4. Burn In Hell

[UNKNOWN]

The chilly breeze of the starless night whispers into my ear, evoking the small hairs on my arm.

It’s dark. It’s quiet. It’s perfect.

I take a deep breath as I stand in front of the decent white picket house on Nightingale Street. And like every single time in the past, nothing about the situation makes me feel any better.

It’s wrong. I know that.

It goes against everything I've ever believed in. I know that, too.

But if I don't do it today, I might never have the chance again. If I back down now, all of the years I've spent planning for this day would be for nothing.

It's not the time to get cold feet. There is no turning back now.

With that in mind, I return to the black beat-up automobile parked on the side of the road under the shadow of a tree, a perfect blind spot from all the cameras installed in the neighbourhood. But even if the cops catch the car, it will never lead them back to me. The number on the number plate does not exist, nor does the person who is about to give all newspapers the front-page headlines for tomorrow. The press will undoubtedly have a field day. They may thank me afterwards.

I open the door, step behind the wheel, and pull the glove box open. Numerous white and yellow envelopes tumble out and fall to the floor. I ignore the clutter. Even though it gets to my nerves so deep, I’m prickling with the need to put them back in the right order.

Focus.

I remind myself. And do just that.

Once my eyes catch the rectangular remote, the size same as of the key fob, I take it out and stare at it for a second too long.

It’s weird how my hands aren’t shaking despite my mind and heart being at war. The moment I press this button, everything’s going to change. And I can only hope that everything goes as planned.

This is not how my father raised me. He taught me better and wished for me to be a better person. But time has a cruel way of changing you from the inside out. It changes you so much that when you look into the mirror; you don’t even recognize yourself. You’d want to go back to that life-changing event of your life, and wonder why fate chose you to play its brutal game.

And die for it.

A part of me fears that if I succeed tonight, there won't be much of a difference between me and them. But it might have been my intention all along. I don't want them to take me for granted. I want those criminals—to know they can't get away with it. All of their sins will eventually catch up with them. If compromising my ethics and principles is the price I need to pay for that to happen, then be it.

Fucking be it.

I breathe through my mouth.

“This is for you, dad.” I say and let my thumb press against the round button.

A soft click echoes through the darkness and tears the dead silence of the car.

Three. I count. Two. I close my eyes. One.

Even with the windows of the car rolled up, I hear the thunderous explosion.

Tears obscure my vision as I hesitantly look over my shoulder. I watch as the small white picket house burns in the middle of the night, the orange flames devouring and engulfing everything.

"This is only the beginning, Dad." I hear myself saying. "Watch as I burn them all in hell."

* * *

[LIZZY]

Three days in hiding, and I was bored out of my fucking mind. Even thinking about how I was going to get through the remainder of the days gave me the willies. But I didn't have much of a choice, did I?

Absolutely-fucking-not!

If only I hadn’t been reckless in the past, this wouldn’t be happening to me. My life wouldn’t have turned into a nightmare, and I wouldn’t be running away from the only man who ever made me feel safe. But things were different now. After I learned about all those secrets he was keeping from me, I couldn’t stay with him for a second long. There was no way I was about to hand over my life to a fucking liar.

To be honest, expecting loyalty from a mafia man was probably stupid. These men were only loyal to their boss and the bloody job. Vector was no exception. He was devoted to Vladimir Perazzo as if he belonged to him. And perhaps he did. Who was I to talk? I knew nothing about Vector Alfonso. He never cared to share. The only thing that seemed to matter to him whenever we were together was the feel of his lips on mine, his hands on my hips, and his cock shoved deep inside me. These were the only times I noticed him not sporting the regular scowl on his face. A touch of admiration in those dark eyes used to make me feel like a fucking queen.

Shaking my head, I got out of the warm shower and wrapped a towel over me. The only person who kept me company in this horrible environment was the reporter on the news channel. She was ranting about some explosion in the city at the time. I couldn't care less. I had more pressing matters to attend to. Like untangling my freaking hair. I coloured them black after moving to America.

Poor decision because I hated it. It made me look like some emo or a woman desperate for validation. Which was kind of ridiculous, if you thought about it, because I never hated myself in the first place. I had always been content with who and what I was. Never had huge ambitions or expectations from anyone. Not even from myself.

I flung myself on the bed after changing into shorts and a tank top. It squeaked as I bounced a few times and locked my gaze for the thousandth time on the ceiling. It's all white. There was nothing intriguing going on up there. I had this awful urge yesterday to paint it black and hang some stars from it. Joey would have loved it. He was only five years old, but he already knew what he wanted to do with his life. He wished to become an astronomer. Constantly fascinated with black holes, white holes, time travel, and the secrets of the cosmos. He was such a curious kid. I loved him.

I missed him.

He had been the only person around whom my life had revolved for the last five years. Daniel and Laura were wonderful parents, but Joey and I had a special bond. We were best friends. Exactly how Hazel and I used to be. I thought about her almost every day after I escaped from Venice. She was such a pain in the arse. No kidding. An epitome of a troublemaker. I wondered how she would be now. All grown-up, I believe. But possibly the same chatterbox. She just couldn’t shut up, could she?

However, she wasn’t the only one I thought about. Zarina occupied my mind a lot, too. She was abducted by Vladimir Perazzo, the devil of Venice. After Rose, the head maid, assigned me to keep an eye on Zarina, we became rather good friends. I didn’t even know how she must have dealt with everything alone after I left. Sometimes I genuinely regretted not being in contact with anyone. What if Vladimir did something awful to her? What if she needed me and I wasn’t there to keep her safe? My heart clenched at the thought of it. God knew I would’ve killed that bastard if he tried to take advantage of her another time. Boss or not, he deserved to die for treating women as if they were the dust beneath his shoes. Fucking asshole.

“Ugh!” Punching a pillow in my face, I groaned loudly. “Fuck! I’m so bored.”

I stayed sprawled there on the bed for several minutes more when the reporter on the television said something that had me frowning.

Did she just say Nightingale Street?

To make sure what I heard was right, I sat up and grabbed the remote from the nightstand. As I increased the volume, for the first time, I paid attention to the news running live.

"...the bureau refuses to release any information concerning the event. We tried to speak with the deputy, who verified that they had discovered a few bodies. However, because they are in such bad shape, the authorities have been unable to establish their identities. Despite the fact that the man who lived in the house with his wife and a five-year-old child was a cop..."

The remote slipped from my grasp.

No. It couldn’t be.

“No no no no no no no no no no no no!” I couldn’t stop screaming at the screen. I slapped a hand over my mouth and tried to suppress the sob trying to push its way out.

Tears streamed down my face.

I couldn’t breathe.

“No!” I broke down. Slipping from the bed, I landed butt-first on the cold floor. “No!” I shook my head. “He cannot do that. Could he?” I didn’t know. It made no sense. He couldn’t be that cruel. He couldn’t just…what was the point?

Wiping the tears off my cheeks, I stood up in a flash and almost tripped on my feet when I tried to shoot for the door. Didn’t even care to lock the door of the room as I sprinted as fast as I could. I caught the sight of a car and a man stepping out of it. I had seen him twice in the last three days. He always came with a different woman every time. As I scurried past him, I deliberately bumped my shoulder against his. He scowled.

“Hey!” He yelled. “Watch out!”

I stifled a whimper. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

The anger dropped from his face, and now he looked genuinely worried. “Hey, are you alright?”

I couldn’t hold back as more tears chased down my face. I hugged myself tighter. “I’m fine!”

Once I stormed out of his face and he turned around after staring at my back for a long minute, I used the key that I stole from him when we bumped and got into his car. I pushed the key into the ignition, all the while crying and smearing my tears off my face, and drove straight to Nightingale Street.

The home where the blast happened.

The home that was owned by Daniel and Laura…

And Joey.

I screamed and pounded my hand on the steering wheel.

I cried harder.