Chapter 21 #2
Silence fell momentarily, her eyes wide with shock, before a tormented cry split the air between us and she staggered backward. One hand grasped her side, blood pouring between her fingers, dark like her fucking soul, the other grabbed the sofa backrest, trying to keep herself upright.
“Why, baby?”
Her sob a broken sound that rattled inside my skull, forced me to slap the heel of my palm to the side of my head. “Get out of my fucking head!” I growled.
Wild eyes roved over my face, seeking something.
Remorse?
My laugh manic, I advanced on her, lifting the blade and letting it fall in quick succession, my knee following the momentum of her body as it hit the floor.
Eyes wide, lips parted yet nothing escaped except the sick, wet gurgling sound of her drowning in her own blood.
Red splatter soiled my suit, tainted the furniture, the walls, the floors.
Masking the evidence of my pain. My fear. My innocence.
“I hate you!” I shouted, repeatedly, Verità punishing her acts against me until suppressed tears threatened to spill, until anguish squeezed my chest, until revulsion spasmed in my fingers, forcing me to drop the weapon.
My ass hit the floor, my watery gaze on my shaking hands. “It’s done,” I muttered over and over.
Slowly my gaze shifted to the writhing mess of gore, bone and flesh that once resembled a beautiful donna. Yet somehow that stone heart pumped, those vile eyes finding mine. Blood drenched lips parted in a smile–an eerily sinister rendition–reminding me of how perfectly I emulated her malice.
“We’re alike, son. Brutal killers,” they rasped.
I touched her hand. “This is all we have in common. Warm blood.”
Blood gurgled out instead of her attempted laugh. “You will never forget me, Remo,”
My scoff ridden with disbelief, slowly I shook my head. “Literally dead meat and still so vain.”
“Oh, but you will, my beautiful boy,” she wheezed. “Every time you look at Evelina, you will.”
“My sister looks nothing like you, and she’ll never be you,” I gritted.
“Such love,” she spluttered, a scarlet river dribbling down the side of her mouth. “But she does…” her words grew faint, her breathing heavy pants. I could hear the life leaving her. “…share…” her words died.
I shot up onto my knees. “What?” I demanded.
She blinked frantically as though trying to hold on, her lips mouthing words I couldn’t hear. Blood soaking my pants, I leaned over her, bringing my ear to her lips, her dying declaration yanking the oxygen from my lungs.
Nostrils flared with disbelief, I jerked back. “You twisted fucking whore.” I grabbed what was left off her shoulders, shaking her furiously.
But once again, she’d proven she’d always have the last word. Vacant eyes stared at me as I screamed my rage until my chest tightened, until my fingers grew numb, until I fell to her mutilated chest, my body wracked by disparaged curses.
That was when the shaking began. Not from cold, but something deeper, clawing its way through me from the inside out. Threatening to take my sanity, as if that hadn’t happened already. I heard my brittle laugh, not processing it, letting myself sink into a darkening oblivion.
I didn’t know how long I stayed there, too tired to move, too broken to find courage, too worn-out to revel in her death.
“Remo?” my uncle’s gentle voice penetrated the silence. I didn’t move. “Son?” He touched my shoulder.
Slowly, I lifted off the bloody corpse, my eyes finding his in the dim lightning. We stared at each other for a quiet moment, before he offered me a hand.
“It’s time to live, my boy.”
Silently, I took it, stood and glared at Mother’s corpse. Her face was peaceful, terrifyingly so. No cruelty, no fire, no empire, just fragile stillness and a fitting death. I wondered if she knew that her so-called masterpiece would be her ruin.
I let out a sarcastic laugh, retrieving Verità from the ground. “Let’s get this shit on a boat, I want to feed the sharks.” I wiped my blade on my pants aware it would need a deep clean later, and sheathed it in my sleeve.
About to walk away, a flash of something in a corner caught my gaze. Briefly I paused, staring at the blink-and-you-miss-it black spot in the wall. I searched the other walls, snagging two similar spots before I turned and left the room.
The echo of Mother’s voice following me with each step. “You can kill me, son, but you’ll never stop being me.” Yet it was her dying words that weighted my bones, words I would only repeat when the time was right.
Outside, I searched for my pack of cigarettes, slid it from my pants pockets and tapped out the last one into my palm, not caring that her blood blotted the white stick. Hands still shaking, I lit it, took a long drag and squashed the empty. My eyes on the horizon, I remained there smoking.
Despite the death and gore surrounding this small building amid a substantial estate, the view was unmatched.
From up here, the world was stripped bare, no noise, no crowd, just an ocean spread out below in all its blue green glory, threading pink and gold from the sinking sun on the horizon.
Behind me a soft wind whispered reminders of the number of bodies we’d fed the surf hammering the rugged surface below me.
My uncle came up beside me and for a long quiet moment, we stared out at the endless sea, the perfect place to lose yourself.
“You okay?” he asked at length.
“I don’t fucking know,” I cursed then looked at him, accepting the white square he held out. Slowly, I wiped my face then glared at the soiled material. “The bitch will never die, zio.”
He slid his hands into his pants pockets, sighing. “And the only person keeping her alive is you.” His eyes roved over my face. “Memories may haunt you, son but they can’t dictate what you let hurt or lead you, only you can.”
“Who kept her alive?” I fisted the square and stuffed it into my pants pocket.
Frank shrugged. “Six months after Lorenzo took your mother’s title, I received a typed note with three instructions. Announce your mother’s death in another two months. Keep her alive without letting anyone know. Defiance would get Adriano and Raphael killed,” he replied, referring to his sons.
“Someone wanted her alive but chose to keep her locked up?”
He nodded. “Two days later, a truck arrived at the gate with furniture and another note. It recommended I employ the driver as a gardener on the estate because he’d be responsible to feed your mother and provide her with certain supplies.”
“Where is he?”
“Lives in the staff quarters but you’re wasting your time if you want to speak to him.”
“Why?”
‘The man’s mute, doesn’t write and just stares dumbly at you if you ask any questions.”
“The fuck,” I snorted. “Well planned,” I muttered shaking my head. “Did you install the cameras in the room?”
The look on my uncle’s face suggested he didn’t know they existed, still he didn’t sound surprised when he replied, “they were watching her.” His expression thoughtful, he stared out into distance. “Who’d benefit from keeping her alive?”
“I don’t think it was about benefit.”
“Then?”
I relayed Mother’s rantings, my mind skimming years of possible contacts who’d want to punish her in this manner. There were too many to single out.
“So we don’t know who our mystery benefactor is?” He rubbed a hand along his jaw. “You think they were looking for something?” I caught the underlying edginess to his tone.
Ignoring it, I shrugged. “Who the fuck cares. I’d want to know who he is just to shake his hand.” I flicked my cigarette away.
“I’ll call the clean-up crew.”
“Don’t tell anyone what went down, not even Lorenzo,” I instructed, heading back to the main building.
When I glanced over my shoulder, Frank was on the phone, his tense features suggested he was spooked. He was a revered man, though, almost on par with Mother’s importance, something he nor any other man could take from her, except my brother.
Later, I stood on the luxury white yacht Mother owned sipping the expensive shit she’d kept on board for the men she entertained.
Although the ripples caused by the great whites feasting on their generous meal gently rocked the boat, watching her dismembered body being thrown over the side, a calm like no other coasted over me.
“Ironic, isn’t it, Mother?” I tipped my glass at her head the mute gardener was about to toss over.
“Your boat, your whiskey, your keeper, and your demise, all in my hands.” My chuckle mirthless, I downed the liquor and hurled the glass into the open water.
Still, a tiny niggle suggested Mother’s dying words would affect more than just my sleep.
Silently, I prayed for control.