Matteo Vitiello POV:
The worst blizzard in a decade hit Chicago, triggering a city-wide red alert for extreme cold.
The wind howled like a demon, completely tearing the wooden boards off our broken basement window. Thick, freezing snow poured into the room, piling up in white drifts against the concrete walls.
It had been exactly one month since I dropped the letter into the mailbox. I had checked the street corner every single day until my legs completely failed me. There was no reply.
The liver cancer had finally consumed my organs. I lay flat on the filthy, urine-stained mattress. I was nothing but a skeleton wrapped in a thin layer of grey, bruised skin.
My eyes were sunken so deep into my skull that I could barely see. My chest barely moved. My breathing was so shallow it didn't even produce a cloud of mist in the freezing air.
The city had shut off the power to the building weeks ago. The water pipes in the walls had burst, covering the floor in a sheet of solid ice.
Luca was curled into a tight ball next to me. His lips were entirely purple. He was shivering violently, his teeth chattering uncontrollably as he clutched his dirty teddy bear.
"Cold," Luca mumbled, tears freezing on his cheeks. "Brother... cold."
I slowly turned my head. I gathered the absolute last ounce of energy in my dying body. I grabbed the collar of my moldy, heavy coat and pulled it off my own shoulders. I dragged the heavy fabric over Luca, burying him in the warmth.
That single, simple movement demanded all the oxygen left in my blood. My lungs collapsed. I opened my mouth, gasping violently. A horrible, wet hissing sound tore out of my throat, like a broken bellows.
I knew it was over. Death's freezing fingers were wrapped tight around my windpipe, crushing the life out of me.
I reached out my trembling arm. My hand, missing three fingers, clamped down hard around Luca’s dirty wrist.
I wanted to speak. I wanted to tell him I was sorry for destroying his life. But my vocal cords were completely paralyzed. All that came out was a faint, pathetic wheeze of air.
My vision began to darken at the edges. The blackness was creeping in, swallowing the room.
Using the last spark of electricity in my brain, I forced my neck to turn. I stared at the peeling concrete wall near the ceiling. Pinned to the stone was a torn, wrinkled newspaper clipping from five years ago. It was a photo of Elena at the Washington gala. She looked down from the paper, her eyes cold, arrogant, and utterly untouchable.
A single, cloudy tear slipped from the corner of my eye. The moment the saltwater rolled over my cheekbone, the freezing air turned it into a solid drop of ice.
My grip on Luca’s wrist suddenly vanished. My arm dropped like a stone, hitting the mattress with a dull thud.
My eyes remained wide open. My pupils dilated and froze, staring forever at the picture of the woman who had rightfully condemned me to hell. I died without closing my eyes.
Luca didn't understand. He thought I was just tired.
He sat up and grabbed my stiffening arm, shaking it back and forth. "Brother? Wake up. Hungry. Make food."
I didn't move. I didn't breathe.
Luca pouted. He pulled his teddy bear tight against his chest, curled up against my dead body, and closed his eyes to endure the hunger.
The temperature in the basement plummeted. Within hours, my corpse was frozen solid.
Three days later, the blizzard finally stopped.
The heavy wooden door to the basement was kicked open. The fat landlord stepped in, holding a wooden baseball bat, ready to scream about the rent.
The moment he stepped inside, the overwhelming stench of human feces mixed with the sweet, rotting smell of death hit him in the face.
The landlord covered his nose. He looked at the mattress and saw my wide, dead eyes staring at the ceiling.
He let out a high-pitched scream, dropping his bat and falling backward onto the icy floor.
Luca, starved and barely conscious, weakly raised his hand toward the landlord. "Food?"
The landlord scrambled backward on his hands and knees, ran out of the basement, and dialed 911.
A few hours later, the police and the coroner arrived. Two men in thick jackets grabbed my frozen arms and legs, tossing me into a thick black body bag like a slab of cheap meat.
Two police officers grabbed Luca by the arms. They dragged him up the stairs, ignoring his screams, and shoved him into the back of a police cruiser, destined for the most overcrowded, violent public homeless shelter in the South Side.
"Brother!"
