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I think of Elio, and consider not for the first time that wherever he is in the afterlife is better than what I’ll be facing tonight.
The clothes I couldn’t be bothered to take off cling to me more now than they did with the humidity when we stepped out of the club. I know I won’t be able to take the dress off without tearing it, but it’s not like I’ll ever wear it again. It will always be a reminder of what happened tonight.
My stomach turns at the thought of not having the opportunity to wear it again.
Will Alessio leave me naked when he dumps my body like he does with all the others?
I barely make it to my knees before I get sick in the corner of the shower, grateful for only having had two drinks at the club tonight.
I try to convince myself that I’m brave, that I can face whatever Alessio has planned, but my tears still mix with the water running down my face. Being dead isn’t my concern. It’s the path and time I know he’ll take to get me there.
Chapter 7
Hollis
I should feel better than I do as I sit in my truck outside of the hotel I followed Alessio Severino and his men to last night. It isn’t the exhaustion making me twitchy, but the barely controlled anger making my skin tingle.
It took years and countless mistakes before I was able to get control of my temper. It took focus to learn how to channel it rather than letting it have authority over my actions. Right now, I’m having a very hard time reminding myself that I’m more helpful to people alive than going out in a blaze of glory that wouldn’t even make the news.
I doubt anyone will report on Marcello’s death, not even in Chicago where the family reigns supreme. I wouldn’t be surprised if Lucian didn’t pay media outlets for airtime, making his youngest son look like an angel rather than the psychotic man he was.
My head dips, heavy on my shoulders, but sleep right now isn’t an option. I’m already regretting that I didn’t get out of the truck and try to sneak up and see Alessio’s face as he stood over his brother’s dead body. The windows of the SUV were too tinted to see anything in the darkness last night, and I only saw him in profile for the briefest of seconds when they returned to the hotel in the early hours of the morning.
That’s what has to be wrong. Not seeing him break down, not seeing him beg God to take him rather than his little brother is why I don’t feel even partially vindicated. One-third of the Severinos’ monsters has been wiped from the face of the earth, and I should feel relief or something akin to justice, but I don’t.
The beast inside of me doesn’t feel at all satisfied.
That woman’s reminder last night that she was only a child when Ellie was tortured, raped, and murdered, has to be why. I know there’s a twelve-year age difference between Alessio and Marcello. Unless the family is even more fucked up than I thought, Marcello would’ve been safe at home, probably watching cartoons when his older brother sealed his fate.
I’m twitchy, fighting the urge to storm into the hotel and take all the bastards out. Ending Marcello has done nothing more than let some of those demons I’ve fought for years fly freely. Killing one piece of shit doesn’t serve the justice Ellie deserves. As much as I’ve tried to fight thinking of her more than just in passing, I can’t keep from picturing her bringing her finger to her lips, a reminder this was a secret when she’d sneak me an extra cookie when she was babysitting. I remember her brave face despite the tears in her eyes when she told me all boys except me were stupid. I realize now that was after a breakup and her feelings were hurt.
There aren’t many people that die the way she did that were deserving of it, so saying she didn’t deserve what happened to her would be fruitless. Marcello’s death was earned, and honestly, he probably should’ve suffered. If I stopped to think about what I was doing, I might have done things differently, but I still have the chance with Alessio. There’s still an opportunity there. I pray that after I’m done with him, I can finally lay Ellie to rest in my head.
I can’t change the past. I can’t go back in time and intervene by telling Ellie not to accept a ride home from school from her classmate. I can’t stop Patrick from putting his gun in his mouth. I can’t prevent my father from dying of cirrhosis of the liver because he drank his pain away. I certainly can’t let it go. I guess we all deal with her death in our own ways. Those men were weak, too moral to seek vengeance. It’s lucky Ellie had me.
