Renzo Castellani
Blood. There was blood everywhere. Its rusty smell was not unfamiliar to me. Until now, I had worn it like perfume; it acted on me like a sedative. This one, however, had a different note. It wasn’t dirty. It smelled of innocence.
I sat on the floor, cradling my fiancée’s cold body. The scarlet liquid had seeped into my clothes. I stroked her dark hair, sticky with grime, and whispered, though I didn’t even know what. From time to time, I lifted her fragile, limp hand and brushed my lips against the back of it. The hole in the woman’s chest had been burned through by a fired bullet. It was responsible for taking her life.
“You’re not suffering anymore.” My voice grew hoarse. “Not anymore.”
I pressed my lips to her chapped, pale pink mouth, tasting dried blood. The woman was cold; she didn’t respond. She never would again. For the last time, I brushed her raven-black strands aside, grazing the silky skin of her cheek. Elena was dead. The woman I had guarded from the entire world had died in my arms. I hadn’t managed to protect her.
“Renzo…” Fábio stood in the doorway. “It’s time. We have to take her.”
Hot tears streamed down my cheeks. I hugged the body of my would-be wife, silently begging her for forgiveness. I rose from the floor with my beloved in my arms.
“Get rid of all traces,” my father ordered. “We have to burn her body.”
I shot him a murderous look, swallowing the bile rising in my throat with difficulty.
“No,” I rasped. “I want to bury her properly.” I cleared my throat, ignoring the tears. “She deserves that.”
“We can’t leave any trace of her, Renzo Castellani.”
I shook my head vigorously, glancing at Elena’s lifeless body.
“Let me bury her,” I asked in a trembling voice. “Father, please.”
My father’s gaze remained hard. He looked behind himself and nodded to the man.
“Help him, Fábio.”
At once, he approached me. I stepped back. I was ready to blow his head off if he touched her. I held the defenseless corpse, which was more to me than fragments of skin and bone. She was everything I had—and failed to protect. I kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her dark hair one last time.
“They will pay for your life, my love,” I whispered into her ear.
“I’ll take her to the underground,” Fábio said calmly. “You’ll be able to say goodbye.”
Countless times, I had imagined my own death. I was ready for it. I awaited it. But I wasn’t prepared to bury the woman I loved.
Silence filled the shadow-drenched living room. Only the pounding pulse in my temples reminded me that I was still alive.
“Take care of her,” I asked.
He said nothing. He took my fiancée’s body into his arms. His eyes flickered with sympathy. When he left, I looked at my blood-covered hands.
The sound of my heavy boots mixed with the frantic beating of my heart. I scanned every inch of the richly decorated living room. There were no signs of a break-in. Nothing suspicious. Elena came here to find peace. She was supposed to be safe. Someone must have let it slip that she was here alone that day. Whoever it was, I swore they would never betray another secret again.
The shot had come from outside, and directly across stood a five-star hotel. I moved closer to the balcony doors and placed my finger into the burned hole left by the bullet.
“.50 BMG,” I whispered, lifting my eyes to the apartment building.
With a sniper’s gaze, I assessed the possible trajectory of the round. Somewhere between the seventh and ninth floor. Within an hour, I would know who pulled the trigger. One hundred Mexican whores for my wife’s life. Their daughters, sisters, mothers, wives—every piece of trash would taste my blade. I took such a deep breath that the air rattled in my lungs.
“I’ll kill them all.” I turned my head toward my father.
“War,” he rasped, setting the wheels of his wheelchair in motion. “They want war.”
“Then they’ll get it,” I assured him, adjusting the rings on my right hand. “I’ll handle it.”
“No,” he growled coldly. “Michelle. Your duty now is to protect Michelle.”
My little sister. I twisted my wrist to check my watch. It was nearing seven in the evening. According to the schedule, the girl was still at the stables.
“She’ll be safe,” I promised, pointing toward the panoramic windows. “But those whores will pay.”
“No fucking war!” he shouted suddenly. “Did you hear what I said?! No war!”
I looked at him expressionlessly, holding his gaze until the very end. He pulled a phone from his pocket and made a call.
“Send someone to Elena’s apartment. Preferably a whole team. There’s a lot to clean up.”
Something reflected the light directly into my face. I bent down and noticed a casing tangled in the carpet. I picked it up and turned it between my fingers.
“Welcome Home,” the engraving read.
“Bastards,” I snarled, kicking a chair. “I’ll kill them.” I spat harshly. “I’ll have every woman and every child murdered.”
“Your fiancée wouldn’t want war,” he hissed. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer. “No war, you hear me?!”
“Stop talking bullshit.” I shoved him away before walking to the windows. “She’s dead. How many people have to die before you understand this isn’t fucking personal?!”
“Times have changed, Renzo Castellani.” He spat the words with disgust. “I promised your mother I wouldn’t drag you into this shit. It ends with us. Just business, no war.”
“Nothing ends until I decide so,” I shot back firmly. “They will pay for this.”
“No war,” he repeated, grabbing my bicep again. “Just business.”
“What happened to your biblical bullshit about family being the most important thing?” I tore my arm from his grip. “Since when did you change priorities?”
He looked at the pool of blood, and his expression suddenly became distant. Something in him changed within seconds. I ignored it. I reached for a bottle of whisky and, not bothering to pour it into a glass, took several greedy swigs.
In the underground, a brutal silence reigned. The cold gave me goosebumps. We used the chamber to dispose of evidence that could harm us. I never thought I’d have to say goodbye to the woman I loved this way.
I watched as Fábio wrapped Elena’s body in a white sheet. The fabric was soaked through with blood. The innocent blood of my fiancée.
“Your father ordered her to be burned,” he cleared his throat, wary of my reaction. “It’ll be better this way, Renzo Castellani. We won’t leave any traces.”
My muscles stiffened at the sound of that command. I had to swallow the taste of failure that rose like an undigested meal. I approached the metal table where my fiancée lay. She had been crushed by the weight of who I was. The fact that I couldn’t protect her—though I tried to give her absolute safety—overflowed with bitterness.
“I’ll do it.” I sniffed, wiping my face.
Fábio blinked. He looked at Elena, then at the gasoline canister.
“Are you sure?” he asked, surprised. “I can just call you when it’s done.”
I didn’t answer. I took the container from him and approached the woman’s body. I unscrewed the cap, then poured a bit of the liquid over her face. I turned my head away when the sight became too overwhelming. I dragged the canister downward, soaking the body all the way to her bare feet.
We left the chamber. The man activated the door’s security with evacuation traps. Through the glass opening in the iron doors, I could watch as flames burst through the valves, engulfing the lifeless body. Fábio grabbed my arm to offer comfort. I turned my head toward him and looked at him with a blank expression.
“I will kill everyone who contributed to her death,” I declared. “I swear I’ll do it without exception.”
