48. Ginevra

CHAPTER 48

Ginevra

T he news called what happened at my parents’ home a burglary gone wrong. Their recounting of the situation makes it sound so simple, instead of the convoluted mess that it actually was with Oliver holding us hostage in his twisted game of heroics.

The worst part is that the man is still at large. Oliver is out there, somewhere, watching and waiting. Because of that, I haven’t gone anywhere without multiple bodyguards.

After reading that article, and several nights of waking up in a cold sweat, I signed myself up for therapy. Honestly, it’s something I’ve needed for a long time. I found a brilliant therapist who works specifically with women who’ve been through what I have. It’s such a relief to be able to talk to someone, to have them listen, and the hope of healing myself with effort and time.

Blake stayed in the hospital for several days. He was discharged yesterday, just in time to attend my father’s funeral this morning.

I stand beside my family in the graveyard on a bright, sunny late summer day. Birds chirp in the trees above us, it’s a harsh contrast to the priest's solemn prayers over Papa’s coffin. The deep hole in the earth is surrounded by our extended family, as well as the other mafia Italians: Casella, Rizzo, and Valente. My family, the Pontrellis, are the fourth pillar of power in this world. Today, we not only mourn his tragic passing, but also anticipate the upheaval brought on by the loss of a don.

Who will succeed him?

After the burial, we all make our way to Mama’s house, which is open for visitors throughout the day so they may pay their respects and offer us condolences.

I drift aimlessly through my childhood home, feeling so detached from what happened here. So many secrets, lies, and bloodshed. Papa wasn’t the best of dons, but he was far better than his older brother.

As I enter one of the rooms, I spot the aunties gathered around a table playing cards. Not once in my life have I ever grown tired of listening to them gossip. Most people avoid the meddling women, but I’ve always found comfort in their company—as long as I’m not the subject of the hour.

“With Davide gone, who is going to be the new don? He doesn’t have any more brothers.”

I lean closer to better eavesdrop. I’m curious about that too.

“Don’t you know? I do.”

“Then tell us, you old tease.”

“I’ll give you a hint. His last name is Pontrelli. He’s young and handsome and… broody. I’ve already come up with a list of seven eligible young ladies for him to court.”

“You’re still being a tease. The Pontrelli men are all dead.”

“Not the ones in Italy.”

“But—”

I feel a presence behind me right before an accented voice speaks, “My condolences, Mrs. Baron.”

I turn, finding a distant relative that I never thought to see in New York. “Maximo Pontrelli.”

“That is me. I am at your, and your family’s, service.”

“They’re talking about you, aren’t they? You’re going to be our new don?”

“Yes. My father does not want to leave Italy, so the honor passes to me. Why… why do you frown?”

“Aren’t you kind of young? You’re not married either, are you?” I don’t know why I’m grilling him. I’m just surprised, I guess.

“Yes, well, I’m sure I will have to prove myself before the family in New York sees me as worthy of my new role. But I never back down from a challenge.” He stands straighter, squaring his shoulders.

“Easy there, tiger. No one’s putting you on the spot, yet.”

“You just said I am too young.”

“Good point. If I said it out loud, then you can bet everyone else is thinking it.”

He scowls, surveying those in the room.

“There you are, magpie.” Blake loops his arm around my waist, pulling me into a possessive hold. “Want to introduce me to your friend?”

“This is Maximo Pontrelli. We briefly met when I was in Italy. Maximo, this is my husband, Blake Baron.”

They both grunt in greeting and shake each other’s hands. Maximo politely excuses himself, leaving me and Blake to ourselves.

“How are you feeling?” I ask him, concerned since he’s still healing.

“I’m fine. Don’t fret about me. However, I wouldn’t mind getting out of here soon, if you’re ready to go. I have a surprise waiting for you.”

“Oh?”

He’s been out of the hospital for only one day, what has he been up to in that short amount of time?

“I think you’ll really like it,” he murmurs close to my ear.

A shiver runs through me, peaking my nipples. We haven’t had sex in what feels like forever and I’m in desperate need of him.

“What is this surprise?”

“Let me give you a hint.” From his pocket, he retrieves a small enamel pin, in the shape of a magpie.

Four for death.

“For my father’s death?” I ask.

“It’s kind of a two for one deal.”

“ B lake, what is this place?” The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as we move further underground, deep into the bowels of a shady looking warehouse.

“I call it storage.” He grips my hand more firmly. “Don’t worry, nothing can hurt you down here. Promise.”

“What do you usually store down here?”

“Contraband. Secrets… People.”

Oh my god . “And we’re here because..?” Death . But what does that mean? Whose death?

“Because today is the day that you put all of your demons to rest. This morning you buried the man you knew as your father. This evening you’ll bury another man who hurt you.” He shoves open a squeaky metal door and a dim light flickers on.

My gaze immediately latches onto Oliver’s nude form. He’s strapped to a chair in the center of the room.

Relief. That’s my initial feeling. If Oliver’s here, tied down, then he can’t hurt anyone.

I lick my suddenly dry lips. “H-how long have you had him here?”

“Three days. It took my people longer than expected to find him, but they did, they always do. I was going to take care of him myself, but then I thought that you might want to do this together. Was I right?”

I give his question some serious consideration. Do I want to be down here? Do I want to have a hand in Oliver’s fate?

He raped me.

He murdered my father.

He shot Blake.

“Yes, you were right.” My voice comes out surprisingly steady. I fidget with the magpie pin in my pocket, its meaning has become crystal clear. My ex dies today.

“Good.” Blake revives Oliver with smelling salts.

He jerks awake, an animalistic cry tears from his throat, but no words.

“What’s wrong with him?” I ask, my gaze traveling to all the stab wounds I inflicted on him at my parents’ house.

“I cut out his tongue. He didn’t have anything nice to say, and honestly, I was tired of hearing his voice.”

Oh .

“So, how would you like to end this?” Blake gestures toward a rolling cart fully stocked with what I’m assuming are torture instruments. “We can do it slowly, over the course of a week if he has a strong constitution. Or it can be quick: a bullet in the head or a knife to his throat. You call the shots, magpie.”

I’ve fantasized about vengeance, about what I would do if I was in a position of power to do something, for so long that this feels like a dream. If I can really have anything right now, then it’s the fantasy that I’ve spent the most time imagining.

“Can you… can you cut off his dick and have him choke on it?” Ew. That sounds terrible to say aloud. But when I think about everything Oliver did to me, of how frightening and painful… How I felt all alone and had no one to turn to afterwards. He deserves to burn in hell for all of eternity. I guess my job is to send him there.

“If that’s what you want, then it will be done.” Blake slides on a pair of plastic gloves.

Oliver screams, his eyes wide and pleading. I’m not sure why he thinks I’d be merciful, not after everything he’s done. Maybe to him it was all a game, but to me… to me it was my life, my body, my psyche. Things that clearly mean nothing to him.

“That’s what I want,” I clearly state. “I want to watch the spark leave his eyes. Send him to hell.”

Blake picks up a knife and a pair of tongs, then takes a blow torch and heats up the metal blade. He approaches a shaking, incoherently blathering Oliver, whose expression shifts from terrified to outraged. The rank scent of urine permeates the air and I realize he’s pissed himself.

Not such a big tough guy now, are you?

Luckily, Oliver’s a shower, not a grower. Blake pinches the end with his tongs and pulls Oliver’s dick up and out, leaving enough clearance for his slashing, glowing hot knife. He quickly severs the thing. Surprisingly, Oliver manages to only pass out for a moment, then he’s screaming again. The deafening sound echoes through the space.

The sound cuts off abruptly when Blake shoves the dick into Oliver’s open mouth. Using the tongs, he shoves it down his throat, cutting off his airway.

Oliver’s eyes bulge, his skin reddens, then purples, and his body convulses. For the first time in his life, I think he’s experiencing true terror. Too bad it will be relatively short-lived. I could have Blake take it out before he dies, and then subject him to this all over again.

But I’ve wasted enough time and energy on this monster. I'm done.

Standing there, I watch as the light leaves Oliver’s eyes, feeling no remorse. No guilt or even pity.

All I feel is avenged.