# Chapter 4

Lorenzo Jeremiah Salvador's childhood was far different than most kids his age. In his elementary and grade years in Italy, he often bought the idea his mother gave him.

-Tuo padre lavora fino a tardi, Lorenzo. (Your Father is working late Lorenzo)

-Papà non può unirsi a noi per cena stasera. (Daddy can't join us for dinner)

-E' occupato. (He's busy)

And to his little understanding, it made sense. It made so much sense because the life he lived was far greater than any kid his age that he knew.

They had everything anyone could want and so much more. Wealth was a penny compared to his family's status. So it made sense that his father was working his butt off for him to be able to have whatever he wanted. His father loved him and his mother in his own weird way; Lorenzo thought.

In highschool, Lorenzo started to question if what he assumed about his father was true. From watching the attendants at the mansion in Italy mop off blood from the hallways on most nights to being locked in his room while being traumatised by the agonising screams of his mother while his father continued to torture her.

The day Lorenzo confronted him, he remembered all too vividly. Lorenzo, fifteen years of age and angry, had seen the marks, bruises and torn flesh on his mother. His mother; the woman who had kept him safe all his life, his mother who ate with him when his father did not.

Lorenzo did stand up to his father but his father did not treat him as he thought. There was no beating, no yelling, no discipline of any sort. But it was the week after Lorenzo's confrontation that his father acted.

His father had ordered for his son to be kidnapped and taken hostage for three days. And those three days were the bloodiest hell Lorenzo had seen since his birth. Beaten, bruised, broken, Lorenzo wondered if his father was the same person his mother told him about those nights she would tuck him in nice and warm.

He had given up of course, his father had all the money in the world and hadn't even called his adopters once to tell them that he would pay for his release. So when his father showed up, Lorenzo felt even more uncomfortable.

Tied to a steel chair, Lorenzo watched as his father cursed him and the day he was born, told him that he wasn't his son. That his son would have made him proud. Lorenzo shed tears as his father confessed that it was him who gave the orders for him to be kidnapped, beaten and physically tortured.

Lorenzo remembered how his head rang, how he was forced to watch his father cut through the shoulders of his own men whom he had ordered for them to kidnap him. He remembered screaming at his father to please spare their lives but his father had paid no heed to his wails. He watched as his father butchered the men, explaining how men were all flesh and blood with nothing but bones to keep them standing.

Not that it could get worse, Lorenzo thought. However, when his father put a gun in his hands and pushed a familiar face in front of Lorenzo, he knew his father was for sure not the father his mother spoke of.

The head attendant at the time; Ademaro, was the sweetest soul. Ademaro took care of him from birth and watched over him even if his mother wasn't there.

Lorenzo hesitated, he dropped his arms and begged his father. He begged and begged but his father cursed more at him saying; he is a Salvador and Salvadors do not beg.

When his father threatened to kill his mother, Lorenzo nearly collapsed. His mother was his safety and hiding place. With his mother, there were only good things to say, good things to do.

What raced through Lorenzo's mind were prayers. Prayers that Ademaro would forgive him, prayers that he would forgive himself, prayers that this would never repeat itself and his mother would be safe.

He looked at Ademaro one last time and Ademaro's warm comforting smile gave him strength. Lorenzo steadied himself and pulled the trigger. The deafening sound of the shot that he fired did not seem to ache him. In fact, his ears weren't aching.

It was his mind.

His mind told him that this was going to be a normal thing for him, and told him that Ademaro's family had lost one of its own because he made a choice.

He watched in anger, pain and stiffness as Ademaro's body was dragged away, the blood was everywhere.

He had returned to the mansion that night. It was the first time his father ate dinner with him and his mother. He watched as his father laughed and carried on with his talks like nothing happened. The next morning, a new head of attendees was introduced and Lorenzo accepted his new normal.

Highschool done, Lorenzo had successfully made a name for himself in the Mafia world. At Eighteen, he had killed a hundred and thirty eight people, seized four heirs of respectable Mafia Families and demanded whatever he desired and he had been one of the very few to sell drugs in bulk and not get caught.

After highschool, Lorenzo went off to college in the United States. It was a means of the Salvadors expanding their business and migrating into all corners of the world. Through Lorenzo, the Salvadors had gained permanent residency in the United States with fake names.

Lorenzo studied the art of business laws by day, and was a sinner by night. Moving to Santa Barbara in California, the Salvadors saw it fit to stay within an isolated area where even the police would overlook.

Mapping the area with thick fogs and a radar that signifies as all but forest, the Salvadors built their manor and its environment behind the thick fogs and cloudy skies of Sherwood Forest. And after Lorenzo finished his studies in business, he went back to Italy with his mother, taking care of his family's business until when called upon.

In the manor, he had painted on a white canvas the flowers of spring and symbolised the thrill of the spring breeze. In the midst of the spring breeze is the outline of a young lad, holding his head up to the skies and basking in the sunlight. The skies, a fresh blue. And in the bottom of his painting, he had written his name; Jeremiah.

His middle name reminded him of his life before he knew what his father was, reminded him of his mother who alone called him by that name. To him, the name was his audacity to be happy. And he had left the painting in the manor before returning to Italy.

Lorenzo thought it maddening that his father would have him marry. He had heard from his personal attendants at Salvador Manor how his father had threatened the young woman and he had cursed at how foolish she was if she knew what she was getting herself into.

Lorenzo had sought his mother's advice on what to do and as always, his mother chose his peace. Signing a marriage contract would make his father finally see him as his son and maybe even…be proud of him.

Maybe.

He had also heard of her name; Phoenix and heard of her beauty. But he would rather die than put someone through what his mother went through.

If she valued her beauty and mental health; he thought, she would not have signed to marry a stranger just because few of her brother's bones were broken and her parents in New Jersey were scared.

Under the orders of his father, Lorenzo finally returned to the manor. The little business that needed to be taken care of in Italy would be under his mother's control and it was time he took care of business in Santa Barbara as well.

That night, Lorenzo had strolled the manor grounds and received the warmest welcome from the evening breeze and house attendants. The third floor was his, he was told.

He was on his way to his room when he saw a young lady in a rather absurd clothing of jeans and skinny top tiptoeing out of the room right opposite his own. He found it rather odd, amusing and annoying.

When he spoke and she turned towards him, he was struck. Her innocence pulled him towards her and her beauty took over his thoughts. He watched her fumble before him as she pressed her back against her door.

As her hand touched his face and her thumbs soothed his cheek, she spoke to him. Her voice was soft, almost silent. “Jeremiah?”

His eyes widened in shock. Curious of how she knew the name and shocked at why she said the name. But something was different, something he definitely did not understand nor saw coming.

Lorenzo found himself, needing for her to say his name again and itching for her thumb to soothe him again.