Page 25 of Revenge on the Mafia

July 21st

Hazlo mejor, Anna. Es un misterio. Un misterio que acabará enterrado con él.

Do better, Anna. He’s a mystery. A mystery that will be buried, along with him.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

ANNA

Six days passed, and even though his forehead took on the color of a rainbow, the monstruo who killed Papá was still alive. I’d lain awake in the night, imagining him. Chest moving. Then imagining him. Chest frozen. That was my way of preparing. Every night without fail, I wrote in my diary, the same thing over and over again.

Tengo que hacerlo. No hay otra manera.

I have to do it. There's no other way.

The thought of it twisted my stomach. As it should. Taking a life was not a joke. But it had to be done. For Papá. For Mamá. Even Mara and for me.

I didn’t remember who’d killed him or if all three of them had. The silver glint of a knife, a gaping hole, and blood, so much blood. I could never wear red after that day. Even if the rest of that twenty-four hours was just a dark black hole. Every time I tried to clear my memory, it felt like someone had thrust my head underwater and held me under forcefully. Just the thought of that day was enough to turn my blood to ice. It didn’t matter anyway. What I knew and didn’t. He had been there, in that room.

The night before, I’d dreamed of him. Rather, his voice. Both warm and cold. Calm and volatile. He’d said something on that day. The words were on the edge of my memory, but every time I reached for them, they slipped out of my grasp.

I had to accept that I would never know the truth. The words, the deed, the actions that played out on that day and well before it that set everything in motion… because even I knew the Mafia didn’t roll up to an accountant’s home to kill him if he’d been innocent.

You’re a fucking thief.

I quelled the doubt that rose to the surface like an ugly monster. Papá was good. He had to be. I’d lost everything. I couldn’t lose the image of him as well. No matter how faint it was.

It didn’t matter anymore. I couldn’t have it all. I couldn’t know the story behind the past and get to kill the people who changed it. I had to choose between the truth and death. I’d chosen death. Besides, something told me the truth about the past would be the final brick to bring me down. I didn’t need that when I so badly wanted… no… needed to move on. For Mamá’s sake. For Mara.

They said revenge was best served cold. But I served it sizzling hot.

The kitchen filled with the scent of hot smoke and fresh garlic. Magda had finally succumbed to the flu and disappeared into her bedroom. She had informed me proudly that when she was sick, which had apparently only happened once before, they got food down from the Don’s cook. The firstborn of Boris Martello, she’d informed me. I’d listened as if Lorenzo Martello was a name I’d never known before. Never came across in my internet search either. What was new was the information that the Don was in Sicily with his wife, and the cook was on holiday. Perfect time to commit my crime and get away with it. So, I’d done the gracious thing. Offered to cook for the underboss. Signor Niccolò Martello.

Lo quiero muerto.

Lo quiero muerto.

I want him dead!

My hands trembled like empty tin cans in a gust of wind. I had made gāmbās pil pil a thousand times. But I’d never poisoned it before.

Gripping the sweet paprika, I squashed it flat and cut it into uneven strips. I needed a dead Martello at the end of this meal. Another dead Martello. My vision blurred. The knife slipped. The cut ripped through my index finger, and before I could block it, crimson oozed out of the deep gash.

“La puta madre.” I grabbed the counter with my uninjured hand, forcing my gaze away, keeping it on anything other than the blood that was probably pooling out.

“Joder, did she see all that blood?”

“We need to sedate her.”

“Put her down before she hurts herself.”

Sweat beaded on my forehead.

It had been years. My God, I’m such an idiot. Get a handle on yourself.

Eyes squeezed, I peeked at the cutting board. ¡Joder! The white had stained with red. A sob burst out of me. I rocked on my knees as I felt around the floor. What was I even doing? Why was I on the floor?

I am better than this. Stronger. Get your shit together, Anna.