Chapter 25 – Two Weeks Later #2
“I’ll never forget you,” I cry. “I couldn’t even if I tried.” How could I let go of him? How could I live a second, a minute, an hour without him? “You’re the moon and the stars, the sun when it rises, the warmth when it sets,” I tell him, the waves of agony rocking the very core of me.
“You were always so much better with words.” His smile tethers with brokenness. There’s so much of it on his face, and my heart twists with unimaginable grief.
Maybe death is the only way one can escape Agnelo. And that is the saddest thing of all—not really living, counting down to your own death.
“I—I’m sorry,” I say. “I love you!”
“Thr—”
I rip the weapon from Agnelo’s clutches, and without another moment’s thought, I pull the trigger.
Pop.
“No! Matteo!” His body slumps backward and my ears drown with my own screams, calling his name as I crawl to him, tears seeping down my face. But I don’t get far, Agnelo’s grip holding me back.
“It’s time to say goodbye. To him. This house. This life. It’s over for you.” He yanks me backward toward the stairs.
But I ignore him, my eyes still fastened to Matteo, just lying there. Helpless.
Dead.
Oh my God, he’s dead!
I break with another wave of sobbing.
I killed him.
Suddenly, we’re not alone. Multiple people rush down the stairs, and the next thing I know, one of them hauls me from behind, while another heads for Matteo, whacking him hard on the top of his head with a gun.
“Matteo!” I scream, unable to stop calling for him, my fingertips fighting to touch him, just one more time.
“You know where to take her,” Agnelo tells one of the men.
“Wha—?” I breathe heavy, my eyes widening. “Whe-where am I going? What are you doing? Where’s Robby?”
“He’s not your concern anymore,” he calmly tosses.
“No! I won’t go! I’ll be good. Please.” I fight and scratch at the burly, tall man who’s already dragging me up the stairs by my arm, and Agnelo falls out of view.
The man stops, gripping my throat, bashing the back of my head into the wall. “Don’t make me knock you out, girl.” My temples throb as he once again tugs me up and into the main floor, heading for the door.
“Robby!” I call for him. “Where are you?” Oh my God, did they hurt him? Is he dead? My pulse knocks in my ears. “Robby!” I scream until my throat aches, but there’s no sign of him. “I need my shoes!” Anything to kill time, to find him.
“You don’t need no shoes where you’re goin’.” The man’s callous tone grates up my flesh, like a scratch across a chalkboard.
He drags me out the door, the concrete grinding beneath my bare feet, to a fate far worse than I’ve yet to know.
MATTEO
“Drug—burrry hi—” There’s a flash of voices that filter in and out, the light in my eyes flickering, like I’m fighting to stay alive. My head buzzes with a sound and my shoulder throbs. But I’m still breathing. I know that much.
“Yes, sir,” someone says, a hand around my neck, then hands grab my ankles. I can feel them pressing into me, dragging me away.
“Lift—up—stairs.”
Then I’m off the ground, being hauled in the air. I keep my eyes shut, needing them to think I’m out cold.
We’re upstairs now, and someone opens the door, cool air hitting me. From the corner of my eye, I can see a white van, then I’m being thrown in it.
Fuck!
I grind my teeth, my shoulder hurting like hell, and I grow less out of it.
The van pulls out. “You got the shit?” one of them asks.
“Yeah, I got it. You gonna do it?”
“I guess.” There’s silence for a moment until he talks again. “Can’t believe he sent his own daughter out to the buyer.”
“He’s a sick fuck. Don’t tell him I said that though.”
He’s selling her? Fucking hell!
The desperation to find her grows by the second. If I’m too late, she could be on a plane to the other side of the world. My pulse pounds with a deafening beat.
“I won’t say shit. By the way, the wife asked if you wanted to come over for dinner. She’s making chicken casserole.”
“Cool. I’ll be there.”
These assholes are talking dinner when Aida is who knows where? I can’t wait to fucking kill them.
I don’t know how long we drive before they stop and get out, their footfalls crunching, then both lug me out, one grabbing my feet, the other my arms.
Playing dead or unconscious is easy. I’m sure they checked my pulse and know I’m still in there. His wife will be serving dinner to their corpses.
They throw me onto the ground. My fingertips flicker against the dirt beneath. I fight the need to jump and rip their throats out. But I’m good at waiting. I’ve been waiting for so long.
“I gotta go get the shovels. Agnelo said to drug him if he wakes up.”
“Yeah, I know. Hurry up. It’s damn creepy here.”
One runs off, while the other beside me mutters shit I can’t make out. A minute later, they start to dig.
“Fuck, I never realized how hard it was digging a grave.”
“I’m sweating balls.”
“Me too, man. Poor guy’s gonna get buried alive. You can’t piss off the Bianchis.”
“So young too. Wonder what he did to end up in that basement.”
“Who the hell knows? Look at Agnelo the wrong way?”
They both laugh.
Won’t be giggling soon, motherfuckers.
Sometime later, they’re finally done. “All right. Let’s do this shit,” one says as I open my eyes just enough to see them, their feet nearing, the shovels just an inch or two away, swaying in their grasp.
As soon as one grabs my arm, I kick my legs out, hitting them both square in the chest. Lucky I had my sneakers on when they took me.
“Get the gun!” one shouts as he falls.
But it’s too late. I flip up to my feet, ignoring the pain radiating through my arm, the blood dripping down the length of it, and I retrieve both shovels, snapping one across the neck of the guy before me. His mouth drops open, his hands falling to his throat, now spilling with blood.
“Al! Fuck!” the other asshole screams. “Stay back! I got a gun.” His hand trembles as it falls to his waistband.
I throw one of the shovels away. “A little tip.” A callous smile wraps around my mouth as I near.
“Next time you wanna bury a man alive, make sure he’s actually unconscious.
” I swing the shovel and it lands hard on the top of his head.
He drops heavily on the ground, groaning, the gun slipping out of his pants.
I kick it away, lowering on top of him, a knee pushing into his chest.
Raising the shovel, I bury it hard into his neck and watch as it sinks into him, blood spouting out.
Sudden rage overcomes me, and the next thing I know, I’m on my feet, the shovel slamming into his neck over and over as I scream with all the fury sitting dormant within me, my face covered in blood.
I can taste it on my tongue as drops land past my lips.
When I’m finally done, his head is barely hanging onto his body.
My breathing erupts out of me as I stare down at what I did, and I don’t feel an ounce of remorse.
When my inhales calm, I get their guns, their phones, and their keys, before removing one of their shirts and tying it the best I can around the wound at my shoulder, using my teeth and my free hand. It looks like the bullet only grazed me, but the gash is still bleeding some.
I wince as I roll their bodies into the grave they nicely dug for me.
Picking up the shovel, I start to throw dirt over their bodies until they’re no longer visible, until it’s piled high.
I push through the burning pain, the adrenaline keeping me working, knowing there’s no other choice.
I have to find her and I won’t stop until I do.
Once I’m done, I hold on to the shovel, intending to take both with me. But as I march a step, my head gets dizzy. “Shit.” I grab a nearby tree trunk, fighting to stay awake, but it’s too late. My body sways, growing heavy, until I crumble to the ground, the light flickering out of my eyes.