by A. Zavarelli
I write out a quick note, playing it out for her.
Could you drive us to Port Angeles?
“Do you have any idea how much that’s gonna cost?” She snaps the gum in her mouth. “That’s an hour and a half each way.”
I pull out a thousand dollars and show it to her.
She whistles and gestures for us to get in. I help Nino into the back, buckling him first.
“Cash first.” The driver holds her palm up through the divider.
I hand it to her through the slot, and she counts it before she takes off. Once we’re on the interstate, I take a deep breath and try to relax.
“I’m hungry,” Nino says. “When are we going to eat dinner?”
I reach into my bag and grab two granola bars, handing them both to him. Eat those for now, and when we stop again, I’ll buy you dinner, okay?
He nods and chomps through his granola bars, then promptly falls asleep. The ride is long, and I can’t use my phone to distract myself or figure out the next steps. I know there’s a bus station in Port Angeles because I checked when I was planning my escape route before. It will take time for Alessio to track me at each location, and the safest thing I can do is change routes and transportation methods often.
We arrive just before seven, and the driver drops us off. The first bus scheduled to leave is going to Moses Lake, so those are the tickets I buy. I grab Nino a burger and a few snacks for the road, and we board the bus. The journey is long, and I don’t get much sleep, but Nino does.
From Moses Lake, we take a taxi into Spokane and then board an Amtrak to Portland. In Portland, I pay a woman five thousand dollars for a van that’s probably only worth about five hundred, and we drive. We keep driving until I’m so lost myself that I’m certain Alessio won’t find us.
32
Alessio
“Remove the hood.” I nod to Thomas.
He does as I ask, skirting around the chair he used to secure Enzo. When Thomas unveils his bloodied face, I can see that he didn’t go gently.
His eyes find mine, and there’s a split second when his reality sinks in. It’s only a moment, but at that moment, I see him for the coward he is.
“I take it you have been getting my messages then,” he spits. “Fucking traitor. After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you thank me.”
“I know who you are now,” I answer without emotion. “The only traitor I see is you.”
“I hear congratulations are in order.” He yanks against the restraints, shaking the chains. “You finally got a taste of pussy. How does it feel to know I had it first?”
“You never had her.” I stare down at him in disgust. “You took what she wouldn’t give you freely. That’s what you still don’t understand, Enzo. It doesn’t make you a man. It makes you fucking pathetic.”
“Pathetic,” he sneers. “Coming from the man who has me tied up like a dog. Give me a fair fight. If you want to end me, let’s do this man to man.”
“You want to take a shot?” I shrug and gesture for Thomas. “Fine. Give me a hand with these.”
“Are you sure, Mr. Scarcello?”
Enzo snorts at Thomas’s remark, and I nod.
We release him from his restraints, and Enzo sits up, cracking his neck from side to side. In his mind, this is a foregone conclusion, but Enzo has always underestimated me. He’s known me for many years, but he’s never seen me work. He’s never even seen me angry. He doesn’t have any idea about the quiet rage that lives in me, but he’s about to learn.
“I’ll tell you what.” Enzo rises to his feet and shakes out his arms. “I’ll even give you the first one for free, so you can feel like you accomplished something.”
“I’m not looking for favors. You said you wanted a fair fight, so take your shot, Marcone.”
He chuckles to himself and then throws out a left hook that collides with my jaw. The impact reverberates through my skull, but it doesn’t drop me like he was expecting. I let him have that one, because he’s foolish enough to think it will happen twice. When he throws a second one at me in quick succession, I dodge it and smash my fist straight into his nose.
He howls out in pain as blood spews from his nostrils, but it teaches him nothing. He tries to come at me again, and this time, I break teeth with a fist to his mouth.
“You motherfucker.” He spits the fragments onto the floor.
When he charges at me again, I swerve, grabbing his arm as I swing around behind him and yank back. At the same time, I thrust my palm into the base of his skull, sending him face down into the floor. He grunts when his shoulder dislocates, rendering that arm useless. I use my weight to kneel into his back and smash his face into the cement with a satisfying crunch.
“Have anything to say now?” I snarl.
“Fuck you.” He gurgles on his blood.
I leave him lying there in a heap as I rise to my feet and gesture for Thomas. “Give me a hand, will you?”
He walks around and grabs Enzo’s good arm while I drag him by his injured one. He snarls and grunts like a pig from the pain before he vomits all over himself when we throw him back into the chair.
“Fucking disgusting,” I spit at him.
Luckily for me, there’s a hose attachment in the prison basement, so I set that up at the sink while Thomas works on securing Enzo’s restraints.
“His legs need to be wider,” I inform him. “Drag him to the edge of the chair. He shouldn’t be able to move at all.”
“Okay.” Thomas yanks him forward, widening Enzo’s legs.
Once he’s secure, Thomas steps away. I blast Enzo with the hose, cleaning the blood and vomit away. Enzo chokes on the water, coughing and sputtering when it hits his face, and I do it again just because I fucking feel like it.
“Do me a favor.” I toss the hose aside and point to my bag. “Grab the scissors out of there and cut off his pants and underwear.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Enzo groans. “Just kill me, Scarcello. Get it the fuck over with.”
I pause to look at him. “Did you get it over with when you were torturing my wife?”
His eyes flare, and he doesn’t answer.
“Or how about his wife, for that matter?” I gesture to Thomas, and he freezes, turning to see the vacant expression on Enzo’s face. “What about Nicolette? Or Elizabeth? How about your own fucking brother?”
His silence is deafening, and it fucking enrages me.
“How many were there, Enzo? How many times did you have to throw your limp dick around to feel like a man?”
“You don’t know anything,” he roars. “They all fucking loved it. Every one of them. Especially his wife.” He looks at Thomas, taunting him. “She begged me for more. Over and over and—”
Thomas slams his fist into Enzo’s face, and his head jerks back as another bloody tooth flies onto the cement. It renders Enzo unconscious for a few seconds, and Thomas offers me an apologetic shrug.
“I had to.”
“Just work on that.” I point to Enzo’s pants. “Will you?”
Thomas nods and grabs the scissors, getting to work. He rips through the material efficiently, and when he’s finished, there are nothing but scraps on the floor. Enzo’s flaccid dick is on full display, and it’s not something I particularly care to see, but I’ve given this day a lot of thought. I’ve had nothing but time to plan how I would do this. The only suitable punishment in my mind was an eye for an eye. So, for everything he did to Natalia, I’m going to give it back, ten times worse.
I drag over the mechanical sex machine I borrowed from the Cat House and adjust the height until it looks right. Thomas watches me curiously as I grab my bag and pull out three huge dildo attachments.
“Oh, for fucks sake,” Enzo wheezes as he stirs and looks down. “Come on, man. Are you kidding me?”
“Which one do you think?” I ask Thomas.
A dark sense of satisfaction flashes in his eyes as he points at the largest model.
“I thought so too.” I toss the others aside and screw it onto the machine.
“How’s that work exactly?” Thomas asks. “Does it just go right in?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I guess we’re going to find out.”
Enzo starts to freak the fuck out, thrashing against the chair, but it does him no good. The legs are bolted to the floor, and Thomas bound him so tight there’s no chance of him moving.
With the dildo attached, I turn on the machine, and it thrusts forward, pounding against Enzo’s puckered flesh. He squeals. Thomas and I cringe. The dildo rams but doesn’t make entry because it’s on the lowest setting. I solve that problem by cranking it up to the max, and on the next rotation, it splits his skin wide open. Enzo lets out a blood-curdling wail, and Thomas gags, but neither of us can look away from the horror show.
“How does it feel?” I ask Enzo. “What’s it like being on the other end of it?”
His eyes water, the moisture dripping down his cheeks, and for the first time in his life, he has nothing to say. He’s still squirming, trying to test the limits of his restraints. His attempts get him nowhere, and eventually, he starts to beg like I suspected he would.
“Okay, okay, I’m fucking sorry, alright. Is that what you want to hear? I’m sorry. Just quit already.”
I cock my head to the side curiously. “Did you quit when they asked you to?”
He retches again, but this time nothing comes up. “Just kill me. Just fucking kill me.”
I lean down to look him in the eyes. “We haven’t even begun yet.”
He turns away, his knuckles white as he grips the arms of the chair. For the next fifteen minutes, we let him suffer before I decide he’s become too accustomed to the pain to reap anything more from it. Then I turn off the machine and grab my knife, offering it to Thomas first.
“You take a couple,” I tell him. “For your wife.”
He glances at the knife, and for a second, I’m not sure he’s going to do it. Then he looks at Enzo, and the rage he’s repressed comes back all over again. He stabs him in the gut twice, twisting the blade to inflict as much damage as possible before he hands it back to me. I wasn’t expecting him to go that deep, but it’s too late to turn back now. Enzo’s already delirious, and I don’t want him to die on me before I finish the plan I started.
I stab him once in the gut myself, and he grunts, his chin tipping forward as he starts to murmur something I can’t quite understand.
“What?” I squeeze his face in my palm.
“Where’s my mother?” he whispers. “Just tell me. Did you kill her after everything she did for you?”
I wipe the blade on his shirt to clean off the blood. “Tell me where Elizabeth is, and I’ll tell you what happened to Gwen.”
“She’s fucking dead,” he chokes out. “Buried in the yard beneath the rose bushes.”
I don’t have to ask him if Gwen knew about that too. At this point, I wouldn’t doubt if she helped him dig the grave.
“Where is my mother?” Blood coats his lips, and I know I’m losing time.
“Natalia killed her,” I answer coldly. “She’s fish bait now.”
He wails at the lie like I knew he would, renewing his fight against the restraints. “You motherfucker.”
I hand the knife to Thomas and gesture at Enzo’s cock. “We’re running out of time. Cut it off.”
He blinks at me, and I arch a brow at him, waiting. His fingers curl around the handle, and he lowers himself on one knee, reaching out to grab the useless tube of flesh.
“For my wife,” Thomas murmurs as he begins to slice.
Enzo releases a silent scream, his lips opening and closing as he tries to suck in air. He’s dying. It’s a matter of a few minutes now. I can’t draw it out any longer, as much as I’d like to.
“Before you leave this earth, I think it might interest you to know this is the same way I killed your father.”
He looks up at me, gurgles, and shakes his head.
“Gwen asked that of me. She said it was the only suitable punishment for a man with no integrity left. It’s only fitting that you’ll die choking down the bitter memory of your crimes too.”
He tries to speak, his neck muscles working, but nothing comes out. I don’t care what he has to say anymore. Thomas has finished sawing off his favorite appendage, and the time for talking is over.
“May I?” he gestures to Enzo’s mouth.
“Be my guest.”
“Wait,” Enzo chokes, using the last of his strength to smile through his bloody teeth. He’s staring at me, and there’s something unsettling about his expression. I don’t understand what it is until he gets the last word.
“I’ve already ruined your life. You just don’t know it yet.”
33
Alessio
“What the fuck is going on?” I stab my finger against the phone, disconnecting my tenth unanswered call to Damien.
“I’m sure there’s an explanation,” Angelo tries to reassure me, but even as he says it, I can hear the uncertainty in his voice.
“No.” I try Natalia’s phone again, but there’s no response. “This isn’t right.”
I don’t want to admit that Enzo’s last words are ringing in my ears. When he said them, I tried to discredit them, but I’ve known him too long to doubt his certainty. It was written in his eyes. He didn’t care that he was dying because he thought he’d won.
It’s not a coincidence that I can’t get a response from Damien or Natalia. There’s a sickness in my gut I want to ignore, but I can’t. It only gets stronger as Angelo finally pulls up to the gate at the house.
My phone rings as we drive through, and my pulse pounds in my ears as I rush to check it, only to see that it’s Mrs. Hudson. For a second, I consider rejecting it, but then I wonder if Nino ever made it to her house today.
“Mrs. Hudson,” I answer briskly. “Is Nino there?”
“What? No, he’s not here.”
There’s a pause, and I’m trying to formulate the necessary words to respond when she fills the silence.
“Mrs. Scarcello picked him up two hours ago. That’s why I was calling. I wanted to make sure she was alright.”
“What do you mean was she alright?” I demand.
Mrs. Hudson clears her throat. “She had an awful bruise on her face. When I asked her about it, she said she fell, but something didn’t feel right. Her guard wasn’t with her, and I didn’t think she should be driving, but I couldn’t get her to listen. She was so jumpy.”
“Did she say where she was going?” I croak.
“No. I assumed home,” Mrs. Hudson answers just as Angelo stops the car abruptly.
When I glance over at him, he looks rattled, and it isn’t until I follow his gaze that I realize why.
“Mrs. Hudson, I have to go.”
I don’t know if she says goodbye before I disconnect the call, but I’m already scrambling out the door. Angelo calls after me as I move past Damien’s dead body in a daze, heading straight for the house.
“Alessio.” He calls again, but I can’t respond.
I gain entry through the security system, and the house is eerily quiet. So much so that the sound of my footsteps seem to ricochet off the walls until I come to a stop in the middle of the foyer.
“Natalia,” I call out for her as my chest caves inward. “Natalia!”
Angelo puts a hand on my shoulder, startling me, and when I turn, he seems haunted by whatever it is he sees in my eyes.
“Natalia!” I bellow.
“Alessio.” Angelo tries to halt me, but I can’t stop.
“Natalia!” I scream her name until my lungs burn, moving through the house like a phantom.
When I reach her room and find it empty, I tear through her closet. Her clothes are here. Her suitcases are too. In the bathroom, her toiletries are still sitting on the counter. But it doesn’t bring me relief. I know. She left everything behind. She left me behind.
I stand there like a fool, staring at that goddamned alien comforter, and my eyes burn. They’re gone. My whole fucking life is gone.
“Alessio.” Angelo calls out from the doorway, and when I turn to face him, he jerks his chin in a gesture for me to follow him. “I think you’re going to want to see this.”
Ten minutes later, I’m staring at the computer screen, dead silent. Angelo is beside me, waiting for a reaction. Some kind of response to let him know I’m still fucking alive after watching that footage.
“Damien,” I snarl his name as I rise from my chair.
“Alessio, we need to—”
Angelo’s voice fades as I walk out the door and into the kitchen, grabbing the first knife I see from the butcher block.
He joins me again as I stalk toward the front door and out onto the lawn. When I come to a stop over Damien’s corpse, a rage unlike any I’ve ever felt washes over me. I kneel onto his chest and stab him in the eye, and it feels fucking good. So good, I do it again and again, slashing at him as I scream out my agony. I mutilate him beyond recognition, nearly severing his head from his body before Angelo finally grabs me and drags me up.
“Enough.” He grabs my face and stares into my eyes. “Alessio, we have to find them.”
34
Alessio
I walk down the hall in a daze, the sound of my footsteps echoing off the marble. It’s the only thing I’ve found to break the mind-numbing silence. The quiet was what I used to value more than anything, but now it feels like a prison.
It’s Christmas Day, and the house has fallen into stillness. Everything is closed, and the city is stagnant. I haven’t slept in two days, and my leads have run dry after we tracked Natalia and Nino to Portland. She bought a vehicle, and the last known sighting I have is from a gas station off the interstate. From there, they could have gone anywhere. The maps in my office have provided possibilities but no solution. Her room has turned up nothing. The witnesses have been less than helpful, all of them reiterating the same story. They didn’t have any sort of conversation with her. They delivered her to her destination, and that was it.
