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Nothing but the cold rage still burning deep down inside.
She betrayed me.
She. Betrayed.Me.
I see the white envelope peeking up from the rubble, resting atop a picture frame on the floor. I bend down, reaching into the mess, and pull out both the missive and the framed photograph that previously sat on my desk. A wedding photo of Bianca and me, snapped as we were leaving the chapel.
I open the envelope and pull out the single sheet of paper inside. The words blur as I read, and I scrub at my eyes to clear them. I will never allow myself to cry. Ever. Over anything.
Rio, you must hate me now. I’m so sorry. You need to know that Carlos Rossi was not aware of the attacks until afterward. Anders was working on his own, without permission from his boss.
I will process that information later. Right now, I focus only on the last scrawled line of the note.
I love you, Rio. I always will.
The note drops to the floor as I pull the framed photo closer, studying it. She is staring up at me, her lips parted and her eyes flashing with a myriad of emotions. Love and hate. Even back then, she couldn’t hide the desire; the need.
Despite her hatred for me and everything I stand for.
I prop the frame upright on the floor in front of my feet, thinking about love and hate. Desire and betrayal.
I reach into my jacket pocket for my cell phone—somehow, despite the devastation I’ve just inflicted on my office, I am still wearing my suit—and dial a number I know well.
“Dartside Investigations. Can I help you?”
“It is Rio.”
An audible hiss at the other end confirms my name is enough introduction. “Yes, sir. How can we assist today?”
“I need someone found. A woman. The job is one of life and death. And the budget is…” I pause, considering. “The budget is limitless. Whatever it takes, this woman must be found and brought to me. As a matter of supreme urgency.”
Before my child is born.
I reach again beneath my jacket and this time pull out the gun that Carnarvon returned to me the moment we left the offices of the Feds.
I check. It is fully loaded. Good. Idly, I spin the chamber, looking down at the photo. The moment it was taken was a snapshot in time where I was, if not happy, at least satisfied with where my life with Bianca was headed.
Spin, click. Spin, click.
It was a time before my aunt was murdered. A time before my family was threatened. A time before myfucking wife betrayed me.
Spin, click.
What’s a little more glass among this mess?
I cock the gun and point it at the photo, steadying the barrel, focusing on Bianca’s face.
My beautiful wife.La mia bella moglie.
And then I pull the trigger.
I’m coming for you, little bird.
* * *
