Manuel

I went to Enzo's room to make sure he had come home from Pedro's house. I found him curled up in bed, gasping for air, his body tense in the fetal position.

"Baby, what happened?" I asked gently, reaching out to him. His face was soaked with tears, and his pillow was damp. I had no idea how long he had been crying like this. Guilt surged through me for ignoring him, for punishing him. I thought maybe he would learn something from it and stop repeating the same mistakes. But now, it seemed like something far worse had happened.

He looked up at me, his eyes swollen and red from crying.

"Is it because I haven't been talking to you, son?" I asked, brushing my hand through his hair, feeling the weight of regret settle over me.

"Pedro beat me with his belt," he whispered.

"What the hell?" I snapped, my blood boiling. Was he serious? Was this some twisted act, or was he turning out to be like his Papa? Did everyone in this family have some sick need to abuse Enzo for their own amusement?

Fury surged through me, and in a fit of helpless rage, I slammed my fist into Enzo's vase, shattering the roses inside. I pulled him into my arms, holding him tightly, my teeth grinding with anger. One thing was clear: I couldn't even trust Pedro. There was something deeply wrong with this family—maybe it was genetic.

But I wasn't going to let go of Enzo, not ever. I raised him. He was my heartbeat, my son.

"I'm sorry, baby," I whispered, my voice thick with pain. "I can't do anything about it. I feel so useless."

Pedro

"You did what?" Louis shouted at me.

"It was a mistake," I muttered.

"I know he's an annoying pig, but why the hell did you beat him with a damn belt, Pedro? You said you wanted to help him, and now you're acting like Papa," Louis snapped.

"I don't think he'll ever trust me again," I said, feeling the weight of my actions.

"Of course he won't! He'll be even closer to that idiot Manuel now, thanks to you," Louis added, his voice dripping with frustration.

"Elena said I should apologize," I admitted.

"What's that?" Louis asked, sounding completely clueless.

"Ask for forgiveness, you idiot! Are you kidding me right now?" I yelled, losing my patience.

"Wow, wow, calm down. Are you planning to beat the crap out of me with your stupid belt too, Pedro? Well, if you try that, I'll hit back. I'm not Enzo," Louis said, his tone mocking as he tried to provoke me even further.

"Why the hell are you all making me angrier and angrier?" I screamed, slamming my fist onto the desk, my knuckles white from clenching them so tightly.

"Calm down, man. Can't you control your anger?" Louis said, trying to sound reasonable.

"Really, Louis? When was the last time you controlled your anger?" I shot back. That finally shut him up. His temper was worse than mine, and we both knew it.

"Fine. We can't fix this. Just let it go and pretend nothing happened. He'll never trust you again. And that Manuel guy will always look at us like we're Enzo's enemies," Louis said coldly.

I stood up, angry, and stormed out of the room, heading straight to the mansion.

"Pedro," Papa called out as soon as he saw me. He was the last person I wanted to talk to right now.

"Papa," I responded reluctantly. I couldn't just ignore him.

"You look worried," he said, eyeing me closely. If Papa noticed, I must have been really anxious. It was the first time he'd ever acknowledged something like that, not that I hadn't been worried before.

"Okay, here's what happened," I confessed, the words tumbling out. "I got angry at Enzo, and I hit him with my belt."

Papa burst out laughing.

"Now you understand, right?" he said, a sick grin forming on his face.

I felt a wave of nausea hit me.

"No... no. He was scared. I feel bad for him," I admitted, guilt tightening in my chest.

"You're doing it for his own good. I did the same, but you all saw me as a monster. He's been a brat since the day he was born. That's the only way to control him," he said, avoiding my eyes.

But he was wrong. Enzo had been just an innocent baby, like any other child. He only became this way because of how Papa treated him.

"Maybe he turned out like that because of the way he was treated," I suggested, my voice tense.

"Whatever," Papa replied dismissively. "He's your responsibility now, so you deal with him." With that, he turned and walked off to his room.

I slowly climbed the stairs to Enzo's room, peeking in like a thief.
Damn it. I saw both Manuel and Enzo sitting on the couch, watching TV. Enzo was leaning against Manuel's body. Manuel could be so annoying sometimes, always sticking to Enzo like a rash.

Manuel turned his head suddenly, his gaze locking onto mine with a deadly intensity. It was as if he wanted to kill me right then and there. I couldn't shake the feeling that, for him, taking another life wouldn't be a big deal. After all, he was a criminal, a murderer. If Enzo ever found out that his loving Papa was a murderer, I wondered how he would react. Manuel wasn't like our Papa, who paid others to do his dirty work. No, Manuel had killed two men with his bare hands and hidden their bodies when he was just 19. Fewer than five people knew his dark secret.

I nodded for Manuel to leave the room, and as he passed me, his eyes burned with anger.

"Are you going to hurt him again?" he whispered.

"You know you can't talk to me like that, right?" I replied, my tone firm but quiet.

He descended the stairs, leaving me alone with Enzo. As I sat beside him, I noticed the blank expression on his face. His dark eyes looked tired, defeated. He was too weak and emotional. That was the truth.

"I didn't mean to hurt you. You made me angry, and it just happened," I said, meeting his gaze. Enzo remained silent.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, reaching for his hand. He tried to pull it away, but I held on tightly, refusing to let go. Confusion and fear flickered in his eyes, as if he couldn't tell whether I was lying or being sincere. Reluctantly, I let go.

"I don't know how to fix this," I admitted, leaning forward and burying my face in my hands.

He remained silent. The sound of the TV filled the room, accompanied by the lingering scent of his cologne. I couldn't help but wonder why he bothered to wear so much perfume and cologne, even at home. His whole room smelled good—his clothes, his bathroom, even his books.

"Can you say something?" I prodded, looking at him expectantly.

"Well, you're not much different from Papa," he finally spoke.

"Which one?" I asked, catching him off guard.

"Are you serious? You think I'd ever compare you to Manuel?" he retorted.

"No, I'm not like Papa," I said firmly.

"You just proved it," he replied coldly.

"You made me angry. Do you remember how you talked to me?" I shot back.

"You talked to me the same way," he countered.

"I'm the adult here, so when I say something, you should shut your mouth and obey me," I snapped.

He fell silent again.

"I'm not doing that. Beat me as much as you want. I'll never do that," he declared after a few seconds, his voice steady.

"Well, this is not how I wanted to end this conversation," I muttered.

"You know what, Enzo, I don't think I'm good at this... helping thing," I said, getting up and heading for the door. When I turned back, I saw him staring at me.

As I descended the staircase, I noticed Manuel still standing at the bottom, waiting for me.

"I didn't hurt him; I just talked," I explained.

"I thought you actually cared about him. He cried a lot and mentioned he thought you didn't hate him, but he was wrong," Manuel complained, and I felt a pang of guilt.

"I don't hate him. He's my brother," I affirmed.

"You know he's not completely well, right? Even his therapist says that whenever he feels something bad, it might resurface from time to time. If you can't make him feel better, at least stay away from him," Manuel advised.

"Manuel, don't give me advice. I'm the boss, and you're just a bodyguard. Stop pretending like you're Enzo's Papa, because you're not, and you never will be," I snapped angrily, pointing my finger at him. He looked more hurt than ever.

I left the mansion with a heavy heart. I had messed everything up. That was all. Today had been a bad day, and I had only made it worse.