Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 151410 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151410 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
The hardest part was not saying goodbye, especially to Aurora. She wouldn’t forgive me for this, and she had every right to hate me. But she’d be able to hand Battista over to my parents, and they would take better care of my son than I ever could.
My first stop after landing in Naples wasn’t the local Camorra headquarters or my great-uncle’s villa outside the city.
I went to the best tattoo studio in Naples. When my plan to leave had formed in my head, I’d known I wanted to take Battista and Aurora with me in any way I could, so I decided to ink them into my skin. Aurora because of the feelings I had for her, and Battista because of the feelings I should have for him.
I didn’t have an appointment but managed to get in anyway. I showed the tattoo artist an image of an aurora borealis. Aurora’s name couldn’t have been more fitting to how I saw her. A bright light against the dark sky. Her light even managed to brighten the blackness inside me. Maybe one day I would reach my personal equinox, and maybe one day my dark and light would be even. The aurora borealis always shines brightest on the night of an equinox. As long as my darkness overweighed the good inside me, Aurora’s light would always burn a little less in my presence. I didn’t want that.
The tattoo artist created a few quick drawings of aurora borealis tattoos. I didn’t want a backdrop of a forest or mountains. I wanted the sole focus to be on the northern lights and the night sky behind them. I picked a black night sky as the background and bright green and turquoise lights. I didn’t have many tattoos, not as many as Alessio and Massimo, only two so far: the Camorra tattoo of the eye and the knife, then a Joker tattoo on my back with his smile and Why so serious? in blood red beneath it followed by a string of HAHAHAHAHAHAHA. The A’s didn’t fully close at the top because every vertical stroke stood for one life taken, like a tally list. There were many haha’s by now, becoming smaller and smaller as they meandered down my back. I had a feeling I’d eventually have to give up taking tally. Both tattoos were held in black and red. Both colors I appreciated for their deeper meaning to me. Now the first dash of color would be added to the list.
“Where do you want the tattoo?” the tattoo artist asked after I’d picked the design. I motioned to the center of my chest, then slightly to the left. “I want the lights over my heart,” I said.
The tattoo artist nodded but didn’t comment. Good for him. I pulled my tee over my head.
“Great artwork,” he said when I turned my back to him. Nino had done a fabulous job of the Joker tattoo and the bloody tally list. I showed the guy the Camorra tattoo on my wrist was equally as good.
“My uncle did them.”
“Impressive. Why didn’t you choose him for these tattoos?”
“I didn’t want to. Are you worried your art won’t be as good as his?” I raised my eyebrows at him. “Because I’m putting my trust in you, and these tattoos are very important to me.”
He swallowed. “It’s going to be my best work.”
I stretched out on the chair and held out my forearm to him. “Let’s start with the letter.” The tattoo for Battista would be simple. A red B over my wrist because he was my blood. I’d wanted to pick a tattoo with a deeper meaning like I’d done for Aurora, but I simply didn’t know him well enough. I hoped if I’d ever get the chance to do so I could add more detail to the tattoo. For now, I’d carry his initial with me as a constant reminder that Aurora wasn’t the only one who needed me to face my demons and shackle them. After less than an hour, the red B decorated my skin. The moment the tattooist touched the needle to my chest, I closed my eyes, allowed the burn to invade my body. It felt as if it almost touched my heart, as if the ink buried itself deeply enough to reach that part of me, just as Aurora had done.
After three hours, the hum of the needle died down for the last time. I opened my eyes and stared at the tattooist.
His forehead was sweaty, probably not just because he’d worked three hours straight.
He grabbed the mirror from his workstation and held it out to me so I could see his work. The black of the night sky over my heart made it look like there was only a black hole in my rib cage, which was fitting, but it was illuminated by meandering light strokes in green and turquoise.