Chapter Twenty-Five
Valentina
B reaking into Rocco’s office is easier the second time around. With the proper tools, the lock gives way in half the time my first attempt took.
Absurdly, there’s a feeling of guilt looming just behind my pride. I broke my promise to Matteo within days of making it. Like every other night, I initially fell asleep beside him, worn out by our efforts. But when I got up, I didn’t find myself immediately leaving. Instead, I lingered by the doorway before eventually looking back at him. He was splayed on his stomach, the scarred skin of his back on display. The sight of the mangled flesh had solidified my resolve and driven me out of his apartment with determined steps.
Still the guilt remains, sticking to me like a cobweb I can’t shake off. I compartmentalize it, focusing on the task at hand. When I unlock the drawer and pull it open, a bubble of relief bursts past my lips. The photos are all still there, thrown in haphazardly and filling it almost to the brim. Part of me feared that Rocco would clean house after he caught us.
I reach in and grab a handful of photos, noticing that my hand shakes as I pull them out. Nerves or anticipation, I’m not sure. I spill them on Rocco’s desk and start spreading them across the surface, frantically searching for a familiar face.
“Come on,” I hear myself say. “Come on, come on.”
My stomach is in knots as I chant the words below my breath. I don’t know if I’m hoping that Adriana is amongst the women because then at least I’ll have a lead, or if I’m hoping that she isn’t because deep in my gut, I know these photos aren’t good news.
Blondes, brunettes, redheads. Shaved heads, curly locks, short hair, long hair, and everything in between. They’re all represented in the photos before me, every ethnicity, shape, and size of woman you can think of. The only thing they have in common is their relative youth. Amongst the thirty or so photos before me, the oldest can’t be more than twenty-five years old. The sinking feeling in my stomach sinks deeper.
It takes two more reaches into the drawer and my hands becoming increasingly desperate before I find what I’m looking for. My gaze locks on a familiar pair of brown eyes and I freeze, rooted to the spot by shock.
Her face is partially covered by another photo. I brush it carelessly away and reach for the polaroid I’ve been hoping to find. My hand shakes so violently that it takes me a couple of tries to successfully pick it up.
When I do, I hear a cry. Distantly, as if disconnected from my own body, I realize the sound came from me. The visceral exclamation that rips from my throat seeing Adriana in as close to flesh and blood as I have in a year and a half is raw with pain.
She’s wearing the butterfly costume I last saw her in, staring into the camera with an expression that manages to be both terrified and empty at the same time. Her hair is a tangled mess and mascara runs down her face in a trail of dried tears.
My knees give out and I crumple to the floor with a distressed moan, clutching the photo tightly in my fist. I instantly recognize the dead look in her eyes. Any woman would. It speaks volumes as to what happened to her, a full horror story told without a spoken word.
I weep. I weep and I weep and I weep.
I’m a never ending fountain of tears. I don’t try to quell them and they pour messily out of me.
Adriana watches me through the photo. As painful as the picture is, it’s her . I can’t bring myself to look away even as my body racks with tears.
After what feels like hours, I manage to pull myself together enough to examine the picture for clues. Adriana’s arms are wrapped around her body, her hands visible on either one of her biceps. She still has all ten fingers, our Mama’s ring visible and catching the light. He must have cut it after snapping this picture.
This photo is confirmation that Rocco killed Adriana. The existence of dozens of other photos and women chills my blood. Did he kill them all? Is he a serial killer who cuts fingers off as a sort of sick signature?
My stomach heaves so violently, I only just manage to stop myself from being sick all over the floor of his office. I drag in one deep breath after another, hoping the nausea will dissipate.
I don’t know what to do from here.
Do I call my Papa and tell him? Do I call Thiago and let him raze Firenze to the ground? Do I… tell Matteo?
No.
No, of course not.
My knee-jerk, visceral reaction is to call in the cavalry, but I need to leave emotion to the side and be rational. I now have confirmation of who killed Adri, but I still don’t know where her body is. Finding her and bringing her home to my family is just as important to me as finding her killer.
Another wave of nausea sends bile shooting up into my throat. As much as I want to— need to, even—I can’t react. Not now. Not yet.
I pocket the photo of Adri and gather the others into my arms, then dump them back into the open drawer.
Inexplicable loss and sorrow pull at me seeing those faces go back into the locked drawer. No doubt these girls have families who are searching for them, no doubt they have loved ones who miss them too. I hope they get justice one day, I hope I can help bring it to them, but my priority is Adriana.
Justice for her trumps all else.
Still, closing the drawer and turning my back on them proves to be incredibly difficult.
With a heavy heart, I lock the drawer and Rocco’s office door, then slink back through the dark hallways of Firenze , Adriana’s photo now burning a hole in my pocket.
I emerge into the same alley I first entered the club through nearly two months ago, still in some measure of disbelief at my discovery. I yearn to be back at my apartment where I’ll be able to stare at the photo and see if anything else jumps out at me. Maybe I—
The thought abruptly cuts off when I’m grabbed from behind and slammed face first into the dirty alley wall.
The air is knocked from my lungs. I try to scream but no sound comes out, my lungs momentarily collapsing under the pressure of being thrown against the wall. A hand slaps over my mouth to muffle any further sounds.
“I’ve been waiting for you, dolcezza ,” a malicious voice crows victoriously from behind me.
Ice cold fear trickles down my spine, momentarily freezing me in place.
Rocco .
My stomach bottoms out in terror, but my survival instincts automatically kick into full gear. I thrash against him, kicking and screaming, attempting everything to dislodge him and get away, but he’s a brick wall. No matter how much I struggle, he doesn’t move an inch.
Instead, he lets loose a bone-chilling laugh.
“I knew you weren’t in my office for some random fuck with my brother. That it was only a matter of time until I’d catch you.” His hand fists my hair brutally and yanks my head back. Tears sting my eyes at the savagery of his touch. “You made me wait for you,” he sneers. “And that, I don’t appreciate.” His hand twists around my front and he palms my breast. Bile surges into my throat as nausea twists my belly. “But I know just how to make it worth my while.”
Fighting against the panic sweeping through me, I bite down on his hand and stomp on his foot. He howls and releases me long enough for me to turn around and sock him in the face. Just like his brother, he’s caught off guard by my ability to fight. Unlike Matteo, he’s slower to react. I shove him off and elbow him in the face. Blood bursts from his nose like a fountain exploding. As much as I want to see him bleed, I don’t stay to watch. I turn on my heels and run.
I only make it three steps before he’s on me and tackling me to the ground.
“You fucking cunt ,” he roars, spittle flying from his lips and landing on my face.
Rocco punches me. The blow is so hard, my vision temporarily goes black. My ears ring loudly and when I reopen my eyes, stars crowd my vision. Through them, I look up into the bloodied face of a monster. Anger and hate twist his features into an unrecognizable grimace, his teeth bared and bloodied, the look in his eye telling me he’s going to kill me.
“What were you doing in my office?” he demands. “What were you looking for?”
I let loose a scream loud enough to rattle the gates of Hell. My voice rips through the air as my lungs empty. Adriana’s eyes flash through my mind and I scream louder, longer, until my throat is burning. I claw at his eyes and cheeks. I kick my legs and jerk my body every which way.
He grabs my wrists and easily pins my arms beneath his legs as he straddles me. It doesn’t matter how much I struggle, his heavier size and weight give him the advantage.
“Fuck you,” I yell, spitting up into his face.
Rocco punches me again. It feels like my cheekbone splits beneath the force of his blow. My vision goes black for so long, I briefly wonder if I’ve passed out.
“I intend to,” he jeers, mouth inches from mine, his blood dripping on my face. “But first, let’s see what you’ve found.”
I thrash beneath him, but with my arms restrained by his legs, I’m completely trapped. Terror starts to overwhelm me as I realize how dire my circumstances are. His hands come down on my body and start rifling through my pockets. He uses the opportunity to feel up my body, his filthy hands groping my breasts and the apex of my thighs.
I turn my head to the side, bile moving up and out of my throat at the way he touches me. The tears well again, not in fear but in disappointment. I don’t want this to be how it ends, with me suffering a fate similar to Adriana’s.
I don’t want our family to bury another daughter.
“What’s this?” Rocco questions evilly, his tone revealing just how much he likes toying with me. He pulls out the photo of Adriana and holds it up between us. “I see you’ve found my private photo collection.”
I stop thrashing, latching on to what he just revealed.
“What did you do?” I demand.
Rocco’s hand clamps over the front of my throat before the question has left my lips. He squeezes, immediately starting to drain the life out of me. This isn’t a possessive caress like his brother’s, this is meant to kill me.
“Shut the fuck up,” he orders. His eyes trail back to the photo as he keeps crushing my throat. “They’re so pretty when I take photos of them. My favorites are the ones who scream,” he muses like I’m not even there, like he’s not revealing just how psychotic he is. Eyes that manage to be both lethal and devoid of humanity turn back towards me. “And you’re going to be the prettiest of them all.”
“Never,” I manage to croak past my murdered vocal cords.
Rocco laughs. All I can think is that this is likely the last sound Adriana heard before she died. That this is the sound Matteo heard as he was tortured. Fresh rage on their behalf and at the helplessness of my situation makes me thrash hard enough that I manage to dislodge his hand.
“You’re not the first bitch I can make disappear, Melody,” he utters with chilling finality, raising his hand to slap me once more. “But you may be the one I’m going to enjoy the most.”
His hand hangs above him for a taut, taunting second, a promise of the violence that’s to come.
I refuse to close my eyes.
Pop.
A muffled gunshot echoes in the dark alley.
A pained howl rips from Rocco’s lips and the right side of his body jerks back.
I gasp, blinking up at him with wide eyes. He still sits astride me, except he’s groaning now and clutching his hand against his chest. Blood drips from a gaping hole in the center of his palm.
Slow, heavy footsteps echo in the dark of night. A dark figure emerges, peeling gradually away from the shadows. His gun comes into the light first, steady and aimed straight at Rocco, followed by the rest of his large body.
Matteo’s face is twisted in fury, his eyes burning with a rage that I can feel in my bones. He’s a dark avenging god, his wrath changing the very particles of the air around him.
He came .
I don’t realize how loudly, how desperately, I was chanting his name in my mind until he appears. I could weep from the intensity of the relief surging through me.
His eyes are rimmed with dark circles, haunted but steady on Rocco. They falter when they fall to my face, the light in them dimming for a split second, but his hand doesn’t waver.
Matteo’s gaze lingers on me for one charged moment before they lift back to his brother, the promise of complete and total annihilation in them terrifying enough to send entire armies fleeing.
“When you meet Satan, brother, let him know I sent you,” Matteo seethes, his voice pitched unrecognizably low.
Without flinching, he shoots Rocco again.