushing me daily to survive and find the bastard that ruined my life.
Vengeance is a delicious darkness and once I have it, I will revel in it.
With these thoughts in mind, I get ready for my last couple of days in this shithole by setting up a fight. I’ve got some energy to spend and darkness to expel.
I watch the men move fluidly on the floor with the footwork of lithe dancers, except these men are no ballerinas and the audience in attendance are not prim and proper ladies and gents. No, this crowd consists of mafia members from all cultures, mafiosos, bikers, local gangs, and damaged souls looking to be entertained by blood and brutality. And for the right price I’m all too happy to provide the savagery they feed on.
My name is Neviah Mazzi but to these people I’m known as Silver—the chief of New York’s biggest underground fighting ring. A woman in a man’s world who is treated with respect. The cops have tried shutting me down but like the fighters entertaining my bloodthirsty crowd, I know my footwork. Pivot, block, feinting, and offense. Always offense. I’m never backed into a corner and I always keep a steady head.
My ring is in no man’s land, a truce territory within the old brewery that is now owned by me. It was once Alessandro DeLucci’s but when I promised him a small cut of my first year’s earnings and a spot for his son Johnny- my best friend- on the fighter’s list, he gave the dilapidated place to me. After filling the pockets of politicians and serving blackmail to others, it is now known as Barbarity Ring.
I hired interior and exterior designers who did outstanding renovations to keep the place looking respectable on the outside, with it’s clean parking, trimmed bushes and decorative sign declaring it to be a gym. And in a way, I guess it is but once you get inside you find yourself standing amongst wide industrial halls that lead you to different places.
If you turn right, you’ll come to the bar which serves an array of different drinks and the restrooms are just beyond that. If you continue down the hall you come to the elevators which take you to the basement or the VIP area on the second floor. To get through, you’ll need to be checked by my enforcers first.