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Gwen was torn between her desire for revenge and her love for him, and she hated herself for it. She wanted it to be violent, but she also just wanted it to be over. It happened to be a Thursday that I found myself at his mistress’s house. She was passed out on the sofa, too intoxicated to notice my presence. It made it easier for when he arrived. I waited by the door and hit him in the back of the head first, rendering him unconscious before I dragged him to her bedroom.
I gagged him and performed the task Gwen asked of me with efficiency and a numbness that surprised me. Mr. Marcone cried as I sawed off his cock and shoved it down his throat until he choked on it. I never felt any remorse for what I did, even as I left there with the knowledge that his mistress would probably be hanged for the crime. Gwen praised me when I returned. She told me I’d saved her, and I had done a good thing, but her sadness never truly left her. Over the years, she withered into a shell of her former self. She never tried to love again. She never wanted to. When her other son Ricardo was murdered, I think she stopped living altogether.
Enzo and I were all she had left. She relied on me, and I failed her. Again and again, I failed her. If I had truly been there for her, I wouldn’t be burning her body right now. I wouldn’t have ever let it come to this. It only further proves the one unyielding truth I’ve lived with all these years. I am my father’s son. This is why I can’t allow anyone to get close to me. I can’t trust myself to take care of them.
My phone chimes and I’m reluctant to look at it, but I know it’s Manuel. He’s sending me updates as he promised he would after I gave the hospital permission to discharge Natalia this afternoon. She’s at home now, locked in one of the guest suites. Nino doesn’t know she’s there, and I’ve given Manuel strict instructions to call for the doctor if she becomes too overwhelmed, but so far, his texts indicate it won’t come to that.
I retrieve my phone from my pocket and read his message.
Just checking in, boss. She’s still despondent. Refusing to eat. Won’t communicate with me. But she is safe. No signs of harming herself.
His report is bothersome, but I can’t do anything about it right now. I suspect it’s only going to get worse once I receive the maternity report and relay it to her. She’ll realize everything she believed was a lie. Mrs. Hudson made a convincing argument for Elizabeth, however, it doesn’t negate the fact that she was deemed the mother by the Tribunal.
“All good, Mr. Scarcello?”
John’s voice startles me, and I turn to face him. He’s the owner of the crematorium, another member of IVI, and I have an ongoing arrangement with him. I bring the bodies, and he allows me to use his facilities with no questions asked.
“Everything is fine, John. Thank you.”
“You want me to call you when it’s done?” he asks.
“No.” I return my phone to my pocket. “I’m going to stay for this one.”
23
Alessio
Over the next three days, I spend my time cleaning up Gwen’s house. During the process, I discover that her security system has also been disabled, and the footage of her last day is frustratingly absent. I leave everything from that week as is for when IVI will inevitably come to do their own investigation. I’ve already scoured every second of the footage myself, and there’s nothing of note. There are other things I don’t have time to comb over just yet, so I take them as a precaution. I find a stash of old hard drives in her private office, documents belonging to Mr. Marcone, and a copy of the case files for Ricardo’s death. There’s a lot to go through, but I could use the distraction.
Enzo has already left me multiple messages asking if I’ve seen or heard from his mother. This evening, I’ll have to report her missing, and the Tribunal will break the news to him. I’ll have to talk to him at some point, but not until I’ve figured out this situation with Natalia.
She’s still locked in the guest suite at home. Manuel has been checking her hourly, delivering meals, and ensuring her safety. With every report he gives me, my discomfort only grows. She’s eaten very little, and he tells me she’s still despondent. Once, she asked to see me, and I couldn’t bring myself to inquire how she responded when he told her no.
I’m anxious for the results from the doctor and even more so for the conversation that will follow. But right now, I can only focus on putting out one fire at a time.
