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“The note.”
Massimo sat the box down, opened it, and pulled out the note. He handed it to his father first. Giordano read over the message and then read over it again, growing increasingly shocked as he went. He handed the message to his wife. Romina also read it with Giuseppe reading over her shoulder. Romina’s eyes widened, and Giuseppe’s narrowed. When they were finished, Romina handed the paper back to her eldest son.
“So, have you watched it?” Giuseppe inquired.
“No, no,” Massimo answered, shaking his head. “I came right over here.”
“It did say to watch with your family,” Giordano remembered.
“What if it’s something awful?” Romina asked, her hand going to her chest, feeling her increased heartbeat. The drop in her stomach was also felt. “What if?” She began and then stopped, looking at her husband and taking into account her son.
“I don’t think we have a choice but to look,” Giuseppe suggested.
“I don’t want to,” Massimo sighed. Although he treated their relationship like an obligation more than anything else, he still didn't want anything awful to happen to Isotta. And what if the worst had already occurred, that something bad, permanent had happened to her? That would ruin all his prospects and set him back in his quest to run the business. He shook his head again. Why couldn’t he just care about her because he cared about her? Why couldn’t he be concerned about her instead of ultimately concerned about himself? Maybe that was the real reason why he didn’t want to watch because he was, underneath it all, genuinely concerned about Isotta. The conflictual thoughts felt overwhelming. Still, Massimo didn’t want to see it. He still didn’t want to watch because whatever it was, it would be too much.
“We have to, son,” Giordano insisted. “Maybe there’s some clue as to where she’s being held. We have to find out.”
Massimo heard what his father said, but he still felt resistance in his soul. But the non-fatal possibility started to outweigh the fatal one he felt in his heart. Massimo sighed heavily as he turned the video over to his brother, who put it in the player.
Francesco and Constanza put the video into the player.
They were hesitant to watch it, but they sat down, preparing themselves as best as they could.
The screen was dark in both places, but soon, it lit up, showing dimly. Each of them squinted until the screen shone a little brighter, enough to make out a woman, Celestina Conti. She was the only one visible on the screen. It was easy to see that there was fear in her reddened and swollen eyes.
“Please, no,” they heard Celestina say. “Please.”
They still couldn’t see who she was speaking to, but the movement of her eyes suggested that whoever it was stood right out of view.
“Ah!” They heard her say as they witnessed a gloved hand crossing the screen and smacking Celestina across the face, not once but twice. Costanza’s eyes widened as she was shocked by the offense. Francesco found himself gripping the arms of the chair he sat in. Celestina couldn’t even console herself by rubbing her cheeks. Her hands were still cuffed.
“Why are you doing this to me?” She cried. “And where is my daughter?”
That demand got the attention of all those watching.
“Isotta?” Francesco asked aloud. He was momentarily confused. Was their daughter there with her?
“They took Isotta, too?” Costanza mused. “Who are these people?”
“I have no idea,” Francesco admitted. Then, his eyes were fixed on the screen again. This time, he watched as the same gloved hands tore at his wife’s blouse. He heard her pleading and crying, and his heart ached for her as his anger grew. Who would have the audacity to take his wife and then humiliate her?
Then, the questioning happening in his mind ceased as his eyes fixed on the screen, even though he had every desire to turn away. The gloved hands continued to tear at his wife’s blouse until it was torn to shreds, revealing her shaking alabaster skin.
“Please, no,” she uttered. Her voice was weak, and when she spoke, it pricked Francesco’s soul. He wanted to do something about it, the assault he bore witness to. But he was at home, and his wife was wherever she was.
But the hands didn’t stop tearing at her blouse, ripping at what protected her sophisticated femininity. Before long, Celestina sat in the chair, hands bound, naked. She willed herself not to cry anymore, even though random silent tears still spilled from her lids.
“Smile for the camera.” The ambiguous male voice spoke from behind the camera as he zoomed in on Celestina.
But she didn’t smile. She held her head up high and stared directly into the perceived eyes of whoever her captor was.
“Satisfied?” She spat.
And then the screen went black.
“What’s happening?” Costanza asked. She cringed for her husband, his wife being so humiliated.
“I don’t know,” Francesco uttered.
