Page 28 of A Beautiful Crime

On the mantle there are pictures of his family. One of him and his late wife, Viola, who Carina is an astonishing copy of. The only difference is in the eyes. Her mother’s a sweet honey brown that shines light even in the photograph she’s in.

Carina, however, has emerald jewels that drown in darkness.

Then there’s a portrait of the family as a whole placed center above the fireplace. A painting like Kings would have. In it Savio sits upon a gold throne with diamond pin cushions and burgundy plush. His left arm lays on the arm of the throne as his wife stands proudly beside him with her hand over his, but not covering his wedding band. Luca stands on the opposite side of his papa, his sharp blue eyes cutting through the portrait. The late Elio, the youngest of the family, stands in front of Luca. The painting captures the wildness in his eyes that he’s always possessed. And then finally there’s Carina who is standing in front of her mamma. Her mamma’s right hand rests upon her shoulder, but it looks as if her fingers are digging into her skin.

They appear as if they are the perfect family.

But that’s the smoke and mirrors, isn’t it?

The act Savio and his family performed to fool the audience.

I was never a fool.

I saw the cracks he tried desperately to conceal.

I know that Carina was the one who had slain Elio, not a criminal on the street. I know the darkness that surrounds this family like the plague.

And the biggest secret I know is how Viola wanted to escape with her daughter. Right before she got the chance she was killed.

Her death was to be made to appear as suicide. Another one of Savio’s tricks. Another illusion for the audience to believe,and sadly his own daughter. I’m sure Elio knew the truth. And I know with absolute certainty that Luca does too.

The only one left in the shadows, like she has been in all of her existence, is Carina.

The truth will see the light of day. It’s only a matter of time.

“Who do you think Luca was torturing?” Pietro asks. I turn to find him sitting on the arm of the rich brown leather sofa with gold trim.

My mind drifts back to the dance I had with Carina last night. How my fingers languidly trailed the scars upon her back. And I saw how fear overtook her eyes like a wave swallowing a ship at sea. Although I had no idea at the time who she was looking at to cause such a visceral reaction I have my suspects.

And as of tonight Luca has become number one.

However, I don’t raise my suspicions to Pietro.

Somewhere inside this black heart of mine that only bleeds, beats and aches for her hopes for it not to be true.

But who else could have done such a thing to her and live?

And why would her Famiglia want her scars on display?

I’m about to reply to Pietro when Savio Fiore waltzes in the grand family room.

Dio mio, if I had thought Luca walked as if he was God’s greatest creation Savio puts him to absolute shame.

There’s this air that he carries, as if he’s the most intelligent man in the room. He walks with sophistication and a swagger that holds too much arrogance. With one look upon him you can easily tell that the man thinks the world of himself and sees everyone beneath him.

His dark brown hair that borders on the line of black is styled and polished, with an errant curl laying on his forehead. Eyes that are as cold and dark as the night zero in on mine.

Unlike most monsters, or what people believe are monsters, Savio isn’t hideous.

He keeps himself in physical shape with a muscular upper body and a narrow waist. For a man in his mid sixties he could easily be mistaken for a man in his late forties. One thing God has blessed the Fiore gene with is appearances.

Even in his own home he dresses dapper. A pressed navy blue suit with a black tie. Unlike Luca, Savio has managed to keep his appearance to perfection. Not one hair out of place and no stain on his shirt.

I would imagine if they were torturing someone of importance or a traitor, Savio would have been there to either gain information or partake in the man’s misery.

But I stack that clue away amongst many others I have gained tonight in the back of my mind.

“Constantine, when my son said you were here I did not believe him,” he says with an Italian accent heavier than mine. Everything about Savio reeks of old time Sicily. And his mannerisms along with his beliefs in the mafia are based on old Sicily tradition.

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