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.
I’ve watched the footage so many times it feels like my eyes are bleeding. Everything hurts. She was so meticulous in her plans it leaves little doubt that she’s been thinking of this for some time. Was it before we married or after? Regardless, it makes little difference. What it boils down to is that I lied to her about Enzo, and now the worst has happened as a result.
I don’t know where they are. I don’t know if they’re safe, or warm, or scared. It’s a hopeless feeling, one I’m not accustomed to. There’s an army of guards searching for them, but every minute that passes feels like this is the beginning of a lifelong sentence. I can’t say I don’t deserve it, but I’m not willing to let them go.
I find myself standing in the middle of the parlor room, staring at the Christmas tree that looks like it’s been frosted with snow. Natalia ordered it, and she and Nino decorated it together. It’s the first time I’ve ever had one in the house. I barely gave it a passing glance before, but now all I can see are missed opportunities. While I was busy dividing the household, they were living. They were living without me.
I stagger forward, collapsing onto the floor. I can’t fucking breathe. I never wanted to feel this way again. I did everything in my power to prevent it, and yet here I am. I stare at the presents beneath the tree, blinking away my endless existence. Natalia took so much care to wrap Nino’s gifts. She left me lists of the things she was buying him, so there wouldn’t be duplicates.
I was too caught up in the war in my head to see what was right in front of me, but I can see it now. There’s a gift with my name on it. A small square box wrapped in red paper with Natalia’s handwriting. Unlike the other gifts that Nino addressed to me, this one is just from her.
Curiosity has me dragging it into my lap. I can’t remember the last time I opened a gift from someone. When I was a boy, my mother would give us thoughtful gifts every year. Then I moved in with Gwen and her family, and her version of Christmas gifts was stacks of cash in each of our stockings. I didn’t need the money. I had more than I could ever want after I inherited my family’s estate, but Gwen told us we should just buy ourselves whatever we wanted. Over time, I came to see Christmas as a commercial holiday, forgetting the sentiment involved.
Somehow, I know Natalia’s gift won’t be something random she grabbed from a shelf at the department store, and selfishly, I want to know what it is.
I rip off the paper, tossing it aside to find a box of white gauze bandages with a small envelope taped to the side. When I open the envelope, there’s a stack of paper in Natalia’s handwriting. I glance at the first sheet, reading the words she left me.