THE MAFIOSO’S BRIDE

Hope's 15th Birthday

"I can't breathe."

I feel hands around my neck. I open my eyes and see my mother on top of me. Her red eyes reveal another breakdown, her thin hands tightening around my neck more and more. Pain. No air. I grab her arms, trying to free myself, twisting my hips to the side. Her body loses balance and she falls onto the mattress.

Coughing bursts from my throat as I try to catch my breath. I don’t waste time in bed—I jump, hitting the floor and scrambling to escape her attack. I should’ve been more careful, should’ve locked the door with a chair instead of just using the key. We struggle on the floor, knocking over the nightstand, the lamp shattering into pieces.

I crawl toward the door. She screams furiously, hand on her neck. I get to my feet and run, crossing the wooden doorway and reaching the staircase railing. Where are my brothers? They should’ve been watching her room. Our father left on a mission five days ago and hasn’t returned. Black was supposed to watch over me today.

I hear her start running after me. I dash down the stairs. I need one of the guards to help me. Scott is probably outside guarding the house. Or maybe Ulises. One of them has to help me. I try to scream, but my throat burns. My muffled voice doesn’t reach anyone.

I reach the bottom step and look back—she’s holding scissors. For eleven years, I’ve had to run from my mother on my birthday—or she’ll kill me. I love her so much. She’s perfect every other day. Except today. Her rage and pain from what happened to her fifteen years ago never disappear, no matter how much therapy she gets or how many pills she takes. She always tries to attack me on my birthday.

I swallow my tears, fear trying to freeze me. If I must, I’ll fight her. But I don’t want to hurt her fragile body. It’s just one day of despair in exchange for others filled with love and care. I have to be strong and endure her pain and hatred. At least today—the day I hate the most—my birthday. I’ve never been able to celebrate it.

I open the mansion’s front door and find Scott talking to another soldier. I scream for him, my voice hoarse and barely audible. I run toward him, his arms catching me while the other guard draws his gun, aiming it at the woman trying to kill me.

"Don’t hurt her!" I scream. "Put that gun down."

"Miss Bonnarro," Scott calls to me. "Stay behind me."

"I’ll restrain your mother. Go upstairs and get her sedatives."

"Be careful," I plead, my throat burning from the effort of speaking.

"Yes, Miss."

My mother steps through the doorway. Her light brown eyes—almost yellow—are bloodshot, her brown hair like mine in disarray, and the pointed scissors aimed at me. She’s not well. Scott moves quickly, grabbing her wrist and pinning her to him, dragging her back inside. I run to my father’s office, punch in the door code, and rush in.

I grab the key from his desk, open the cabinet, and pull out the syringe used to calm my mother during her episodes. I run back down, stumble on a step, and catch myself on the railing. Her scream rips through my chest. I prefer when she attacks in silence—words hurt more than blows.

"You damn brat! I should’ve aborted you! Damn you, Hope!" she yells, tears streaking her face. I try not to let her words wound me. Every time she spits my name with hatred—because she gave it to me and I didn’t fulfill her wishes—it feels like a punch to the gut.

Scott pins her to the couch, holding her down. I take off the syringe cap and, with trembling hands, inject her arm, releasing the liquid into her body. The effect is quick. Her hate-filled eyes gradually close, still locked on me.

"Take her to her room," I tell Scott. "You, find my brothers," I order the other guard.

Over time, it became impossible to hide what happens inside the Bonnarro mansion. My father instructed all the guards to act with discretion and care when my mother is in crisis. None of them can hurt her—or let her hurt me.

I sit on the couch, hands trembling, neck aching. I curl up in a fetal position, afraid to go back to my room, afraid to be far from the guards if she wakes. Though I know the dose will keep her unconscious until 9 a.m. tomorrow. I hug my knees to my chest, pain tearing me apart—being hated by the person I love most.

It would be easier to endure her hatred if it were constant. Then I’d have no reason to love her or long for her affection. For the day she’ll say "happy birthday" to me again. For when she’ll say she loves me and never hurt me again. I know it’s not her fault. It’s all mine—for being born and bringing suffering into her life.

Three hundred and sixty-four days a year I receive love and warmth from her arms. And one day, I’m the target of her hatred. I can’t stand not being able to dream of a future where my mother loves me and overcomes the harm done to her—and to our family.

"Hope." Black’s voice catches my attention.

I lift my head, watching him stumble down the stairs in his pajamas. Now I know why he failed to protect me. My mother did something to him. His wavering steps, slurred voice, and the way he squints show he was drugged. He sits beside me and pulls me into his warm arms. Black looks like our father—green eyes like mine, dark brown hair in messy tufts.

"I’m sorry," he says slowly. "I think she did something to me and Steve."

"I was so scared when I woke up with her choking me." I rest my head on his chest, crying uncontrollably.

"Forgive me." He kisses the top of my head.

I don’t know how long passes. We stay in the living room with Black comforting me, assuring me nothing bad will happen again. When the first rays of sunlight stream into the mansion, I see the slender frame of the housekeeper entering with a tray, two cups, and a teapot.

"Miss Bonnarro." She hands me a cup with yellowish liquid. From the smell, I guess it’s a mix of calming herbs. "Drink this, you’ll feel better."

"Thank you, Mrs. Kriper." I take the cup with trembling hands.

Lack of sleep mixed with the anxiety of being killed by my own mother has frayed my nerves. I drink the liquid quickly and take another cup. Black stays beside me in silence, his hand rubbing my back. I lean my cheek on his shoulder. He picks me up in his arms and carries me to his room. I lie down with my head on his chest.

The day will be long. Despite what happened during the early hours, I still have a fifteenth birthday party to attend—where I’ll be introduced for the first time to the Bianchi Mafia society. Lost in thoughts about everything that has happened and everything that could happen throughout the day, I fall asleep.