Chapter 15
Marco
At the police station, Mr. Alboni and Van go into a meeting room. I'm instructed to wait outside. I'm furious, but I need to keep calm. We have no jurisdiction in this country. However, I manage to speak to one of the officers who have been at the scene, and thankfully he is helpful. I find out where the cars have been taken, and I send one of my teams to go and gather some evidence of our own. I need to find out who was in those cars.
“I need DNA samples from both vehicles.” I end the call to my forensic team as Van returns.
Van speaks more quietly than I’ve ever heard him. “She’s gone, Marco.”
“I want to see her,” I insist.
“Unfortunately, that won’t be possible,” an officer calls from behind him.
“Come on.” Van puts his hand on my back and leads me outside towards the car. I cannot comprehend what I have just been told. Van continues, “My father’s staying to sign some forms. Mia’s body was unrecognisable when they extinguished the car. They’re taking some DNA to match what they found. Once they have a result, we will have Mia’s remains sent home.” Van doesn’t look at me when he talks. “I know you and Mia were close, Marco. But I need you to get it together and find the fuckers who did this.”
My body erupts into an almighty growl. I can’t control my emotions. I want to hammer my head into a wall until I forget. Van backs away from me while I take my frustration out on a nearby fence, kicking and punching the wooden panel until it resembles nothing but firewood. After releasing some anger, I turn to see Van, along with a few police officers, stood watching me. The police look relieved to see I’ve calmed down and there’s no need for them to intervene. When we get into our waiting car, neither I nor Van speak. I feel my heart harden more than it ever has been before. My eyes glaze. It’s like I’m wearing tinted glasses—everything I see is red. My whole future has been stolen from me. All I see now is death. My life now will consist of finding those responsible, inflicting horrendous pain, and slowly sending them to their deaths.
We spend a few days in London, watching video after video from surrounding surveillance cameras. But we come up with nothing. The first car comes at speed from much further down the road before the girls even make their way out of the bar. I have no doubt Mia was a target, but it does seem like that the car incident was the original plan. What was the original plan, however, we still have no idea. The guards are both deceased, and witnesses give no other explanation. One of the drivers from the second car got away. I have issued a million-euro reward to anyone who can bring him to me alive, so it’s only a matter of time.
When Mia’s father receives the DNA results from the car, it is confirmed as a positive match for Mia. The little hope I had for a miracle dies, so we return home.
During our time in England, Lorenzo’s forty-eight hours came to an end. Although he dropped all charges, he is still making things very difficult for us. After we released all the hostages unharmed, rumours started to spread amongst civilians that we had tortured the law enforcement. Organisations who have been allies for generations have cut ties with us, making deliveries and distribution of weapons more difficult. The Martelé, our archenemies, have also reared their ugly heads, starting to fight for our territories. Lorenzo has resigned and gone into hiding, but I will find him. I haven’t finished with that weasel yet.
As I sit at my desk, my thoughts are filled with Mia. The way she made me feel when I was around her—the way only she could make me feel: like I was human. A feeling I haven’t felt since she passed. My thoughts, as always, turn from happiness to immense anger and pain when I remember she has been taken away from me. I down the last of my scotch and throw my glass against the door, narrowly missing Van as he enters.
“Sober up. We have found the guy from the second car. He is being flown over as we speak.”
Finally. It’s been two weeks since Mia died. I am ready to inflict some pain.
Everything is set up in the basement when Van enters, dragging a terrified looking man along with him. Van throws him onto the floor in front of me. I don’t speak. I just watch as he takes in the room around him through his swollen, beaten eyes, whimpering as he sees the tools ready to inflict pain and end his life. His focus then lands on me and my bloodstained apron.
“Tie him to the chair.”
My men instantly do as I ask, fastening his arms and legs to the wooden chair.
“Two weeks ago, a Guerra woman, my woman, was murdered. You were in one of the cars responsible for her death.”
The man looks at the floor, not acknowledging me.
“Look at me!” My right fist connects with his jaw. His head jerks backwards cracking into the back of the chair. “Tell me your assignment for that night!”
The man is a little dazed from my attack but manages to mumble, “I… cant. They will kill me.”
A bark of a laugh rips through me. “And what do you think I’m going to do with you? Wrap you up in bandages and let you go? Let me explain what is going to happen. Today is the day that you will die. What time this happens and how painful your death is up to you.” I pace the room around him while I speak, noticing the gurgling sound from his chest as he breathes, a sign blood is filling his lungs, a result of the beats he’s received in transit. Unfortunately that means we don’t have as long as I’d hoped.
After selecting my first choice of torturing device, I stand over the man. He takes one look at what I am holding and pisses himself. I turn on the blowtorch and slowly move it towards his hand.
“Okay! Okay! Please. I’ll tell you all I know.”
I keep on holding the flame near his hand, and he continues quickly while trying to move from the heat.
“I’m just a driver. Just to and from places, usually. I’ve never been involved in any of their missions before. I was told to park up and wait. Then when the target was in sight, the soldiers in the back would get out, grab her, and put her in the car. Then I would drive to the location given.”
“Soldiers?” I ask.
“Yeah, that’s what they call them.”
“What who calls them?” I move the flame of the torch directly onto his hand, melting the skin until blood and tissue appear. He screams in agony until I stop.
“Carry on. Who were you working for?” I demand.
Crying in pain, he explains. “I never met them directly. I owed some money, a lot of money. I was told if I did this job, my debt would be wiped clean.”
“I don’t care for excuses. Give me a fucking name!” I move the flame to his other hand, holding it there for a few seconds before removing it. Once his screams subside, I ask again. “The name of who you were working for?”
“Mart… something. Mattel, maybe? Th-they never directly t-told me,” he stutters.
I watch him, reading him. He’s telling the truth.
“The Martelé?” I prompt.
“Yes. That’s it. They were foreign. Had an accent like you,” he confirms.
“Tell me what happened.” I put down the torch, encouraging him to speak.
“We were stationed down the road from the bar. There was another car on the next street who were given the same instructions. They were watching the back exit. We watched for hours, waiting for them to leave. One of the soldiers then spotted the targets leaving, they told me to drive towards them, so I did. The next minute the other car came speeding towards us. I thought it was going to stop, but it didn’t—it just kept coming and coming. It went straight into those people and then into us.”
I push for more. “Why do you think the plan changed?”
“I have no idea. One of the soldiers received a call a few minutes before it all happened. I don’t know what was said, as I didn’t understand their language. I was just told to wait. Then the other car came flying towards us. It was out of control, like the driver didn’t know where they were going.”
The pain in my chest throbs as I relive watching the video of Mia being stuck, her helpless body burning in flames. I retrieve the blowtorch and turn it on full, I set the man’s arm alight. His howls of suffering don’t come close to the pain I feel inside.
I drop the torch to the floor, then remove my apron. “You finish him off,” I instruct one on my men. “Find out every detail, who contacted him, times, dates, descriptions.”
When I leave the basement, Van follows me upstairs.
“What the hell was that?” he asks, annoyed.
“He doesn’t know anything else of importance. I need to kill the Martelé.”
“Marco, you can’t kill all the Martelé. They just declared war, yes. But we need to find out more. Going after them now will just be a blood bath for us all.”
“What more is there to find out? They killed Mia, your sister!” I argue, frustrated that he doesn’t also want to rip their heads off immediately.
“Believe me, there’s nothing I want more than to end each and every one of their miserable lives, but there’s more to this. He said they were there to kidnap her, not kill her.”
“What’s the fucking difference. They did kill her,” I reply getting more and more irritated.
“But why? Why did the plan change?”
“Who the fuck knows. All I know is, the Martelé are responsible for her death, and I will bring the whole organisation to its knees if it’s the last thing I do!”
Walking away from protesting Van, I return to my office and go over my revenge. Tonight the Martelé will pay. It’s not the first time I have killed their leader. Three years ago, I killed Antonio Martelé to save my boss and his wife. There’s been conflict between the Guerras and their organisation throughout the generations, for one reason or another. When Leonardo Guerra, the last boss of the Guerras, and his wife died, the hostility of the Martelé leader’s murder died with them. Or so we thought. We knew there would always be bad blood between us, but I’d assumed assassinations of the Guerra were off the cards. I should have known better. I took my eyes off them, and as a result, my Mia paid the ultimate price.