Stefan
Take care when fighting the monsters you don’t become one.
My mom used to tell me that. All the time. It was her favorite fucking quote from Nietzsche.
I fought for her too. I fought him. I always lost. I always knew I’d lose, but I did it anyway, and I took the penalties, endured the consequences.
I guess I didn’t realize when the transformation had happened. When the monster had beaten me. Had taken me over and made me like him. Like my father.
I staggered to my feet like a drunken man and went into the house, up to my room, unable to even look at her closed door. I didn’t bother to shower. I just pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, got into my car, and drove, not sure where I was even going until I pulled up to the seminary gates. I’d never been here before. It was while I was in prison that Stephen had told me his plans. We hadn’t really talked much before that. Stephen and I, we were as opposite as could be. I guess, though, in a way, we were both surviving.
My father was a two-bit criminal. Never organized enough or smart enough to be on top of his game. Always in debt. A thug for hire. But charming. Always charming. The man could talk, and he put on airs. Made people believe anything he wanted. That’s how my mother had fallen in love with him, I was sure. That or the fact that love truly is fucking blind.
The physical abuse didn’t start until I was twelve. I’d always been a big kid, so I guess he’d felt like I was a match. Like he could beat the living shit out of me because I’d fucking take it and survive. I wondered how long he’d been beating mom before I really saw the evidence of it. She’d shielded us from that side of him as long as she could.
Seeing Veronica’s face, her fear, her courage through it-because she was courageous, she wasn’t the coward I accused her of being-it reminded me of her. Of my mom.
And the reflection of myself in her eyes scared the ever-living shit out of me because what I saw there, it wasn’t me. It was him.
I looked at my watch. It was almost eight o’clock. Way past visiting hours, but I didn’t care.
When I found the doors locked, I scrolled through my cell phone to find Stephen’s number and dialed it. It rang four times then went to voice mail. I walked around the property, trying all the doors when finally, a few minutes later, my phone rang. It was Stephen.
“Stefan?”
He sounded surprised. “Yeah. It’s me.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m outside.”
“Outside?”
“Outside the seminary. Doors are fucking locked.”
“Wait there. I’ll be right down.”
We hung up, and I went back to the front door, which opened a few minutes later. Stephen stood on the other side wearing his cassock. I had to look twice. It was so strange, seeing my twin brother dressed like this.
“Are you fucking sure you want to do this?” I asked. “Throw your fucking life away.”
“Lower your voice and watch your language in here.”
He let me in and locked the door. I followed him to a private room. He offered me a seat, but I paced instead. “You have something to drink?”
He nodded and took out a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet. He poured us each one. I drained my glass in one go. Although he raised his eyebrows, he re-poured for me and sat back down. I remained standing.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m like him, aren’t I?” I asked, not sure what I was doing here. Feeling weak for having come.
He studied me. “Like our father?”
I nodded once.
“Tell me in what way you’re like him. Give me one fucking thing.”
I smirked. “Are you allowed to say that? Won’t your God strike you down or some shit?”
He gave me a stern look. “One thing.”
I shook my head and swallowed more of my drink. “I scare the shit out of her.”
The look on his face changed, but he didn’t quite smile. “Well, stop.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“It’s exactly that easy. What did you do?”
Fuck. “Nothing,” I mumbled without quite meeting his eyes.
He raised his eyebrows. “Is she hurt? Physically?”
“No.”
“Again, how are you like our father?”
Stephen knew about the abuse. He’d seen me take it. He’d been made to watch. Our father was a wicked, manipulative, evil man.
I stopped pacing. “I’m not sorry he’s dead,” I said finally. “I only wish I’d done it sooner. Before mom-”
“That’s not your fault. None of it is your fault. When are you going to get that through your thick head?”
“I knew what he was doing to her.”
“You found out too late. We all did.”
“I should have known earlier. I should have known when he stopped with me.” My father only picked on those he could overpower. He never took a chance he might lose. And when I got bigger than him, he left me alone.
“Stop blaming yourself. She didn’t blame you.”
“I went to the Lambertini farm. He said some men were out there. Men who’d had business with our father. I’m guessing Moriarty.”
“Call the police. Let them deal with it, Stefan.”
“I’m going to make an example.”
“Like you are with Veronica? Fuck with Stefan Armando and pay? Is that the message you want to send?”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Yes, you do. You can choose to leave the past in the past. Let the police handle this.”
“I’m a murderer.”
“Self-defense. Our father would have killed you. That was obvious to everyone, including the judge.”
“Still, I spent six years-”
“And the ruling was overturned.” Stephen emptied his glass. “I guess you have to figure out what you want, Stefan. Figure out who you are. Whether you want to continue the life our father led or bury it. Do good instead. You have the land. You can replant, make an honest living.”
I snorted at the mention of honest.
“It would make mom proud,” he added. “And it would be the ultimate revenge. Take back what our father stole.”
“Death is final, brother.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
I drained my glass and studied him. I guess I never thought of my brother mourning, but he was. We all were, Zachariah too. Still. Six fucking years later. “I have one question for you.” He waited for me to ask it. “Why aren’t you telling me to let Veronica go?”
He studied me back, his eyes narrowing a little, and for the first time in a long time, I glimpsed the Armando blood running in his veins.
“Because as wrong as it is what you’re doing, I think she’s good for you.”
I laughed outright at that. “What the hell does that make you, brother, if not an accomplice?”
He stood and came to me, smiling. “I’m your brother first,” he said. “I want you to be happy. Finally.”