Animus by S. W. Frank Page B

fratellino?”
    Sophie had been there all along. Amelda and Lucia’s voices increased in volume. Her daughter was as shocked as her mother about what Giuseppe said. Bambino, what bambino? Lucia hadn’t given birth. Giuseppe was confused, he had to be. “Sí, mama is here figlio. Mama has never left.”
    Giuseppe reached for her hand and held. The weariness from the medication rested on his eyelids. “I am tired…mama…I do not want to sleep.”
    “Rest is good for healing.”
    Panicked blue irises with the intensity of someone nearly crazed opened wide. “Carlo…mi donna…mi donna…dove sono?”
    Sophie shrieked as her son seized her arms, shaking them so hard there was pain. She couldn’t break free which required Alfonzo’s intervention. He pried Giuseppe’s finger s loose but then Giuseppe took possession of his neck.  His hands were iron clamps on his brother’s throat as he demanded the whereabouts of Shanda and his son.
    Blood spread across one side of Alfonzo’s collar. The bandage nearly touching his ear stained like red dye to seep through Giuseppe’s fingers. Alfonzo’s face contorted. Veins under pressure protruded from Alfonzo’s skin, his hands were weak compared to Giuseppe’s strength. The heat climbing to Alfonzo’s skull flushed the color from his face and sharp bolts of electricity careened to his hands. The bodyguard tried to assist, but Giuseppe had such a vice-grip, nothing could break it.
    “Dove sono?” Giuseppe asked again and again.
    Alfonzo’s eyes fluttered. Weakness from his injuries made it difficult to deflect. By the hands of his brother he saw death.
    Dizziness.
    Twisting.
    Weightless.
    Numbness soon counter-balanced Alfonzo’s pain.
    “They’re safe,” is the answer Sophie cried frantically. This seemed to calm her son’s fears.
    Giuseppe’s fingers relaxed. The panic had subsided. Tired he slumped back. Alfonzo’s skin had a cyanotic tint. Blood dripped upon the white sheet. There’s a lucidity which replaces madness when a loved one is hurt. In such a moment, Giuseppe saw his brother’s injury and a gut-wrenching sadness stole across the chiseled face. Alfonzo’s eyeballs rolled to show white and the tiny optic veins. Alfonzo’s legs buckled and he collapsed. A soldati caught him before his head struck the floor.
    Sophie squealed. Amelda and Lucia’s argument had turned into a physical altercation. Their fighting resulted in an overturned tray. Clatter is what Giuseppe heard and chose to ignore the incessant shrieking. Bloody hands fascinated him. The gurney being wheeled in, Alfonzo being lifted onto the plastic mattress without a covering was a dream. Women in fine clothing, screaming and pummeling one another was the fantasy of someone asleep. He’d become accustomed to such nightmares. But this blood, why did it seem so real? “How did this get here?” he asked the air.
    More soldati entered straight into the chaos. They found the Capo de tutti unconscious and women rolling on the floor. The doctor ordered them out and hands touched waists in bold threats that silenced any further comments. The women were separated, Lucia escorted from the hospital. In parting Amelda shouted. “Non e 'finita Lucia!”
    “Eravamo giovani. Avevo paura!” Lucia yelled before the door closed in her face.
    Amelda hurried to her mother as frightened eyes assessed the mayhem. “Mama what has happened?” she asked as a nurse administered oxygen to her bleeding cousin.
    “Giuseppe attacked Alfonzo.”
    “Oh mio Dios!”
    “Is it true about Lucia?” Sophie questioned through heavy breaths of anxiety.
    “Sí mama, she says they were young and she was afraid, that is why she terminated the bambino!”
    Sophie frowned. Giuseppe had never spoken of this. The past cannot be undone. She did not hate Lucia; frightened young girls sometimes do foolish things. Giuseppe had a son, his name was Carlo and he is the child who lived.
    A doctor attended to Alfonzo’s wounds.