by Emma Nichols
Maria looked into Alessandro’s eyes with a hard stare, and as he went to grab her again she moved away. “Of course there is a shipment, Alessandro. I wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t.”
The boat rocked, and he stumbled. He looked for a brief moment as if he was considering Maria’s statement, then he narrowed his gaze.
“Fucking bitch.”
He staggered again on the moving deck and squatted to prevent himself falling. As the boat stilled, he rose slowly, and focused again on Maria. His eyes looked darker than death itself and he pointed his gun at Maria’s chest.
“That was fucking stupid.”
Maria stood still with her hands raised. “I didn’t…”
“Alessandro, no!” Patrina screamed.
He glanced towards Patrina, and his eyes widened slowly as he registered that she was pointing her Colt .45 directly at him. She started slowly down the steps. He growled and swung his weapon towards her.
Patrina stopped walking. “Put the gun down, Alessandro. We don’t need this.”
Maria looked for a brief opening of uncertainty in a shift in his demeanour. It didn’t come. She appealed to him as she would a genuine friend, though she felt nothing of the sort. “Alessandro, it’s okay. We can do this together.”
He kept the barrel of the gun pointed at Patrina as he seemed to ponder the proposition. Then his smile revealed the same quality of lunacy that Maria had seen in a man’s eyes once before, and he turned the weapon towards her.
“Alessandro, no,” Patrina shouted.
A crack as sharp as thunder split the night’s silence.
Alessandro moaned out, and then another crack echoed out.
Maria clasped her hand to the fierce burning sensation in her chest, then raw pain ripped a tornado through her, and her legs collapsed beneath her. The hard wood of the deck brought a shock of fire that kindled something inside her, and the gurgling in her throat made it harder to breathe.
A third crack boomed out, and then a fourth, and a fifth.
Patrina’s screams resounded in the darkness behind Maria’s eyes and then silence took the pain away.
Patrina wailed like a wounded animal fighting for its life as rage coursed through her. She ran to the cabin and stopped the craft, then ran to Maria lying on her side on the deck. Maria’s eyes were closed, and blood trickled from her mouth. “Fuck, bedda. This wasn’t meant to happen. Stay with me, bedda. Stay with me.” She pressed her fingers to Maria’s neck and closed her eyes at the slow, light pulse. “Thank God.”
She stood and took a pace towards the large lump of flesh sprawled on the deck. His eyes were wide open, and blood seeped from his chest and mouth. “Fuck you, Alessandro. Fucking, fuck you.” She raised the gun and with gritted teeth fired another two shots into his body and face. His corpse jumped at the impact. Patrina’s mouth closed to the nausea that stung the back of her throat. You fucking bastard! She plucked her mobile from her pocket, pressed a button, and held the phone to her ear. “Beto, get out here.
Now.” She moved around the boat, dousing it with petrol, and scanned the cove for foreign vessels. The bobbing light from the speedboat grew brighter as it drew closer.
The smaller craft rocked the deck as it pulled up alongside them.
Beto made a sweeping glance over the scene and smiled at the sight of Alessandro. “Good.”
“We need to get Maria to the beach. She needs help quickly.”
“Of course.”
Together they eased Maria’s deadweight onto the deck of the speedboat.
“One second.” Patrina removed a lighter from her pocket, flipped the lid to ignite a flame, and threw the lighter into the film of petrol. A wave of flames chased rapidly across the wooden deck. Beto opened the throttle and steered the boat in the direction of the beach.
Three hundred metres from the burning boat, beyond the Bedda, and inside the safety of the cove, the first explosion came and then a second,
bigger and bolder that lit up the sky with a firework display that would be visible to the residents of Palermo. She looked at the wreckage that had become her nephew’s final resting place and felt pure pleasure for his deserved fate. The Bedda was also engulfed in flames. That had been a necessary part of the plan to create a diversion and suspicion. A moment of wistful reflection passed quickly and as she glanced at Maria’s blood-soaked jacket, tears wetted her face. Please don’t die, bedda. She scanned the beach and noted the familiar form running towards them. Giovanni, thank God.
Giovanni held his gun raised in the direction of the two shadows until they transformed as the light revealed them. He returned his weapon to the holster at his chest and ran to the boat.
Beto landed the craft on the beach. “Giovanni, come quickly.”
Patrina saw contempt as Giovanni stared at her. It was justified. This should never have happened. Alessandro must have only gone along with her plan because he saw it as a way to get rid of her and Maria. He would have disposed of their bodies to the sharks if she hadn’t fired the first shot.
“What the fuck happened?” Giovanni asked.
Patrina wiped away her tears and her lips quivered as she spoke.
“Alessandro shot her. I tried to stop him, but the bastard…”
“Shit.” Giovanni reached into the boat and lifted Maria out.
Maria slumped in his arms, and he carried her to the dry sand.
Patrina followed him. She put a hand on his arm and looked into his eyes.
“She’s lost a lot of blood.” Patrina blinked and brushed the back of her hand across her cheeks. Please live, bedda. Her hands trembled as she sensed Maria’s skin was colder to the touch. “Please, make sure she lives, Giovanni.” Her voice broke as she spoke, and a wave of uncertainty snaked an icy trail down her spine.
“And Alessandro?” Giovanni asked.
Her discomfort intensified at Giovanni’s accusatory tone. She was as furious as he sounded. She shook her head, and her tone held remorse.
“There is no problem between us now, Giovanni.” She looked into his eyes.
“Please, tell her that I’m sorry.”
Beto waved towards them. “Patrina, we need to go.”
She nodded to Beto, then looked intently into Giovanni’s eyes.
“Please.” She turned away and ran to the boat, tears spilling onto her cheeks. She watched as Giovanni cradled Maria in his arms and walked
quickly towards the villa. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she closed her eyes and prayed.
Maria started to tremble with the chill that consumed her from the inside out. The arms around her body were tight, and the pain in her chest increased under the pressure.
“Maria, Maria.”
The voice had a familiar tone, although it was faint and hard to determine through the ringing in her ears. She groaned as the fire inside her taunted her with its rhythmical jabbing pattern.
“Maria, Maria.”
Giovanni was calling to her. She wanted to speak, but the air wouldn’t fill her lungs, and all she could do was gasp repeatedly and hope.
The blaze in her chest rumbled and crackled, close to the searing pain. Open your eyes, Maria. Open them. She flickered her eyelids, and her father’s voice became insistent. Come on, Maria. Another stab of pain, and the air stopped coming.
Blood stained Giovanni’s hands. He leaned closer. “Maria, what is it?”
Now, now, fight, Maria. Fight. “Octavia,” she whispered.
*
Simone jolted at the crashing and banging as Roberto burst through the front door and slammed it behind him. Did he have no consideration for the fact that it was long past midnight? She turned to face him, and the smile slid from her lips as the blood drained from her. He stood in front of her, paralysed, his skin pale and his eyes damp. He gesticulated frantically and looked desperate. Something dreadful…Maria? No, no. Simone froze.
She stared at him, her eyes wide, and her heart pounding. “What’s happ
ened?” The words came slowly, almost inaudibly.
He looked away from her and tears fell onto his cheeks. “The Amato’s boat.”
Simone’s head remained still, and her insides quaked. She knew the darkness that had just descended on her world. It was the same feeling that she’d had at the news of her family’s death. Nothing could change it.
Nothing would lift it. She could think the words, Maria is dead, but she wouldn’t be the one to say them. She couldn’t, not out loud. That would be
too much of an admission of her worst nightmare coming true. “What about it?”
“It just blew up, Simone. They were all on it; Maria, Patrina, Alessandro.”
Simone remained still and quiet. No.
Roberto looked at her and closed the space between them with his arms open.
She stepped away from him and raised her hand to stop him from speaking and moving.
“I was working at the port. I saw the explosions. Maria’s place is swarming with police. The boat was just off the cove. The Bedda went up too. They’re looking for bodies.”
Simone walked silently past him in a vacuum. She refused to believe Roberto’s lies. Why would he do that to her? No, no. Maria wouldn’t have allowed this to happen. Not now. Not ever. She stared out the window, gripped by blindness. Sounds became incoherent, and her inner voice muted. Then the firestorm swirled in her head, and she collapsed into a heap and sobbed.
37.
The carrycase sat open on Simone’s bed. Every item had been removed from it and placed carefully on the mattress, each lying next to the other in a uniform pattern that Simone tried to give meaning. But where was the justification, the logic, of a life lost for nothing?
Patrina had approached her at Maria’s funeral, but the words of condolence that she had offered had simply fuelled Simone’s rage. How is it the evil people in the world survive and the good die young? Patrina had just blinked and nodded at her as she had levied her verbal assault. If Simone had had the energy and a weapon in her hand, she would have finished the woman there and then.
Time heals. She shook her head and wiped her eyes as she scanned the items for the hundredth time. No length of time could take away the pain of losing the most precious person in her life.
There was no joy in the routine of studying the contents of the case, but the ritual had become a part of her life. It brought her closer to Maria and for a short moment, her heart felt light and warmth comforted her. She picked up the envelope with the letter inside it and re-read it. Three months, and still the paper fluttered in her trembling hand and shook her core, as it had done the first time that she had read the note. She caressed the words with her fingertips, reminded of Roberto’s comment.
“You should go. She wanted you to have all of this. That’s why she gave it to you.”
She put down the letter and picked up Maria’s clothing. The softness tingled her fingertips, and she pressed it to her lips and inhaled the scent of it. Tears spilled onto her cheeks and soaked the material. She closed her eyes until the feeling passed then folded the items and set them back on the bed. Her eyes stung, and she swallowed back the lump that had become a permanent feature in her throat. She tried to smile at the black and white photograph of Maria, but her heart hurt too much. It was an image intended for a passport. Maria looked so serious, so dark and moody. What Simone wouldn’t give to see that look now. She stroked the stern features and placed the small image carefully back into the case. The absence of Maria came to her in a shock wave as she covered the image to protect it.
Trembling, she picked up the small package and emptied its contents on the bed. The flight tickets would take her directly to Paris, where she would check in at the Ritz. From there, she would walk a mere five-hundred metres to the Palais Garnier. She would go to the box at the southern entrance. The performance, Swan Lake.
The rawness felt like an open wound being prodded with every memory, every thought, every glorious feeling shattered by reality was a pain Simone would take to her grave. She couldn’t imagine a time when she wouldn’t feel tortured by loss. Their relationship was cut short before it had time to grow. If Maria had gone with her that night, if they had run away together there and then, they would be together now. Maria would be alive.
Sobs rocked her body, and tears flooded her cheeks. She let them flow. She drew in a long deep breath and released it slowly. At least Maria had escaped the mafia, although she had paid the ultimate price.
She studied the legal documents for the farmhouse. She smiled to herself. Maria was Mariella Sanchez. The property, the boat that Maria had commissioned that Simone would find moored in the port of Valencia, and the Swiss bank accounts. All of it untraceable. Maria, Mariella. She liked the way the name rolled off her tongue. She smiled at the passport with her own image in it and the unfamiliar name, Simonet Begnoit, issued in France. Maria had taken care of a new identity for her too. Maria had planned for them both to leave Sicily without being traced.
She looked up. Roberto was watching her, his smile looked wistful, and his eyes weary with sadness.
“You have to go, you know? You can start a new life where you will be able to live openly and freely. You can be yourself.”
She lowered her head. She only wanted to be herself with Maria.
The idea of any other lover wasn’t an option.
He went to her and lifted her to her feet. “Hey, what is there to lose?
Worse case, you take a holiday and you come home again. You’ve always wanted to see the ballet. Maria wanted that for you too. Why don’t you do it for her?” He shrugged.
He was trying to smile, trying to be upbeat, she could see that. His eyes conveyed quietness and the steadiness that came with the responsibility he held. She had noticed that quality developing over the past months, and especially since he had taken the position as Giovanni’s right-hand man and started working on the construction of the tech park. He had
grown up to the point of being unrecognisable to her. She stroked his clean-shaven cheek and smiled with a heavy heart. He was still her baby brother, and she would always love him for that. “It won’t be the same without her.”
“I know.” He pulled her into his chest, held her tightly and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I love you, sis. I’m so sorry. I really liked her a lot,” he whispered in a broken voice.
Simone closed her eyes. I loved her more than life. She pulled away, took a deep breath, and stared into his eyes. “I love you too.”
He brushed a tear from her cheek. “She wanted you to have a new life, a good life.”
She sighed. “I know.”
He stroked the hair from her face.
She sighed. “I will go to the ballet.”
He let her go and smiled. “It will be good for you.”
38.
Simone ambled slowly up to the doors of the Palais Garnier, becoming more breathless as she adjusted to each aspect of the stunning Napoleon III style architecture. Statuesque, symmetrical columns formed the front façade, gilded figural groups crowned the apexes of the principle façades on the right and left side, and sculptured bronze busts of many of the great composers were located between the columns. It was striking as a building and inspirational as a representation of history.
She stood and stared upwards, inhaling the warm, slightly humid Parisian air. The low, evening sun tingled her back and shoulders, and a light breeze refreshed her skin. A dark-haired woman wearing a suit caught her eye as she walked past in the direction of the theatre’s doors. She sighed and closed her eyes. The woman didn’t look anything like Maria.
She took a deep breath, climbed the steps, and entered the opera house. Vast columns of gold towered above her, painted ceilings looked down on her, and bright light poured through her, illuminating the substantial central staircase that peeled off in two directions forming a bridge to the various theatre entrances. The back of her eyes burned, and her throat constricted. The awesomeness of the building�
��s magnificence was lessened considerably by the absence of Maria. Pleasure and sadness vied within her. Maria would want me to enjoy this.
Simone shielded her heart with her hand and stood, transfixed by the intensity of the lively ambience in the foyer. She gazed around. A myriad of voices came and went. People moved around her casually, studying the ticket in their hands and pointing to the appropriate entrance for their seat location. Reminded of her need to find the box, she gathered herself and walked over to a woman dressed in an usher’s uniform. She held out her ticket.
The woman’s uniform was smartly pressed, and she offered a warm smile. “Please, follow me.”
Simone followed her up the stairs and then peeled off to the right.
The woman opened the door and entered the box. Simone hesitantly stepped inside.
The scene of her wishes struck her, Maria’s perfume came to her, and her eyes darted hopefully around the small space, hoping for the illusion to be true.
A bottle of champagne rested on ice in a silver bucket to the side of a table. Two crystal glasses shimmered in the subdued lighting. Two high-back chairs decorated in ornate gold leaf trim and deep red suede leather were placed next to each other, the arms touching, orientated on a slight angle so that they were both directed towards the stage.
She swallowed back the wave of sadness, turned swiftly to face the usher, and forced a smiled at the usher. The woman smiled back at her. It was probably the same smile she gave any guest. Polite but lacking.
“Are you expecting a guest this evening, madame?”
The question was perfectly normal, but it cut Simone in two, and she could barely breath to answer. “Um, no.”
“Very well, madame. Is there anything else I can get for you?”
