6 Years Ago…
I'm thirteen.
That was what rang through his head. He knew the number – unlucky Friday the Thirteenth; thirteenth card of the tarot was Death; Loki the uninvited thirteenth guest in a Valhalla banquet; the thirteenth hour. But to him, thirteen was the age he lost his mother, and he knew who killed her.
He sat in a leather chair at the Kuron Estate, staring at the floor. Dark brown carpet, dark burgundy walls, dark brick fireplace with a roiling flame in it. He could pull it, burn this whole place down, kill everyone inside – but he didn't. His mother told him to never resort to violence. He wanted to listen to her, but he was angry.
Angelo was alone except for two guards of the estate standing at the living room door. He hated them – he hated everyone here. Every second he spent here, he wanted to scream. There were a few people; a woman named Jazelle, a mentor figure named Jose… but he didn't care. He wanted it all to burn.
The doors opened behind him, and he sat still. Silent. Didn't dare speak, didn't dare look. He didn't care who it was, it could have been someone bringing him food and coaxing him to eat for the first time since yesterday morning, but all he wanted was his mother.
The man who rounded the couch was the last one he wanted to see, so he didn't look. He could tell by the perfectly laced loafers, the nice black dress pants, the pretty little owl laced into his cuffs. His father, Lorenzo Kuron, had come to see him – and all he wanted more than anything in the world was to build that fireplace and burn him to ash… but he didn't. Because that's what Lorenzo wanted from him.
"There you are." Lorenzo spoke.
Angelo didn't respond.
"Still not looking at me?" He mused.
Silence.
"You'll have to speak at some point, child."
Angelo didn't. He just stared at the fire, holding back the urge to make it build. Lorenzo squatted in front of him, but it was to the side, not quite forcing Angelo to see his face – but he did, out of the corner of his eye. The stupid goatee, the dumb moustache. The annoyingly large eyebrows that made him look like a cartoon character. That stupid look on his face, the annoying coy expression, that Angelo wanted to tear to pieces.
"She was soft." Lorenzo said. "Too soft. I loved her, but softness gets people killed."
By you, Angelo wanted to say. You killed her.
Lorenzo hadn't told him – nobody had, but Angelo wasn't stupid. This stupid fucker's men had come into his house and killed her, and it was Lorenzo's fault. He hated him, so much, and yet his hands were tied. There was a time when he had tried to kill Lorenzo – when he first saw him, first heard his name. He lunged, grabbed his throat, and set fire to his hands. The fresh burns were still on Lorenzo's neck, but the man had just laughed at him. They were prepared, and he had failed. He wasn't stupid enough after the beatings to try again; not until he was stronger.
"Boy," Lorenzo growled. "Look at me."
Angelo didn't, and there wasn't even five seconds that passed before Lorenzo grabbed his chin and roughly pulled it to face him. The child debated closing his eyes, refusing, but he didn't want to get hit again. So he looked, he stared, right into those eyes. His own burned with such hatred and malice and anger, but the Don just grinned at him.
"Good," He said. "Fire. That's what I need to see."
Lorenzo let go of his face, but Angelo didn't turn away. He wasn't afraid – he just didn't want to see his dumb face – but he didn't want to look scared. So he kept staring, kept glaring, kept hating with every ounce of fire in him. He would never look away because he was afraid, that oath he had already made.
"They say you burned down an entire house." Lorenzo said. "Luckily my men survived, but you…" He smirked. "Part of you didn't. Not that soft name."
He adjust his cuff links. "Did you know that your mother and I made a deal? She could name you whatever she wanted, but it had to be Italian. To match the lineage. But she chose Angelo." The name was said with disgust. "Too soft. Not meant for the mafia. So you are now Blaze Kuron, and you will be for the rest of your life. Do you understand me?"
Angelo responded by looking away. He could try to take away his name – he could to call him Blaze for the rest of his life, but he would never accept it. His name was Angelo, and it always would be. He didn't care if it changed on documents, if he never heard the name Angelo again, he wouldn't ever become what Lorenzo wanted him to be.
"You want to blame me?" Lorenzo scowled. "Do it. You want to scream at me, burn me, spit in my face? Go ahead. But you won't." He leaned in. "Because you won't even speak."
Silence. Angelo – ANGELO was his name – refused to answer this vermin scumbag. He never would, not with words, not with reactions, not with-
"They say they only found because you cried."
Angelo flinched. The Don smiled. "See?" He said, standing up. "You feel."
He cursed himself in his head as Lorenzo walked away, as he spoke his last words. "When the times comes," He said. "We will break you."