Liss
Is there a way to fix everything?
I sit on the edge of the sofa, leaning on my knees and staring at the wall in front of me. I don’t know how much time I’ve spent here over the last few days, but sometimes it feels like an eternity. The thoughts in my head go around in circles, and I can’t find a way to stop them.
I have to do something-but what can I do? I rub my face, feeling my eyes sting from exhaustion, and lean back on the sofa. God, I wish someone would tell me how to make things right.
The middle of my chest is empty and aching, and as soon as I close my eyes I see Matteo’s cold gaze and hear his low voice telling me goodbye. Will I ever get to see him again? Will he ever be able to trust me? The thought makes the pain in my heart flare up, and I grimace and place my palm on my chest as if it would help me to calm it down.
No, I can’t think about Matteo and Romeo right now, it’s too much, it’s too painful. I have to accept it-when I lost both of them, I lost
everything. The only thing left for me is to follow my own path and seek revenge for Hank, no matter how dark or dangerous the end of this path may be.
As if in response to my thoughts, I hear my phone buzz with a new message, and I hurry to pick it up. Deep down in my heart, I still hope that Matteo might reach out and forgive me-but no, it’s just another message from Giovanni, and I tighten my grip on the phone as I read it. That bastard still thinks he can get something out of me, huh?
Update the situation.
I need more information on the Messinas.
Just look at that! They’re so eager to use me. I purse my lips, feeling the heat of anger growing inside of me. How could I be so blind? I can’t believe I trusted them so easily! But now, all of my own naivety comes back to me, fueling the resentment in my chest. I have to get back at them, I have to make these bastards pay for everything.
But how? With a sudden rush of agitation, I rise to my feet and start pacing around the living room, blankly staring under my feet. I’ve been
thinking about it, yes, I’ve been thinking about going after the Escarra family. Of course, I can’t wipe them out, and I doubt I’ll be able to find the exact person who killed my brother before the Mexicans figure out what I’m doing. But I can strike a blow where they don’t expect it and do as much damage as I can.
They still trust me, and this time I’ll be the one using that to my advantage.
It takes me another couple of minutes to put my thoughts in order and figure out my plan of action before I pause in my pacing and unlock my phone.
I have something important, but I can’t send it over the phone. Can we meet now?
Is it too rushed? Too obvious? I chew my lip, reading the messages all over again, when I see the bubble indicating that Giovanni is typing a response.
The park is dangerous.
There’s an old industrial station at Bedford Park. Meet me there.
When? He doesn’t specify and only sends a location a second later before deleting all messages as soon as I click the link. Does that mean I should get there right now? The place is some twenty minutes away, so I have a moment to gather myself and fetch the only thing I need right now.
I go to my bedroom, kneel on the floor next to my bed, and reach for an old, dusty box pushed far to the wall. By the time I crawl from under the bed, my arms are covered in dust and cobweb, but I barely pay attention to it. My mind has finally found something to focus on, and I can’t let myself get distracted again. I have to calmly follow each step till the end.
The first thing I see when I open the box is a dark, baggy hoodie with Illinois written on the chest in big old-fashioned letters. Hank used to wear it at home; apparently, he’d gotten it from Dad. The memory pinches something in my chest, but I don’t let my thoughts go down that lane and force myself to get the hoodie out of the way.
Beneath it, there are countless reminders and memories from my childhood. Photos from my old polaroid, my favorite children’s books, an
MP3 player, a pack of cigarettes that Hank never finished-all of these are treasures calling me from the past, but I dig through them without much thought. I have something specific in mind, and when I finally catch sight of an old and rusty coffee can, my heart picks up its pace.
The can is heavy when I pick it up, something shifting inside from the movement, and I pause for a moment before flicking it open. Hank’s pistol is still inside, glinting in the daylight coming from the window, and it’s weird to realize how different my reaction is compared to what I felt when I was a teenager. Hank used to carry it whenever he was going out of the house, and I’d feel intimidated just from one glance at it. Now, I feel nothing. Well, almost nothing.
Everything in my chest tightens in anticipation when I get the pistol in my hand, but weirdly enough, I don’t feel nervous or scared. It’s as if I locked all my feelings deep inside my heart to cool down my mind and let it guide me forward. As the practice shows, it’s the only way to get things done.
I leave the apartment a few minutes later, in my baggy t-shirt and with barely any makeup on. I couldn’t care less about how I look right now. My eyes are mindlessly fixed on the carpeted floor of the elevator, and the pistol is safely tucked in my backpack. Will I have a chance to come back home? Will the Mexicans let me escape? I don’t know, it doesn’t matter
anymore.
The elevator rings, opening the doors to the parking lot, and I tighten my fists and go to my car.
It takes a little more than twenty minutes to get to the point on the map, but by the time I park outside an old industrial railway station there’s already another car hidden in the shadow of the overgrown bushes. So Giovanni is here. Has he brought anyone else with him? I glance around, narrowing my eyes in the strong winds. It’s hard to say, to be honest-the whole place looks empty and desolate, but there are all too many spots to hide in.
Whatever. I grab the strap of my backpack tighter and walk to the open doors. If there’s someone around to cover him up, then so be it.
It’s almost surprising just how cold my heart is when I enter the building. Maybe I should be feeling, I don’t know, something-but instead, there’s this overwhelming emptiness inside of me that doesn’t let me slow down and think about my own safety. Am I doing the right thing? Am I walking into a trap? It doesn’t matter.
Survival isn’t my goal anymore-because there’s nothing left in my life to hold on to. All I need is revenge to find my closure.
“Melissa,” I hear a moment before my eyes find Giovanni’s figure in the shadows. He pushes himself away from the wall and steps into the line of light.
The old station has high and dirty windows below the ceiling that fill the place with daylight coming from outside. The sun is peeking through thin clouds running above the city, and I can see dust dancing in the air, the squares of bright sunlight lying on the floor. But the wind keeps whistling through the cracks and open windows, pushing the clouds over the sun, and before I say anything the whole place turns gray.
“Is it safe here?” I ask in a low and steady voice, walking closer to him as if the echo doesn’t carry his voice far enough for me to hear. I feel no tension or intimidation that usually follows me in Giovanni’s presence. I act with confidence-and it seems to catch him off guard.
He frowns, watching me walk toward him, but doesn’t step back. “It is. What do you have?”
I chuckle. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” Giovanni widens his eyes for a moment before rolling them and pursing his lips. “What do you mean you have nothing? Why the fuck did I-”
“I have nothing on the Messinas,” I cut him off and stop a few feet away from him. “But I have the truth now.”
He looks up at me with a frown. “What do you mean?”
“Why did you lie to me?” I take the backpack off my shoulder, holding his gaze with my chin high and my shoulders straight.
“What?” Giovanni frowns with a perfectly faked look of confusion. “I don’t understand, Liss. If you have something actually-”
“Why did you lie to me about my brother?” I repeat louder, not allowing him to change the subject, and take out the gun, dropping the
backpack onto the floor. The heavy sound of it echoes in the silence that follows the movement.
“You shouldn’t play with things like that,” he says carefully as if talking to a child, probably assessing his situation, but it does nothing to shake me off my course. Instead, it only makes frustration flare up in my chest, and before he can do anything I raise the gun to aim at his forehead.
“Why did you lie to me about my brother?” I repeat again, this time through gritted teeth, and take a step toward Giovanni. “Why did you tell me Matteo did it? Were you ashamed of your own fucking family?”
For a moment, it looks as if Giovanni is genuinely caught off guard. He looks up at me with a frown and quickly shakes his head. “What are you talking about? It was them. The Messinas did it!”
“No, they didn’t!” I yell back at him, stepping close enough to push the muzzle of my gun against his forehead. “Matteo told me the truth. You did it. You killed him!”
A wave of heated rage runs through me, whispering in my ear to kill Giovanni once and for all, and I lay my finger on the trigger-when all of a sudden, something breaks through the cage of my heart. It’s as if invisible
claws dig through my chest, and through the heartache choking me I see Romeo’s smiling face.
The memories of our life together flash before my eyes, and I have to blink to clear my vision from the tears swelling in my eyes. Will I ever get to experience it again? Will we ever be a family? Over the last few days,
I’ve been trying to stop myself from thinking about going back-but I can’t. Those two are too deep in my heart, and god, I still want to be with them.
Maybe I still can.
Right now, there’s still a chance for me-but as soon as I pull the trigger, I won’t be able to turn back. I’ll be a murderer, no better than the man in front of me. His blood will be on my hands. How am I supposed to hold Romeo with these hands? How will I ever look him in the eyes and say that I took the life of another person?
But it doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t matter! Matteo will never accept me again, and now this is my only chance to get my revenge, to make things right. The Mexicans didn’t stop to think twice before killing Hank. Why should I?
I clench my jaw, avoiding Giovanni’s gaze. I have to, I have to, god, I-
“Liss!”
Hurried steps pierce through the rustle of winds from outside, the door screeches under someone’s touch, and I don’t have to turn my head to recognize the voice. “Matteo?”
My heart immediately starts beating faster when I hear him walking closer, and it finally settles the debate in my head-because for this man, I can’t ruin my own life. There has been too much pain in this world. I don’t want to make the one I love suffer.