Present Day

Nero woke up to an empty bed and the smell of cologne.

It had been two years since Alto and he had been together, nearly a year since they’d been married, and he never felt lonelier since. Alto was hardly ever around because of work. He went on a lot of business trips, and this made Nero’s heart waver.

He crawled out of bed and put on some boxers, shuffled around his room and found his favorite pack of cigarettes, and called for his breakfast on the phone. Carol arrived. She had a deep disdain for Nero.

She believed he was nothing but a filthy gold digger, and that Alto could do much better.

She wasn’t wrong.

Carol interrogated him on why he never wore clothes around the house after taking her time to bring his food. She made it clear many times through passive-aggressive actions that she would never accept his presence in the house. For breakfast, Nero was given biscuits, which he hated, when he asked for toast. She also gave him sausages, which he also hated, and coffee with extra sugar and milk when he liked his black.

The food was cold.

Nero decided that for breakfast he would have nicotine and a glass of water instead.

Nero sat on his balcony, the entire house reminiscent of Spanish colonial architecture, with yellow paint, white pillars, plenty of arches, and wrought iron fencing that overlooked the swimming pool and garden.

He leaned over the railing and tried to enjoy his morning before he set out on his plan, but he didn’t get to enjoy it for long. The phone rang, and he let out a long groan, worried that he was going to be harassed by Rosaline.

Adonis helped him assign pictures to the contacts on his phone so he could always know who was calling. He looked at her picture on his screen and his chest was heavy.

He answered the phone.

“Good Morning, Rosie,” groaned Nero. “What is it now?”

Rosaline made a sound to show she was offended. Rosaline’s disdain was clear over the phone. She didn’t want to call Nero but told herself that if she called him, he couldn’t claim she was evil behind her back.

“You’re coming on Tuesday, right,” asked Rosaline. “It’s Amos’ hundred-day celebration."

Nero had completely forgotten. He didn’t understand Rosaline’s culture. Why celebrate one hundred days? Why start counting the years the day the baby was born? He didn’t think it was an achievement to keep a baby alive, because it was impossible to lose them. They were breathing car alarms without an off button.

Nero wanted to go just to see his son, but he didn’t want to make Alto upset. His entire life lately had been a balancing act.

“I’m coming,” said Nero. “What time does the party begin?”

“It starts at 1 PM,” she said. “And please… dress appropriately. It's a kid’s party. I don’t want my friends thinking bad things about you and having it reflect poorly on our son."

“I’m not stupid, Rosie. I can dress,” said Nero. “I’m really tired of you trying to start a fight every time we talk.”

“I’m sorry you’re so tired, Nero,” said Rosie. “I’m tired of trying to get the father of my son to visit more often, but you must be really tired seeing as you’ve only seen your son three times since he was born."

Rosie became like a shark after Amos was born. Nothing would come in front of putting her son first. She would burn the world twice over before anyone would hurt him. She loved him with all her soul, and even though she regretted being a single mother she never regretted keeping her son.

Her family thought otherwise.

Her parents were quite conservative. Once their pride and joy, she became their shame. Rosie had to give up going to school part-time to care for her son full-time. Her parents refused to watch her son, or even to come to visit, and she felt so alone, but she knew that one day her son would grow into a man who would never do the same to his children if she made sure to raise him right.

Lately, it was harder being a shark, as she sat in her rented house, alone, with her baby, with no one to talk to except other moms, the only topic was their babies, and that was starting to drive her insane.

Nero held his tongue because Rosie was right, that he should visit Amos more often, but Alto was being ridiculous, a grown man sulking around the house every time he went to visit his son.

Nero was tired of the immaturity and decided to just lie about the party to him.

“I will be there Rosie,” said Nero. “I will dress appropriately, and I promise to spend more time with Amos from now on.” Nero meant it; he just didn’t know how he would bring Alto around.

“Good. Please don’t call me Rosie,” said Rosaline. “Only my friends call me that.”

She hung up the phone.

Nero was bitter, worried little inconveniences like adulthood and parenting would get in the way of his noble plans of kidnapping and murder. He spent two years tracking down the people who hurt him. He spent Alto’s money his money researching how to find the sword and nothing would get in the way of him executing his plans.

But he knew that if he didn’t go to his son’s party Rosaline would ensure that he would never see Amos again, so he would have to make time to go, and in the back of his mind, he tried to squeeze something together, because he did love his son but his delusions of grandeur clouded his mind.

Carol came upstairs to take his dirty plates, but she balked when she saw that he hadn’t eaten a single bite. “You really must eat,” she said. “You’re going to get sick if you starve yourself all the time."

Nero took a long drag from his cigarette and glared at her, with its sinister coal glow from his eyes.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you,” he said. “I’m tired of you feeding me food I don’t like, or cold food, and then telling my husband that I’m relapsing again. Continue this shit and you’re fired .”

Carol turned three shades of red because her intentions were clear.

“You're not as slick as you think you are, Carol,” he said, his voice becoming strange and warped, something else starting to take him over.

“Next time I’ll eat you instead,” Nero and Unas said together.

She silently took the plates away.

Nero got dressed in his favorite shirt. It was a simple white tee, but he felt the way it clung to his body made him look good. He wore leather pants and his best shoes. Today was a special day. He opened the top drawer of his dresser and took out the sword, still in its scabbard.

You should kill the concubine for taking your son from you, it whispered.

“ What? Fuck, no!”

Nero was starting to hate the sword. Some days they were buddies, brothers in arms, other days he fantasized about dropping it into the deepest parts of the ocean. He hated how it was alive, yet not, and he never had his mind to himself anymore.

One day he dropped it and he swore he saw blood on its handle. He told Alto a joke one day and he heard a giggle from inside the drawer he left it in. It would whisper terrible things into his ear and give its own commentary on his life choices.

Nero knew not to listen to it, because if Unas was so good at making life choices, why was he trapped inside this sword?

The worst of it all is that only he could hear this sword and all its snark. If it weren’t for the many fires he accidentally started while using it, he would have questioned his own sanity and if the sword was really speaking to him.

I would never let anyone separate me from my children, said Unas. You are weak.

You should kill Carol, too. She spits in your water jug near the bedside table.

“Wait, she did what,” shouted Nero. “I’m going to fire her this time, for real. ”

The sword began to ramble about the various people he should kill for various minor transgressions against him and Nero ignored the sword and slung it over his back. He made his way to the garage and set out on his day.

He had a lot of work to do.

It would be a day for some light murder.