Page 44 of Dreadful
I don’t know how to cover this up yet. Take him back to the butchery. We’ll figure it out when I come back. If we haven’t decided what to do by tomorrow at dinner, I’ll throw Claudio off the scent.
And the other guy? Where do you want him? Same row?
No, he was personal. He’ll go for a swim in the Charles River. Save the heads of both, though.
You’ve got it, you sick fuck.
I smirk at my phone before sliding it back into my pocket. Raze, his brothers, and I make two types of kills. OnesforClaudio, and ones against. The ones I’ll use against my uncle get buried in one place, but we dump all the rest in the Boston Harbor. That’s where Percy will go. If he ever gets found after we’re done with him, his fingerless, toothless, waterlogged body will be unidentifiable.
The thought settles me. The man who assaulted Tallie will never bother her again. And she’s safe in her apartment. I don’t know what’s next for us, but that’s enough for now.
I turn to leave, but the sound of her humming floats in the air. The tune is soft underneath the shower’s spray. My smirk lifts into a small smile as I listen, and I take the first deep breath I’ve had since she left me at the Revere Theater.
She’s okay. I can go now—
My heart stops as the song takes on a familiar cadence. I’m not close enough to decipher exactly what it is, and my mind has played tricks on me before. Her voice is low, the shower gets louder when she moves, and she drops off at various beats, confusing me every time I think I’ve figured it out.
A slave to my curiosity, I creep farther into the room, sticking to its perimeter. I stop sneaking closer when I can see her outline through the light shower curtain. The lullaby is on the tip of my memory as it gets louder and louder, the breathy notes drawing me in until—
Until she fuckingmoans…
“Sever.”
Scene 13
REVENGE SO TEMPTING
Talia
Butler.Maids.Gardener.Driver.Capo. Priest. Judge.Godmother.Godfather. Boy.
The first time I tried to kill the driver years ago was an utter failure that made me more superstitious and cautious than I already am. My list reminded me that I am a mere servant to my revenge. The order of names that I made up as a child isn’t up for debate. As an adult, though, the driver has always been one of my main targets.
Even at seven, I knew my mother was dead the moment he crashed into our car. I was dazed and hurt, calling her name when the capo stole me from the back seat. My mother’s wide, pained eyes still haunt my dreams. Right behind every nightmare of her is the memory of my father’s feeble hand reaching out to me as I cried for him.
Despite all the hope I had as a kid, it’s obvious to me now that my so-called “godfather” and his men never thought I’d get out alive. They talked about—and around—me as if I were as perennial a fixture as the horrid wallpaper. Staying silent and listening is how I found out my father did everything in his power to protect my family, and the Boss punished him for that.
Because of what the driver did to my parents, he was the most tempting to start with as soon as I graduated. I studied the Vincellis, and when I learned that their oil change was coming up, I thought it was a sign to make my move. I spent hours scouring the internet until I figured out how to set up a trigger that would clip the brakes on their Rolls-Royce. After that, everything fell into place like it was fate.
The driver took the car to get the oil changed after he dropped the Boss off at confession, right on schedule. I dressed as a mechanic, smeared grease and oil over my scar, and nearly broke a rib wrapping my curves and breasts.
The pain was supposed to be worth it, but hatred consumed my logic that day. It blinded me to the many, many flaws in my plan, the greatest being that I didn’t even think about unintentional casualties. I thought I was ready to start my list. I thought I was smart. But I was too emotional to think straight.
My botched brake job went even better than I could’ve anticipated when the driver careened off the road and into the side of St. Catherine’s Church. If I’d been lucky, I could’ve taken out a few birds with one stone. Unfortunately, the crash was nowhere near the priest’s office or the confessionals. In fact, the only person who got hurt was completely innocent.
The Boss’s thugs nearly beat the shop owner to death. This wasn’t like screwing up a dry-cleaning order the way I did with the butler. The driver could’ve died, and the mechanic paid my price. I should’ve thought about what would happen to him if the Boss found out about the brakes, but I didn’t, and I was at a total loss of how to make up for my mistake.
All I could think to do was anonymously send the mechanic’s family sweets while he recovered in the hospital. I prayed to a God who failed me, asking him to make up for it by healing the mechanic. He did heal, eventually, but his blood will always be on my hands. Killing the driver tonight is the closest I’ve come to feeling forgiveness for that mistake.
I’d hoped he’d give me the information on one of the names I need further down my list, but I underestimated his level of loyalty. Once I realized he was worthless to me alive, I decided to cut my losses. But I couldn’t let him die without knowing who made the fatal cut.
He didn’t believe me at first when I told him who I was, so I used the water from the damp concrete to wipe off my makeup and reveal my scars as proof. Once he saw them, he looked at me like he’d seen a ghost. Which, I guess to him, I was. Both the gardener and the driver were petrified of me once they saw the wounds the dogs gave me, leaving no doubt about who I was. The further I go with my list, the more I want my prey to know who caught them. After Chiara had to lose her name, my enemies don’t deserve for me to say theirs. But they’re going to remember mine if it’s the last thing I do.
When I’d heard someone behind me, I’d taken off, keeping to the poorly lit streets and alleys. Along the way back home, I wiped off my pearl-handled chef’s knife on the coat I’d found at the afterparty, tucked it into my messenger bag, and chucked the trench coat into a dumpster. I hate that I’ll have to “lose” the knife that mynonnigave me, but I can’t let them use it at the bakery anymore, not after this.
Thankfully, Gio and Tony are engrossed in one of their sitcom reruns when I get back, so I’m able to mentally unpack my latest murder in peace. As soon as I enter my quiet apartment, I slouch against my door and wait for my mind to rest. But thoughts of Sev take over instead.
“Fai la brava, vipera.”
