Of course. How could he know? He’d never seen his own family killed before his very eyes, yet he couldn’t, wouldn’t justify the way she’d brought them to justice. It went against everything he believed in.
At the same time, he remembered the pleasure he’d felt shooting Garnish. The memory of that pleasure crawled across his mind, throwing all his certainties into doubt.
“My father gave his life for me,” continued Adele. She was still holding the gun, but she seemed less convinced now. “He had to be vindicated.”
“What do you mean?” he asked. Her father hadn’t told the killers where the safe was kept. He had chosen to die, leaving his daughter a considerable inheritance. Was that what she meant? Something didn’t add up.
“The safe was in my room, in the attic. No one thought to look up there. They didn’t even know I existed. Garnish knew about the jewelry, but he didn’t even bother figuring out how many members of the family there were.”
“Oh my God,” murmured Eric. Suddenly everything was clear.
“My father let himself be tortured to death because he realized they didn’t know about me. If he’d told them where the safe was, they would have discovered my room and searched the house for me. They would have found me, and they would have killed me. Just like they did with everyone else. Do you understand?” Tears were flowing freely down her face now. “I heard his screams. I heard all their screams. I kept my hands pressed against my ears.” She mimicked the position she’d held, pressing her hands and even the pistol against her head. “But they were so loud I could still hear them. I didn’t think they would ever stop.” Adele was weeping openly, hiccupping and shaking, but the grip on her gun never wavered, even with her arms wrapped around her torso now.
Eric was struggling. Part of him wanted to hug her close, reassure her, tell her that everything was going to be all right. In spite of everything, Adele was still the woman he loved, but that didn’t change what she’d done. He didn’t know if he could ever truly forgive her, even though he knew she was the person most in need of his help. If she wound up in prison, it wouldn’t make a difference. She wasn’t dangerous anymore. She’d completed her vendetta, and maybe she didn’t have much of anything else left. Except for him.
They stood there for a few minutes, she crying silently and he thinking, uncertain what to do next.
Then Adele began to calm down. She dried the tears from her face with her free hand and stared back at him. She seemed to have exhausted all her energies. He could find no trace of emotion left in her. No anger, no love, not even pain. It was like looking at a ghost.
“I did what I had to do,” said Adele. “My parents, Paul, and Danny . . . finally they can all rest in peace.” Her tone was neutral, like listening to an automaton. Then a faint spark flared briefly in her eyes. “I’m only sorry it means I’ll lose you.”
I tried to read the thoughts behind his gaze. At first he was going to arrest me, I’m sure of it. He was worried I might shoot him, otherwise he would have. But then his attitude changed, once he realized I had absolutely no intention of harming him. He didn’t want me to suffer any more than I already have over all these long years. How could he? He loves me. I know it.
I did everything I could to make him love me, because I love him. I always have. Ever since I looked into his eyes in the garden outside my parents’ house, from that very moment I knew that he was my future. They say a seven-year-old is too young to understand certain things, but I knew right then and there that I wanted this man to love me.
I spent a lifetime watching him, observing him, learning everything I could about him, about his family, about his son.
When I learned he had gotten separated, I knew the time had come to move a little closer to him. It took me time to finish my studies in criminology and to get hired onto his team, but I pulled it off in the end. And ever since then I’ve concentrated all my strength and all my efforts on making sure the thought of me worked its way into his head.
In a certain sense it was fun. It was all a question of doing the right thing at the right moment, like when I slipped a tranquillizer into his beer that night in the pub and brought him home to sleep in my apartment. He was lying there, knocked out, defenseless, completely in my power. My darling Eric.
In the end I did it. I got him to love me. And now he’s about to abandon his principles for me.
But there was something else I knew: it would be difficult, practically impossible, for him to forgive me. And without him, my life wouldn’t make sense anymore.
I kept the blog online, ticking like a time bomb. Eric spoke a little French and would be able to understand its content. I couldn’t carry that weight around forever. I had to share it with him one way or another. I just didn’t have the courage to confess to him face to face.
So I decided to leave my destiny to chance. If he discovered the blog, it would mean my time was up.
It was short, but sweet, and I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. There’s just one thing left to do . . .
Adele tightened her grip on the pistol and brought the barrel up under her chin.
Eric felt terror seize his heart. Time seemed to stand still, his eyes fixed on Adele’s index finger trembling on the trigger, flexing, starting to pull back.
Driven by an irrational impulse, his body launched out toward her. He no longer cared about his own life as he reached out with both hands to grab Adele’s left wrist.
The roar of the bullet exploding filled the room. The mirror hanging on the wall shattered into a thousand pieces, launching shards in all directions. Eric and Adele fell down on their knees together. His hands were holding her arm to one side, the gun slipping out of her fingers and onto the floor. They stared into each other’s eyes for a long time.
Adele was the first to break the silence. “It’s over between us, isn’t it?” she said.
Eric was asking himself the same thing.
At last he nodded, but he didn’t know if it really was. Maybe it was just the beginning.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would like to thank the members of my editorial team, all of whom helped bring this book to life: Gabriella Serrenti, Alberto Casu, Alessandra Fadda, Stefania Mattana, Silvia Marongiu, Silvia Molinari, Giorgio Guerreri, Maristella Di Caprio, Andrea Bisognin, and Marco Mincarini.
Special thanks go to Veronica DeLorenzo, who provided extensive comments for the first draft of the novel; to my parents, who have learned to love every literary genre I’ve tackled; and especially to Federico Fadda, my number-one fan and test reader par excellence, for his unwavering love and support.
I would also like to thank all the readers who followed my Red Desert series and decided to try this book as well, even though it isn’t science fiction. I hope you enjoyed the read!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rita Carla Francesca Monticelli was born in Carbonia, Italy. She has lived in Cagliari since 1993, earning a degree in biology and working as a writer, researcher, scientific and literary translator, and freelance web copywriter. Monticelli has authored L’isola di Gaia (The Isle of Gaia), Affinità d’intenti (Kindred Intentions), and the science fiction series Deserto rosso (Red Desert), which is also available in English. The Mentor is her sixth book.
ABOUT THE TRANSLATOR
Photo © 2012 Davide Carlesso
Aaron Maines is a freelance writer and literary translator based in Milan, Italy. He has written for a number of publications on both sides of the Atlantic, including the Wall Street Journal, the Washington Post, and the New York Times in the United States, as well as Cartier Art and L’Europeo in Europe.
Maines has translated books and essays by Umberto Eco, Oriana Fallaci, Elisabetta Dami (Geronimo Stilton), Tullio Kezich, Andrea De Carlo, and others. In 2007, he was chosen to translate filmmaker Federico Fellini’s personal diary, The Book of Dreams.
Monticelli, Rita Carla Francesca, The Mentor
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