My calling out of the family name turns most people’s heads. The barman, shocked at my boldness, shakes his head, so I go to see what’s going on for myself. I walk around the bar and into the hallway. I follow it past the first door where the knocking of pans, shouting, and the cutting of knives on chopping boards sound out—just the kitchen. The next-door offers nothing but cleaning supplies and table clothes. It’s the last door that causes me to pause for thought, because before I even reach it, the sounds emitted from the room confuse me. I can hear some kind of grunting and heavy breathing. Slowly, I step closer, then almost when I’m at the doorway I hear his voice.
“You know this prick?” I hear Antonio say.
I put my back against the wall. The next voice I think is his brother, Huxley, but I can’t be sure, as the next set of sentences come out incomprehensible. As much as I want to walk away, to not know the truth, I also can’t help myself. I have to know what’s going on.
Just as I peek my head around, a scream fills the hallway and I see Antonio stomping down on the legs of the guy with the leather jacket. I freeze as I watch the Moretti brothers kicking and punching this guy in a way that shocks me. The nearest thing I can compare it to is when you see a group of apes beating on each other in some nature show, their faces full of pure rage. Antonio’s cheeks and eyes filled with red—a side of him I knew was there but had never witnessed. And just as horrified as I am, I’m also incapable of walking away, watching them beat the man within half an inch of his life. Blood is pouring from the top of his head, and he is curled into a helpless, hapless ball. And it’s only when the victim of Antonio’s and Huxley’s anger unravels himself and reaches out his arm toward my direction, his eyes firmly on mine as he cries out for help, does Antonio finally realize my presence.
“Mia! Jesus Christ.”
My impulses kick in, along with a fear that maybe whatever jaded impression I had of Antonio, had finally been broken. The excitement of this life would end the moment it gets too much, right? It was one thing imagining the harshness of Antonio in my villainous fantasies, another to see it firsthand.
I start to run for the door.
“Mia! Come back, Mia!”
I burst out onto the street, ignoring his voice, my obvious naivety toward this twisted sexual desire I have, shattering like glass all over the cold sidewalk. I look left and right, finding it hard to catch my breath, to formulate any clear decision of what in the hell I’m doing.
“Stop!” Antonio catches up to me.