By Sin I Rise : Part One (Sins of the Fathers Book 1)

Five years old

I huddled on the floor of the clubhouse and spun an empty beer bottle around. My palms were sticky from it. When I brought my fingers to my mouth for a taste, my lips pulled into a grimace. A bitter, rotten flavor exploded on my tongue, clinging to my gums and throat. I spit it out, but the foul taste didn’t disappear.

The room was filled with smoke from the cigars and cigarettes, making my nose itch a little and sometimes my snot even had dots of black in it.

I kept spinning the bottle. I didn’t have any other toys here. My toys were all with Mom, but Dad had picked me up there yesterday and they had screamed at each other like they always did. Dad had slapped Mom, creating a red handprint on her cheek, and he’d been in a foul mood ever since. I always stayed out of his way when he was like that. Right now, he was yelling at someone on the phone.

Pop, his second in command, usually played games with me, but he sat at the bar with a blonde woman and was kissing her. The other bikers huddled around the table and played cards. They didn’t really want me to annoy them. One of them had pushed me away, so I fell on my bum when I’d asked if I could watch them. My tailbone still ached where it hit the floor.

Steps thundered closer. The door to the clubhouse swung open and one of the prospects stumbled inside, eyes wide. “Black limousine!”

Everyone jumped up as if the words were a secret code. My head swiveled to Dad who barked out orders, spittle flying from his mouth. I didn’t understand what was so bad about a black car. A cry sounded, high-pitched, then gurgling. I looked back to the door and the prospect fell forward, an ax in the back of his head, parted like a ripe watermelon. I dropped the bottle, my eyes going wide. The body fell to the ground and blood splattered everywhere as the ax toppled out of his head, leaving a deep gash in his skull so I could see bits and pieces of his brain. Just like a watermelon, I thought again.

Dad rushed over to me and grabbed my arm in a painful grip. “Hide under the couch and don’t come out! You hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

He shoved me toward the old gray couch and I dropped to my knees and crawled under it. It had been a while since I’d tried to squeeze under the couch and I barely fit anymore, but eventually I lay on my belly, facing the entrance door and the room.

A huge man with wild eyes stormed inside, a knife and a gun in his hand. I held my breath as he came in with a roar like a mad bear. He hurtled his knife at Dad’s treasurer, who’d reached for his gun. Too late. He fell forward, right before the sofa. His huge eyes stared at me as blood pooled under his head.

I scooted back a few inches but froze abruptly, worried my feet would stick out. The screaming got louder and louder until I pressed my palms over my ears, trying to block them out. But I couldn’t look away from what was going on. The madman had grabbed his knife and threw it at Pop. He hit him square in the chest and Pop toppled backward as if he’d had one too many drinks. Dad dashed behind the bar with two prospects. I wanted to hide there with him, wanted him to console me even if that wasn’t something he did. The madman shot another club brother in the hand when he reached for a dropped gun. I could hear shots even through the palms over my ears, dulled bangs that had me flinch every time.

The madman kept shooting at the bar, but eventually everything turned silent. Had Dad and the prospects run out of ammunition?

My eyes moved to the armory at the end of the corridor. One of the prospects jumped out from behind the bar, but the man chased him and swung the ax at his back. I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a few shuddering breaths, before I dared to open them again. The blood of the treasurer slowly spread closer and began to soak my sleeves, but this time, I didn’t dare move. Not even when it soaked my clothes and covered my small fingers. Two more of Dad’s men came in, trying to help. But this madman was like an angry bear. I was motionless as I listened to screams of agony and rage as I watched one dead body after the other drop to the ground. There was so much blood everywhere.

Dad cried out as the man dragged him out from behind the bar. I lurched forward, wanting to help him, but his eyes cut to me and warned me to stay where I was. The bad man’s eyes followed Dad’s gaze. His face was like that of a monster, covered in blood and twisted with rage. I ducked my head, terrified that he’d seen me. But he kept dragging Dad toward a chair.

I knew better than to disobey my father’s orders and so I remained motionless for what felt like days, but were probably only minutes. The bad man began hurting Dad and the prospect who was still alive. I couldn’t watch anymore and so I closed my eyes so tightly my temples throbbed. I pressed my forehead to my arms. My chest and arms were warm with blood and my pants were warm where I’d peed myself. Everything stank of pee and blood, and I held my breath, but my chest hurt and so I had to suck in a breath. I started counting the seconds, tried to think of ice cream and fried bacon and Mom’s Key Lime Pie, but the screams were too loud. They pushed all the memories out of my head.

Eventually silence settled around me, and I dared lifting my head. My eyes watered as I looked around. There was red pooled and splattered everywhere with pieces of flesh. I shuddered and threw up, bile making my throat feel all raw, then froze, terrified the bad man was around to kill me as well. I didn’t want to die. I began to cry but quickly wiped the tears away. Dad hated tears. For a while, I listened to the pounding of my heart that rang in my ears and vibrated in my bones until I felt calmer and my vision became clear.

Finally, I looked around for the man, but he was nowhere. The front door was open, yet I still waited a long time before I finally crawled out from under the sofa. Despite my clothes being dirtied with pee and blood, and my body screaming for food and water, I didn’t leave. I stood in the middle of the torn-apart bodies of men I’d known all my life, men who had been the closest thing to a normal family I’d ever had. I hardly recognized any of them. They were too disfigured.

Dad’s body was the worst. I didn’t recognize his face. Only his tattoo on his neck—a skull spitting fire—told me it was him. I wanted to say goodbye to him, but I didn’t dare go closer to what was left of his body. He looked terrifying. I finally stormed outside and didn’t stop running until I reached the house of an Old Lady. She was the treasurer’s property. I had visited her a few times before when she’d baked cookies for me. When she saw me covered in blood, she immediately knew something was horribly wrong.

“They are dead,” I whispered. “All dead.”

She tried to call the phone of her old man, then that of Dad and other brothers from the club but no one answered. Eventually, she called my mother for me and cleaned me while I waited to be picked up.

When Mom finally arrived, she looked white as a sheet. “Come on, we have to leave.”

She took my hand.

“What about Dad?”

“We can’t do anything for him anymore. New York isn’t safe for us anymore. We have to leave, Maddox, and we can’t ever come back.” She dragged me toward our old Ford Mustang and sat me down in the passenger seat. The car was stuffed so high with bags that I couldn’t look through the rear window.

“Are we leaving?” I asked, confused.

She turned the key in the ignition. “Didn’t you listen? We have to leave forever. This isn’t Tartarus territory anymore. We’re going to live with your uncle in Texas now. It’ll be your new home.”

My mother immediately called my Uncle Earl, asking for help. She didn’t have any money, which Dad had always given her even though they always fought and didn’t live together anymore. Earl took us in and so we moved to Texas, and eventually Mom became Earl’s old lady and they had my brother Gray.

Texas became my temporary home, but my heart always called to return to my birthplace, to claim my birthright and seek revenge.

I didn’t return to New Jersey for many years, but when I finally did, it was with one purpose in mind: kill Luca Vitiello.

Marcella

Five years old

I perched on the edge of my bed, my legs bouncing up and down. My gaze was glued to the door, waiting for it to open. It was already seven. Mom always woke me at that time. The clock turned to 7:01, and I began to slide off the bed. Would Mom be late today?

I couldn’t wait anymore.

The door handle moved down and I froze, sitting back on the mattress and watched as Mom poked her head in. Upon spotting me, her face lit up and she laughed. “How long have you been awake?”

I shrugged and hopped off the bed.

Mom met me halfway and hugged me tightly. “Happy birthday, honey.”

I squirmed in her hold, desperate to go downstairs. Pulling away, I asked, “Can we go down now? Is there a party?”

Mom laughed again. “Not yet, Marci. The party is later today. Right now, it’s only us. Come now, let’s look at your presents.”

After a brief moment of disappointment, I took Mom’s hand and followed her downstairs. I wore my favorite frilly, pink nightgown which made me feel like a princess. Dad waited in the foyer when we walked down the stairs and picked me up before I reached the last step and kissed my cheek. “Happy birthday, princess.” He lifted me up over his head and carried me into the living room. It was decorated with pink and blush colored balloons, a garland that said happy birthday, and a golden crown sat on the table beside a huge pink cake with a unicorn. On another table, a big pile of presents waited, all wrapped in pink and golden wrapping paper. I rushed toward it.

“Happy birthday!” Amo screamed as he raced around the table, trying to steal the show.

“They are from us, and your aunts and uncle,” Mom said, but I only half listened as I began unwrapping everything eagerly.

I got almost everything I asked for. Almost.

Dad stroked my head. “You’ll get more presents at the party today.”

I nodded and smiled. “I’ll be the princess.”

“You always are.”

Mom gave Dad a look I didn’t understand.

A few hours later, the house was filled with friends and family, and men who worked for Dad. Everyone had come to celebrate with me. I wore a princess dress and a crown, loving how everyone brought me presents and congratulated me and sang happy birthday for me. The present tower was three times my size. Late that night, when my eyes kept falling shut, Dad carried me up into my room.

“We need to put on your nightgown,” he murmured as he put me down on my bed.

I held on to his neck and shook my head vigorously. “No, I want to wear my princess dress. And my crown,” I added after a yawn.

Dad chuckled. “You can wear the gown but the crown is too uncomfortable.” He gently took it off and put it down on my nightstand.

“Am I still a princess without a crown?”

“You’ll always be my princess, Marci.”

I smiled. “Cuddle me to sleep?”

Dad nodded and awkwardly stretched out beside me, his legs dangling off the too-short bed. He wrapped an arm around me and I leaned my cheek against his chest, closing my eyes. My dad was the best dad in the world.

“I love you, Dad. I won’t ever leave you. I’ll live with you and Mom forever.”

Dad kissed my temple. “And I love you, princess.”