Page 10 of Dreadful
This morning feels like a fever dream. My reality has split again, like my life has now become three acts in a play.
Act I: Before my parents were killed.
Act II: Living with mynonni.
Act III: After my first…murder.
But this isn’t a musical. There won’t be a happy ever after for me in the end, especially after what I’ve done. I’ll take a happy for right now, though.
My lips twitch into a smile. There’s beauty in finally becoming the person you’re meant to be…even if that person is a killer.
I’ve obsessed over the names on my list for years. Only within the last few months have I been able to tick them off one by one. Before this morning, I hadn’t killed anyone yet. Now only the serious jobs are left.
The butler was my first success. Back when I was trapped in the Vincellis’ basement, he was the one who didn’t feed me when I acted out. I know now he only did it because his boss ordered it. Vincelli might’ve just been the second-in-command back then, but he’s always kept his people on a tight leash. The butler had his own life to worry about. I’m nothing if not fair, though, and getting him fired was enough for me.
Vincelli is a creature of habit, and the butler picked up the dry-cleaning every Saturday while he went to confession with Father Lucas. The dry-cleaning staff wore itchy red polos that were simple to replicate. Management was hardly ever there, so slipping in undetected was easy. Acting like you belong is half the battle when you’re trying to fit in. All I had to do was switch the clothes and hand them to the butler.
Mob news travels fast in the North End, and mynonnihear everything. Something about their kind, wrinkled smiles make people spill gossip like powdered sugar. Those whispers were how I found out the butler had been fired. I was a little shocked that one measly mix-up was all it took considering the Mafia rarely lets people leave, even the staff. It’s why my targets are still there for me to pick off after all these years. But I took the good fortune for what it was, a sign that I should keep going.
The first few names on my list were a piece of cake compared to what the rest will be, though. I was afraid that I’d chicken out with the big jobs or that I’d kill the gardener and then never want to get to the rest, but it’s quite the opposite. Marking names off my list brings peace to a mind that’s been ravaged by nightmares, ruminating thoughts, and hate. When I’m playing my role as karmic retribution, I’m calm, cool, and collected. But the whispers that I’m running out of time are already slithering back in.
With my nerves vibrating through me, I don’t know how I’m going to survive work tonight. I love being a costume designer, and most of the cast is great. But if Percy decides to be a handsytesta di cazzoagain during dress rehearsal, I might not-so-accidentally draw blood with a sewing needle.
A pan clatters to the ground in the kitchen, and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Mi dispiace, Tallie!” my grandfather, Tony, apologizes from behind the swinging door.
“Non preoccuparti, nonno.” I return a “no worries,” even though my skin buzzes like I’ve been electrocuted.
Despite trying to brush it off, mynonnican always tell when I’m lying. Tony’s tall form pokes out through the door. His wisps of hair are stark white against his olive skin, and when he finds me immediately, he winces at the sight of me.
“Oh,dolce nipotina. Are you okay? Giovanni and I will try not to be so…” He makes movements with his hands to fill in the missing word.
Mynonni’snickname, “sweet granddaughter,” settles me, and I can answer honestly this time. “Really, I’m fine,nonno. I promise. I’m just glad I don’t have to work on that wedding cake.”
He chuckles and smooths out his crisp white apron. “Gio is being nice today. It is fun.”
“Fun? Antonio, this is notfun,” Gio scoffs behind Tony before letting off a string of Italian curse words.
“It is better than the Navy.” Tony chuckles before slipping back into the kitchen.
“Of course, it is better than the Navy,” Gio grumbles loud enough for me to hear him behind the wall.
I snort and put on headphones to drown out their playful bickering. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard them lament about their military experience, they’d be retired in Italy by now.
Gio and Tony were both chefs in the Italian Navy where they fell head over heels for each other in secret. When they left for America to finally enjoy their lives together and start their own bakery, that saying became their favorite catchphrase. The fact that, for Gio, working on wedding cakes rivals his time in the military just goes to show how much he really, really,reallyhates them.
The multiple tiers, intricate designs, and his desire to please the customer stress him out enough to transform into a bridezilla himself. I’ve loved baking with them since I was seven, and I’d still rather spend a thousand busy mornings running the register over modeling an edible bride and groom beside Gio.
“Tallie!”
I look up to see his short, round form filling the door. His medium-brown skin glistens with perspiration, and his bushy gray eyebrows form one single frustrated line. He’s scowling at me, but try as he might, there’s no way my cute littlenonnocould ever be intimidating. Too many smile and laugh lines etch his face for anyone to take him seriously, but he sure gives it one hell of a shot.
I tug a headphone away from my ear to hear him yelling in Italian. Flour and icing already cover his apron, and small clouds of dust waft into the air with his wild hand movements.
Poor thing. He really does get so flustered on wedding cake days.
“Tallie! I’ve been calling for you.”
