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Maybe not but I’m not going to shoot a man. I’m going to shoot Il Diavolo. His cold dead shark eyes will elicit no guilt in me. No hesitation. In, fire, out. That’s all I have to do.
After that? I don’t really give a shit what happens after that.
At least I’m not pregnant by him. That’s something that would have complicated matters. I know the odds of getting pregnant after having sex once are slim but I did worry until I was far enough along to test. When my periods came like they always have, I sighed with relief even as I fetched the wheat bag out of my microwave to dull the cramps.
I don’t need directions. I’ve taken this journey in my head so often, I could do it with my eyes closed.
Twenty
Aurora
* * *
It doesn’t take long to get there. The traffic’s pretty light for the time of day. As I get on the long wide street leading to the Casella mansion, my heart starts to thud in my chest.
Can I do this? Can I kill a man?
I decide to ignore the questions gnawing at me. I’ll just do this one step at a time.
I have to do it anyway. The police have denied me justice. No suspects found. Case closed. My entire family dead. My dogs dead. No one goes to prison for it.
I will have my revenge.
I pull up outside the gate to the mansion. There’s a call button I can reach from the van’s window. I lean out and press it. “Yes,” a gruff man’s voice says back through the tinny speaker.
“I’ve got a suit from Austero’s laundry. Due in today.”
There’s no answer but the gates swing open. I drive up, and as I do, I get an image in my head. Out of nowhere, I’m naked and Nico is on top of me, kissing me so hard, it takes my breath away.
I shake the image away. I won’t think about that. I refuse to consider the way I felt that night together. He is evil and he took advantage of me. He has no right to invade my thoughts. He has to die.
What about how good it was? How right it felt? What about the fact you wanted more than one night. A lot more.
No, I won’t think about that. I shake the thoughts away, refusing to consider them.
I pull up outside the house. There’s a guy in his fifties standing on the doorstep, waiting. He reminds me of an owl. “Upstairs,” he says before I’m even out of the van. “Put it in Nico’s room. He’ll be up in a minute to collect.”
I climb out of my seat. “Which one’s his room?” I ask, hardly able to believe my luck.
“The only one with an open door.” He turns and heads inside.
I pull open the back door of the van, lifting the bag out. The suit’s inside. His suit. The suit that makes him look so good.
Stop it, I tell myself. Stop thinking that.
I make sure my handbag’s on my shoulder as I walk up the steps into the mansion.
It’s a beautiful building, there’s no doubt about that. People are walking in and out of rooms on the first floor, all of them looking better dressed than me.
Expensive suits are in abundance. The few women I see are statuesque beauties, all in matching white dresses like they’ve been plucked from a musical revue somewhere. Paintings line the walls of the entrance halls. Statues that look like they’ve been dug up from ancient Rome and Greece. Marble floor in polished white and red. It all speaks of money. A lot of money.
My family home had splintered stairs, loose carpets, bannisters that creaked if you leaned on them. Not here. Not a thread is out of place on the stairs. The wood has been polished and varnished. The whole place reeks of wealth.
I cross to the staircase and make my way up. No one speaks to me. No one even looks my way. I step out into a corridor lined with dark wooden doors. The sound of voices dies away as I walk along, looking for an open door.
It’s at the end of the corridor, inviting me in, hanging open like a gaping mouth.
I take a deep breath. The gun feels like a lead weight in my handbag, dragging me down with each step forward.
