Page 5 of A Sinner's Truth

My hand shakes as I unlock the door. I don’t know if it’s the effect of the whiskey wearing off, or if it’s because I’m about to walk into our apartment for the first time since Shelli died.

She didn’t die. She was murdered. By your father, that asshole voice in the back of my head reminds me.

I push the door open, expecting to be greeted by her. Except she’s not here.

The place is spotless. Shelli was a clean freak. Everything always had a place. “What do you want me to find, Shelli?” I ask.Of course, I get no fucking answer.

I stop in the middle of the living room. Where do I even start? I basically lived here. If she were hiding something from me, I would have known. At least I’d like to think I would.

I head for the kitchen. I can’t walk into the bedroom. I just can’t do it. Not yet. Being here is fucking hard. There’s a reason I’ve avoided this place. As soon as I step over the threshold, I’m flooded by memories. Shelli standing over the stove, wearing nothing but one of my shirts, cooking dinner and smiling back at me from over her shoulder. She loved cooking. And, man, could the woman cook.

“I could really go for some of your food right now,” I say aloud. Again to no one.

I open the top cabinets, reaching into the back and shifting all the items around. But there’s nothing but cups, kitchen utensils, and cans of food. Moving on to the bottom cupboards, I find the same. Nothing.

Next, I walk into what Shelli liked to call her office. It’s really just a room full of shelves, covered in little ornaments, with a desk in the middle. She didn’t come in here often. She wasn’t career driven. All Shelli ever wanted to be was a wife and a mother. She wanted that white-picket fence dream. And I wanted to give it to her.

“There’s nothing here,” I curse in frustration, after turning the place upside down.

“You need to dig,”her voice repeats in my head.

I lower myself onto a chair and pull out the stainless steel flask I keep in my pocket. It’s filled with only the finest whiskey. Cinque, of course. I bring the opening to my lips and sigh as the liquid hits the back of my throat. There’s something comforting about the drink. Or maybe it’s just the only way I get to see her. It’s after the third chug that I realise what Shelli is trying to tell me.

I need to dig. I need to dig her up. She’s not going to be there. She’s not dead. And once I dig up her grave and find it empty, I’ll know for sure. And I’ll be able to find her.

“I don’t fucking care how long it takes. Do it now.” I hold the end of my pistol at the caretaker’s head.

“You want me to dig up a grave? There’s paperwork that needs to be processed, Mr De Bellis,” he stutters out.

“How’s this for paperwork?” I move the pistol to his left and pull the trigger. The bullet whizzes past his ear.

“Okay, okay.” He holds up his hands.

“Glad you could see things my way.” I smile at him. Who would have thought it’d be so fucking hard to get people to dig up a grave? I should have brought some of my brother’s men out here. But then word of what I’m doing would have gotten back to Gio quicker than it will if I do this shit on my own.

I’m not naïve. I know he’ll find out. Nothing happens in this city that he doesn’t know about.

The casket is finally retrieved and set on the edge of the now-empty hole. “Leave it. Mention this to anyone and there’sa bullet with your name on it,” I tell the two men working the exhumation equipment.

Once they’re gone, I jump down into the hole and step closer to the casket.

“Please be empty.” I send up the plea to God only knows who as I open the lid and fall backwards. A tidal wave of grief hits me all at once.

It’s like losing her all over again as my fiancée’s decaying corpse glares back at me.

“No!” I scream. My hands pull at the ends of my hair while my lungs struggle to suck in oxygen. “No!” I kick at the wall of dirt in front of me. “It was supposed to be empty.”

“Keep digging, Santo,” Shelli says. I turn and find her standing at the edge of the grave. She’s wearing her favourite yellow dress.

“I can’t do this,” I tell her.

“You need to. You’re the strongest person I know, Santo. You can do this. Find the truth. It’s the only thing that will help you move on.”

“I don’t want to fucking move on. I want you back.” I choke on the words.

“That can’t happen. Keep looking, Santo,” Shelli repeats.

I pull myself out of the hole and sit on the side opposite the casket. I force myself to look at her decomposing body, and not the version of her that’s standing at the end of the grave.

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