Chapter 1
627 Words
Part of my body was packed into twenty-six cedar boxes and arranged into a twisted C at the entrance of the Vitale family headquarters.
It was the first letter of Carlo Vitale's name.
The excess parts were dumped into the sewage treatment pit at the docks.
On Monday morning, Carlo had just left his mistress's bed and driven to headquarters to handle business when he saw it.
His lieutenant, Tony, sucked in a sharp breath behind him, but Carlo only narrowed his gray-green eyes.
He immediately pulled out his encrypted phone and dialed my number.
He thought it was some stunt I was pulling to force him home, since he hadn't been home in over a month.
But, of course, the call didn't go through. I was already dead, and part of my body was displayed at his headquarters—a carefully packaged declaration of war.
He tried three times, only to be met with the cold busy signal.
His thumb hovered over the screen for a moment, then he swiped open the chat and angrily typed a line:
Avery, are you insane? Pulling this s**t at headquarters? You think we don't have enough enemies?
I said I'd come back. What's your rush?
Anyone reading that message would think it was just a couple having a fight.
No one knew that seconds before sending it, he was still thinking about another woman—a blonde named Clara, whose blue eyes were remarkably similar to his dead first love, Irene's.
He wanted an heir, but he didn't want one with me.
He only wanted that girl who looked like Irene to bear his child—a child with Vitale blood.
How ironic. How devoted.
Carlo was about to start the engine and get away from the cursed place when the walkie-talkie crackled with a frantic report from the dock guard.
"Don! The sewer... there's more in the sewer..."
Carlo's fingers froze. He took a deep breath, turned the car around, and the black Maserati sped toward the docks.
For six full hours, the stench of the docks made even seasoned enforcers clutch their mouths and retch on the side.
I floated far above, watching them sweat as they fished out the pieces. It made me nauseous, but mostly numb.
What they pulled up couldn't form a whole person.
I died in agony.
That pain was so deep in my bones that even now, as a lingering soul, I couldn't help trembling at the memory.
Those twenty-six cedar boxes were still at headquarters, a gift for Carlo Vitale.
He wouldn't touch them, so no one else dared.
Carlo finished cleaning up the dock mess and returned to headquarters in the afternoon.
He paced around the boxes twice, frowning, his face full of undisguised disgust.
"Avery, you useless b***h," he muttered hoarsely, "always causing trouble at the worst times."
I wanted to tell him I wasn't causing trouble, that I didn't mean to.
If I could have chosen, I would have crawled far away and never shown myself to him again.
But I couldn't control it.
I was dead. How my body was handled, who sent it where—that wasn't up to me.
'Carlo, just open those boxes, look inside.
Look at the tattoo. Look at the joint of that severed finger. Then you'll know I wasn't messing around.
The Lucchese family did this to rile you up. You're their target. You need to be careful.'
I suddenly felt pathetic. Even dead, I was still worrying about a man who never loved me.
Carlo kicked one of the boxes over.
The beautifully wrapped container hit the steps, and a dark red viscous liquid seeped from the edge.
I felt a flicker of hope. 'Was he finally going to realize?'
- Writer
