Chapter 2
671 Words
Carlo's expression finally changed.
He pulled out his phone again and dialed my number obsessively, almost crushing the screen.
But the call would never go through. Dead people couldn't answer phones.
Rage twisted his sharp-featured face. He shouted into the empty courtyard,
"Avery! What the hell are you doing? Get the f**k out here and clean up this mess!
"Have you no shame? Do you even want to stay in this family?"
But his anger was only met with silence.
Tony couldn't take it anymore. He hesitated, then bent down to pick up the overturned box—and got his hands covered in blood.
Tony's face went pale. Fighting back his disgust, he opened the lid, and a thick, coppery smell hit him.
Inside the box was a piece of human tissue soaked in congealed blood. You could still see the faint pattern of skin.
Soon, the remaining twenty-five boxes were opened one by one. Inside were twenty-six pieces of human tissue from the same person.
They were all parts of me.
Carlo finally stopped cursing.
He stared at the Black Hawk Tattoo still visible on one of the pieces—the one he'd inked onto me himself, marking me as his, as part of the Vitale family.
His pupils contracted. The color drained from his face.
He spun around, his voice dry: "DNA test! I want results! Now!
"And surveillance! Pull every camera feed from this area for the past week! Tear all of Sicily apart if you have to, but find those Lucchese bastards!"
He was practically screaming. His men were silent, none daring to provoke him.
Those gray-green eyes were now fixed on the reeking box.
DNA tests took time. Carlo stood at the headquarters entrance, smoking one cigarette after another, ash scattering in the morning breeze.
He pulled out his phone. My face was on the screen.
He was about to dial again when a video call popped up.
It was Clara.
He hesitated for a second, then answered.
"Carlo, darling, when are you coming back? I'm so bored all alone."
Clara, in a silk robe, curled up on the couch, pouting at the camera.
Carlo's frown deepened, but his voice unconsciously softened,
"I'm busy, babe. I'll come back later to keep you company. Be good."
That was a gentle tone I'd never heard from him. The only woman he'd ever spoken to like that was Irene—who was dead.
Now he gave that tenderness to someone else.
My heart ached. So even dead, I could still feel pain.
Clara cooed a few more things on the phone. Carlo grunted a few times, forced a reassuring smile, and hung up.
That faint, almost imperceptible smile at the corner of his lips made my heart hurt even more.
By then, half a day had passed since his morning calls and texts, and I still hadn't responded.
That was way too strange.
In the past, I always replied to his texts instantly and answered his calls before the third ring.
I didn't know if Carlo remembered that the last time I called him, he was busy making a baby with Clara.
That day was our wedding anniversary. He probably thought I was calling to ask him home for dinner. But I was calling for help.
I was pinned to the cold floor by the Lucchese men.
With my last ounce of strength, I dialed his number—and heard Clara's uncontrolled giggles and the squeaking of a mattress.
I knew immediately what they were doing.
I wished that call had never gone through. I would have rather died quietly, without hearing that.
But Carlo answered. In my most desperate moment, he gave me the final blow with the sounds of him and his lover.
By then, I had already been strung up.
The Lucchese goons sneered, "Get your man to save you, or this is what you get."
But Carlo just panted impatiently and snapped,
"Leave me alone. I'll come back once she's pregnant." Then he hung up.
- Writer
