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His name was the only complete information that was easy to find so far, all the others were dead ends or loose and incoherent pieces when observed outside of the context that we don't know. Massimo made a point of recording everywhere he could the guarantee that he was the master behind the puppets that carried out Gabriella's kidnapping. It was not necessary. I have many enemies, but they all know their place, they would never have dared to set foot in Catania, and they would never have achieved the necessary influence to carry out an attack like this successfully. Coppeline, however, has this bad habit of thinking he's more important than he is, and knowing that I could have crushed him before and didn't; introduces me to a new feeling: guilt.
Security footages were deleted. Cars entered parking lots, didn't leave, but weren't found inside either. Even the traffic control cameras suffered a convenient blackout.
I crack my neck, stretching my tense muscles to the maximum, while my eyes follow the screen of a laptop that scans all the images recorded in the city on today's date and runs a facial recognition program on them. It's too vague an attempt, but I'm not willing to give up any chance.
I stare at the screen, seeing face after face compared to Gabriella's. Looking at the miniature photo of thebambinacauses a sensation in my chest that I imagine is similar to the damage caused by exploding fireworks in a shoebox.
Before Gabriella, recognizing my feelings was easy, it was a simple cycle composed of the need for control, satisfaction in controlling, irritation at having been challenged or because something had escaped my control and, finally, the satisfaction doubled by the act of taking back the feeling of control. No matter the topic, it was always about control.
Bambinastole that from me the first time I saw her on the sidewalk at that Brazilian airport. She was an unknown character planted in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong intentions. She refused to follow the script that anyone would have followed when faced with death and changed, with just one wish, all of mine.
I, who never liked hearing no, started dealing with a succession of them, all coming from the same person, until I became obsessed with her yes's.
Underneath the thick layer of hatred and all the other impulses of violence that are already characteristic of me, there is a feeling that I find difficult to recognize, because I stopped feeling it so long ago that I no longer remembered what thefeeling was. And this is the biggest loss of control that Gabriella has ever caused me: feeling afraid.
Beneath the anger, beneath the instinct for revenge, beneath the violence ready to tear through my facade of civility, pulses such an insistent fear of losing my temper that I know that, for the first time since I can remember, I can’t just regain control, it won't be enough.
Having Gabriella back in my arms and Massimo's dead heart cold in my hands won't be enough. I need more, much more. And may La Santa have mercy on the souls who stand in my path, because no matter how much I increase the scale of violence that I am ready to unleash, nothing seems to be enough.
CHAPTER 62
________
Gabriella Matos
I open my eyes in a reflex. My mind is awakened by the sounds of gunshots and crashes happening very close to my body confined in a space too tight for me to breathe. The reality I encounter is very different, however. Light walls and large windows surround the room bathed in sunlight. I'm lying in an unfamiliar bed, and if it weren't for the discomfort coursing through my body, I would think I was dreaming. I try to move, but I end up groaning because it makes the previously mild sensation bothering my hips and back intensify.
“Oh, you woke up! Excellent!” I paralyze upon hearing the unknown voice.
A piece of furniture creaks before shuffling footsteps begin to sound closer and closer, transforming my heart rate into completely uncontrolled beats.
The owner of the voice stops next to the bed, close to my left shoulder, and leans over it, placing himself in my field of vision. My eyes widen when they come across the familiar face.
The fear I felt grows on an incalculable scale when I recognize the man I saw, months ago, at the event I went to with Vittorio in Rome. Not the first, who openly harassed me in front of Vittorio, but the second, the one who walked away immediately after theDon's arrival. My mouth opens without my permission to expel short, uncontrolled exhales.
“Welcome home, Gabriella.” The white mustache on his thin lips shakes as the words come out, and I press myself against the mattress, terrified.
“W-who are y-you?” I stutter the question and his mouth opens in a smile that only makes him scarier for me.
“I'm your grandfather,” he declares, and I'm sure I've gone crazy or died. Maybe I died during the car accident, that makes a lot more sense than the entire last minute. Fear is an uncontrollable reflex, spreading tremors throughout my body and making me sweat a lot in almost no time. “Calm down, girl! I won't hurt you,” he assures, but I don't believe him, I don't believe him at all.
“W-where is t-the D-don?” I question, stumbling over my words, and that's enough to make the smile on the bald man's face fade.
“Forget him,bambina. You are free from him.”
“F-free?” I blink, more terrified by this prospect than anything else that has crossed my mind since that bullet hit the back window of the car while I was looking at it. How long ago was that? Where am I? I start to shake my head, rejecting the last words the man spoke, words that are confused with my own thoughts, and suddenly all I can pay attention to is the pain radiating through my limbs. God, what is happening? What is happening?
I don't realize I'm struggling until I feel the man's palms grab my arms, and that only makes me more desperate. I feel my face getting wet with tears that I don't realize I'm shedding, and it's only when I hear the sounds that I realize they're mine. I'm screaming, grunting, thrashing, feeling like my body is tearingapart with every movement and I can't do anything about any of these things. I go crazy, losing control over my mind.
“Cazzo!” The man's voice shouts before other words, ones that I can't understand amid the frenzy I find myself in, are shouted too.
I notice movement in the room, but my eyes don't help me understand it. New hands hold my body, making my struggle with my own lack of control even greater until, suddenly, all my limbs become heavy before my eyelids follow suit. I black out.
***
I wake up startled, and a feeling that something is very wrong makes me keep my eyes closed. My head hurts and my body feels heavier than ever, but the pain I remember feeling in a dream isn't here, or maybe it's underneath all the lethargy.
The dryness in my mouth is intense as my consciousness awakens. I try to listen to my surroundings; however, I only find silence. A cold breeze touches my skin and, after some time without hearing any sound, I open my eyes to find myself in a completely dark room.
