Chapter 22 - Faith
Three days since I fled Neumann’s compound. Three nights without real sleep. My body aches in places that have nothing to do with exhaustion. Phantom touches burn along my spine, fingerprints on my hips that refuse to fade even though the bruises are gone.
I press my fingers to my lips in the early hours of Thursday morning, searching for his scent like an addict needing a fix, but there's nothing there except the memory of gunpowder and blood mixed with that dark cologne that made me think sexy thoughts even as those bodies cooled around us.
I throw my phone across the room with enough force to dent the wall, disgusted with my body's betrayal. It lands near the blurry photograph of myself that I can't bring myself to destroy. Evidence of my weakness scattered across my apartment like breadcrumbs leading back to him.
Thirteen bodies. Nine who looked at me wrong. Four who stood between me and justice.
I count them like rosary beads, each face a prayer I'll never admit to.
Thanking him for removing threats even as I hate him for proving I needed his protection.
The security guard by the stairs with his throat cut so precisely.
Johnson with his name tag, shot twice. All those men who could have testified about Neumann's off-the-books meetings, who processed the pharmaceutical shipments that never appeared on manifests, who knew about the clinical trials that went wrong.
The compound guards who could have testified – gone. Four testimonies that will never reach a courtroom.
The realization makes me sick. Not because of the death, but because that's what I think of first. Not four families destroyed.
Not four men who probably had children, mortgages, normal lives when they weren't protecting an asshole.
Just four pieces of evidence vanishing into whatever hell Luca created for them.
My legs carry me to the kitchen where I fill the kettle, going through motions that feel rehearsed from another life.
The girl who made tea at in the middle of the night because she couldn't sleep, haunted by her mother's murder.
Now I can't sleep because I'm calculating how many witnesses I have left, how many Luca might eliminate before I can use them.
And because my skin still burns where he touched me, phantom fingerprints that won't fade no matter how hard I scrub.
The water boils. I pour it over chamomile that's supposed to calm nerves, but my hands shake so badly the cup rattles against the saucer.
I leave it on the counter, the tea already growing cold, untouched like everything else in my life now.
Cold tea, cold apartment, cold bed. Everything cold without his burning presence.
The apartment feels wrong. Too quiet. Too still.
For weeks I've felt his presence even when I couldn't see him.
That sense of being watched, protected, possessed.
Now there's just hollow absence. No eyes tracking me through hidden cameras.
No guardian in the shadows ensuring my safety.
No warm body to press against when the nightmares get too real.
I should feel free. I sent him away. Told him to leave me alone. This emptiness is what I chose.
So why does it feel like I've cut off my own arm?
When exhaustion finally pulls me under around 4 a.m., the nightmares come immediately.
But tonight they're different. Not just my mother's purple face, her hands clawing at Neumann's grip.
Now the compound overlays everything. Bodies scattered like my mother's books fell that night, blood pooling like spilled ink from her overturned table.
In the dream, Neumann stands among the corpses, that same smile from before stretching wider. "No witnesses left, little Faith," he laughs, stepping over bodies. "You needed them to talk, and your psycho boyfriend made them silent forever. Whose side is he really on?"
I wake gasping, sheets soaked with sweat, reaching for empty space where his body should be, where for one night I learned what it felt like not to be alone. My skin still remembers the weight of him, the safety of being surrounded by danger.
Right. I sent him away. The good choice. The moral choice.
But my body disagrees, aching for comfort I've rejected, for the man who made me feel safe while covered in blood.
My phone screen burns my eyes. 5:50 a.m. I scroll through news on my cracked screen.
The spider web fracture is worse now, distorting the images.
Neumann Pharmaceuticals stock up three percent.
Photos from last night's medical charity gala: Neumann in his tuxedo, champagne in hand, his wife elegant beside him.
They're thriving while my mother rots in the ground.
The article mentions new FDA approval for their latest anxiety medication. The same brand I take. The bitter irony makes me want to flush every pill, but I need them now more than ever.
Another story: "Local Business Owner Missing." Peterson, who used to launder money through his chain of dry cleaners. One of my witnesses. Gone, just like the others who keep disappearing even though Luca's supposedly leaving me alone.
My phone rings. Dad. It's not even 6 a.m.
"You sound tired, sweetheart," he says without preamble. His judge voice, the one that dissects truth from lies.
"Just work stress." The lie comes automatically now, smooth as silk. Though not as smooth as Luca's expensive sheets against my bare skin. I push that thought away viciously.
"Maybe you should take some time off. Come stay with me for a few days."
The offer is tempting. Retreat to my childhood room, surround myself with my mother's photos, pretend I'm still the good daughter who believes in justice through proper channels. Pretend I didn't let a killer make me come so hard I saw stars.
"I'm fine, Dad."
"You don't sound fine. You sound worried. I can hear it in your voice. The same tone from when your mother…" He trails off, but we both know what he means.
"I'm fine," I repeat, the lies getting harder to maintain when my body still aches in places that remind me exactly how not-fine I am.
"Faith, if something's wrong…"
"Nothing's wrong." Another lie. Everything's wrong. My plan is crumbling, witnesses are disappearing, and I sent away the only person capable of helping me destroy Neumann.
"I need to go," I say before his worried questions can crack my facade.
I hang up before he can press further. He means well, but Judge Theodore Winters can't help with this. He believes in law and order, in systems that failed my mother. Only one family in Chicago has the power to destroy Neumann completely, and I just told them to leave me alone.
My twelve-year plan is crumbling. Without witnesses, without evidence that won't mysteriously disappear, without connections to people who can make things happen, I have nothing but rage and patience that's finally run out.
By noon, I'm deep in research mode, my laptop surrounded by newspapers and printed articles. Not about Neumann this time. About the Rosettis. The whole family, not just the brother who's killed countless men for me.
Their resources are staggering. Shipping companies that could move anything anywhere. Construction firms that pour foundations deep enough to hide secrets. Waste management services that make problems disappear. The infrastructure of power, built over generations.
They made four bodies vanish in one night. No evidence. No investigation. That kind of efficiency could be useful, applied properly to the right target.
You're rationalizing, my conscience whispers. But Neumann's laugh echoes louder, drowning out morality with memory.
My phone rings. Unknown number. I almost don't answer, but something, that same instinct that made me kiss Luca, makes me swipe accept.
"Faith?" A woman's voice, smooth and cultured. "It's Sofia. Luca's sister."
My heart stops. "I'm not…"
"I know you're not talking to him. This isn't about that." Her tone is pure business, no emotion bleeding through. "We're having a family dinner tomorrow. Seven PM."
"I don't think…"
"It's not a date. Not about Luca's… situation. It's about Neumann."
The name makes me freeze, fingers tightening on the phone until the cracked screen cuts into my palm.
"What about him?"
"Come to dinner. We'll discuss options. Mutually beneficial ones." She pauses. "Just business, Faith. The kind of business where everyone gets what they want."
Business. That's all this needs to be. A transaction. Their resources for my information. Nothing to do with how my body still aches for her brother's touch.
"Will Luca be there?"
"Yes." No point lying, apparently. "But he won't bother you. The family is… concerned about his current state. Marco will ensure he maintains distance."
Something twists in my chest. Not quite guilt, not quite satisfaction. The same feeling when I press on the fading bruises he left, pain mixed with something darker.
"Just dinner," I say slowly. "To discuss Neumann."
"Exactly. Come to the back entrance. Someone will meet you."
She hangs up without a goodbye. I stare at the phone, knowing I'm about to walk into a den of killers.
But they're killers with the resources to destroy Neumann utterly, and after years of being patient, of being good, of following rules that protect powerful men, maybe it's time to stop pretending I'm any different from them.
I stand before my closet at 6 PM, choosing armor for tomorrow's dinner. My hand goes immediately to the black dress from my mother's funeral, adjusted over the years but still carrying that weight of loss.
Appropriate for walking into the Rosetti house. Appropriate for the death of who I used to be.
I pull it on, standing before my mirror to practice what I'll say. "I need your help with Neumann." Too desperate. "We have mutual interests regarding Neumann." Better. Business-like. No emotion.