37. No More Tears

Chapter 37

No More Tears

Doing a quick Google search on my way down to the basement, I learn that there are three rules to talking to a psychopath. Number one: Establish boundaries and don't get manipulated. Basically, stand your ground. Number two: Remain calm and don't give them the satisfaction of a reaction. Number three: Stay focused on the goal at hand, don't get distracted by diversion tactics.

Easy enough.

Sucking in a deep breath, I slide the steel divider and peek into the rundown dimly lit room. "Andre." A chill zaps down my spine as he cranes his neck toward me, his face thin, dirty, bruised, and broken. "I have a couple of questions for you."

"Who are you?" Andre shifts on the mattress, the rattling of metal sounding from where he sits. He squints, a small smile forming on his face. "Oh, Kiara," he says with a hoarse laugh. "I remember your pretty little eyes. Please, come inside."

"I think this is fine," I wince, bile rising in my throat. "I need to ask you a couple of questions about your cousin. "

"And I will answer all your questions. But not through a door." He cocks his head. "Don't be scared, kukulka—" He shimmies his wrist. "Your boyfriend chained me, like a dog."

Fuck.

"Fine," I sneer, unlocking the door. The hinges creak as I open it and step inside, all my senses on high alert. "Okay, now for my questions."

He smirks, giving me a slow, disgusting once-over. "You are the best Christmas gift I've ever received. And I've gotten many treasures over the years."

I wince at the word treasure. "Do you know a woman by the name of Vittoria?" I ask, hiding my discomfort. "Red hair? Italian?"

"Maybe…" He props himself against the weathered stone wall. "Maybe not. " He smirks at me. "Why?"

"I'm not here to play games, Andre," I state, keeping my distance. "Answer the question or I'm leaving."

"Fine." Andre's eyes harden. "The name sounds familiar." He pauses. "I thought your questions were going to be about my cousin, not some woman I don't know."

"Igor never mentioned that name before?" I ask, taking a step forward. "Maybe ten/ eleven months ago? Around the same time you killed Sergio?"

"That was a good day," Andre chuckles. "Idiots, all of these Italians."

I clench my jaw. "So, you did kill him? Sergio?"

"I believe Milo can confirm that," he says in a knowing tone. "He has a pretty blue rose to remember him by. Perfect for a funeral." He shrugs. "No, body though, so sad."

"How many roses did you send here?" I slowly stride toward the bed. "Only one?"

Andre purses his lips. "One, maybe two. I don't remember. "

"Try. Did you or did you not kidnap and hold hostage a woman named Vittoria?"

He grins, peering up at me. "Red hair, right?"

"Andre." I stop at the foot of the bed. "Answer the fucking question."

He scans the room, a pensive look in his eyes. "I am curious, Kiara," he muses. "Why is it that you are here alone?" He licks his lips. "Does anyone know you are down here?"

"Yes, they do," I answer immediately.

"Too fast, kukulka ," he notes, clicking his tongue as he shifts on the mattress. "I think you are lying." He tilts his head, a devious grin on his face. "Truly a great Christmas."

Before I can react, the handcuffs slip off his right wrist as he surges forward, wrapping his hand around my throat. My head whips back, slamming against the wall as he presses his body against mine.

"Get off me," I croak, gasping for air as he licks the side of my face, his hand inching along the hem of my sweater.

"I've wanted to do this since I first saw you at the casino," he whispers into my ear, sliding his hand up my shirt, his filthy fingers grazing my midsection.

"Milo will kill you," I say between ragged breaths. "If you touch me, he will kill you. Let me go."

Andre laughs, pushing his hips forward, his half-erect dick pressing against me. "He will kill me in six days anyway," he says, thrusting harder. "At least this way, I'll die with your sweet pussy on my cock." My heart hammers in my chest as I writhe under his strong hold, trying to get my right arm loose. The blade of the knife digs into my wrist.

Fuck, just a little bit further.

He lowers his arm and reaches for his zipper. "I love it when they squirm."

It's instinctual. Primal. Innate. The desire to live. To be spared from harm. To survive. There's no time to think or reason or hesitate. And I don't. I don't hesitate. I don't hesitate when I release my grip on the blade and slide it down my arm into my hand. I don't hesitate when I look at Andre in the eyes, the sharp tip of the knife slicing through fabric, skin, muscle, fat. I don't hesitate when he lets go of me and I twist the blade, eviscerating his organs, his agony-infested cries like music to my fucking ears.

Andre drops to his knees, gripping his stomach, blood spurting from his abdomen as he looks up at me. "Help me," he croaks. "Please."

"Why?" I stare at him as I grip the slimy handle of the knife. "Why should I help you?"

"Please." His voice is barely audible as he topples over. "Help me."

I tilt my head to the side, smiling down at him as I press the tip of my boot on his open wound. He cries out in pain. "Does that hurt, kukulka ?" Blood pools around him as his body twitches. I stand over him for what feels like hours until he stops moving, until he stops breathing, until I know he's gone for good. With a sigh of relief, I mumble, "Goodbye, Andre."

It's funny. I feel nothing. No regret. No remorse. Nothing. Huh. Interesting. Maybe I'll see him in hell, but something tells me that only one of us will burn for all of eternity. I know I'm not the judge, but I think I'm an excellent candidate for clemency.

I look up heavenward. Right?

"Kiara!"

Shit.

I spin around to find Milo and Marchello standing at the door, both their gazes locked on Andre's dead body.

Milo's head snaps up. "Kiara!" He dashes toward me, scanning the knife in my hand. "What the fuck happened? Why are you down here? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." I give him the knife, my movements and tone oddly calm. "I came here to ask him questions about Vittoria."

"Is that so?" Marchello asks, narrowing his eyes at me. "If you came only to ask questions, why is he dead?"

"He attacked me," I explain, speaking only to Milo. "I thought he was handcuffed to the radiator. But he must have loosened the cuffs or something."

"He attacked you?!" Milo fumes. "Did he touch you, Kiara? Tell me."

"He tried." I wince, running a hand across my midsection. "But he didn't get too far."

"Fucking scum," Milo seethes, peering down at Andre. "If only it were possible to kill a man twice."

Marchello clears his throat. "So, what did Andre say, Kiara? When you asked about Vittoria?"

"Not a lot," I reply, wiping my blood-stained hand on my jeans. "But I don't think he knows who she is."

"You don't think ?" Marchello hums. "Well, you are the expert in lying, aren't you?"

"Do you have something to say, Marchello?" I take a step toward him. "Say it. What's on your mind?"

"Oh, nothing," he muses in a flippant tone. "I just find it strange that we came down here to ask Andre the same questions only to find him dead." He glances at Milo. "It would seem like Kiara just murdered the only person who might know the identity of the rat."

"Enough!" Milo glares at his underboss, grabbing my hand. "I do not appreciate what you are implying, Marchello. Not another word, understand? "

Marchello holds up his hands. "It was just an observation."

"Right. You can check the cameras if you'd like. I'm sure they'd corroborate what happened."

"No audio though." Marchello sucks on his teeth. "Convenient."

"I said enough!" Milo spits. "I am taking Kiara upstairs." He looks over his shoulder. "Feed him to the dogs."

"But—"

"Now," Milo orders, leading me out of the room. "I will meet you in my office in an hour." He grumbles under his breath, pulling me up the stairs. "Fucking hell, Kiara. Why would you go down there by yourself? Do you know what could have happened? He could've?—"

"Well, good thing I brought a knife, right?" I say, frustrated by the entire turn of events. Marchello is right. I look so fucking suspicious now. I did the exact opposite of what I was trying to do. "How bad is this, Milo? Tell me the truth."

"It is not good, tesoro," Milo sighs, opening my bedroom door. He follows me into the bathroom, slumping against the counter. He watches as I remove my shirt and wash Andre's blood from my hands. "Are you hurt?"

"It's not mine." Light pink water circles the drain as I scrub my hands. "I'm sorry for killing him. I know I created more problems for you."

"You're sorry?" Milo crosses his arms, his gaze fluttering around my face. "Are you sure?"

"What?" I dry my hands, slipping on a clean t-shirt. "What do you mean am I sure?"

He hesitates for a second before stating, "It takes around five minutes for a man to bleed out, Kiara. If you wanted to save him, you could've gotten help."

I swallow, averting his gaze. "I know that."

"You wanted him to die," Milo muses, his expression tight, almost uncomfortable. "You wanted him to suffer."

"Is that wrong?" I look at myself in the mirror. This time, I don't hate the woman looking back at me. I admire her. "Does that make me a bad person?"

"Not in my eyes, no. But how do you feel, Kiara?" Milo asks in a low voice, trying to read my mood. "Do you want to talk to Julia? Maybe she can help."

I walk to the bed and take a seat on the edge. "Do I look like I need help?"

"No," Milo observes, hovering above me, studying me carefully. "But last time?—"

"I'm fine, Milo," I interrupt him, crawling under the sheets. He frowns. "Really, I'm fine. I don't—" I rest against the headboard, expelling a sigh. "I feel fine."

"You just murdered a man, Kiara…" Milo sits down beside me and takes my hand. "Are you positive you are alright?"

"He was a rapist and a murderer, and he attacked me," I say flatly. "Am I supposed to feel bad? Plus, technically, it was self-defense." I pull my hand away, suddenly feeling quite annoyed. "Why are you so concerned? You kill people all the time."

Milo's lip twitches. "I do not wish for you to become me, Kiara."

"And I do not wish to continue this conversation," I state, turning away from him. "I want to sleep. You can leave now."

"Tesoro," Milo whispers, caressing my hair. "Do not be mad at me. I am worried about you."

"Worried about me? Why?" I aggressively roll over, narrowing my eyes. "Should I have not killed him? I should've just let him rape me? I don't understand what you're trying to say."

Milo swallows. "I know how much you value your humanity, Kiara. I do not wish to see you fall apart and resent me in the future."

I expel a deep sigh, feeling guilty for being so snippy. "Baby," I squeeze his hand, "I'm fine, I promise. I don't feel any less human, I really don't. Andre deserved what he got, he did. Maybe I wasn't thinking about the consequences in the grand scheme of things because I know this is going to be a headache to clean up, but I don't regret doing it. I don't."

Milo's expression softens. "Clean up?"

I roll my eyes, suppressing a smile. "See? I'm becoming fluent."

"Yes." He arches down, pressing his soft lips against mine. "Yes, you are."

"I love you," I whisper, leaning into his touch. "I really do."

Milo smiles, kissing my cheek. "Rest now, Kiara. I will wake you up in a few hours."

"No, it's fine. Just let me sleep. I'm ready for this day to be over." Milo climbs into bed with me. "What are you doing?"

"Close your eyes, tesoro," he whispers, pulling me against his chest. "I will stay until you fall asleep."

"Are you worried I'll start crying once you leave?"

"No." Milo tightens his arms around me, kissing my temple. "I am not."

And neither am I.