"If we're both in agreement?" Marcello asks, and I nod.
"Good. Let's get Enzo so we can talk about the formalities."
And so we do. The wedding will be a small affair, to be held in three days. And after that, both me and Claudia will move in with Marcello. It all sounds lovely, but why do I have this nagging feeling of disappointment?
Chapter Nine
A FEW HOURS BEFORE,
MY AVERSION TO TOUCH cannot be pinpointed to a single point in time, although there was one specific event that might have triggered it. Maybe it all started in childhood. There is a study that proved infants who have close physical contact with their mother grow up to be better adjusted individuals than those who lack a mother figure. I belong to the latter category.
It wasn't hard to find out what had happened at my birth—the staff always gossiped. My mother had taken one look at me and she'd declared me a sinner. She'd said that an infinite number of baptisms could not cleanse my soul. Father had, of course, relished the thought that a son of his would be the devil incarnate. And so he'd done everything in his power to strip the humanity from me. My mother had either kept her distance, or abused me for the sinner I was.
It all converged to a single event that proved to be my breaking point. And so, from then on, I'd developed a phobia of touch. Although my phobia applies to everyone, it is especially traumatic when the person in question is a woman. And so, for the past decade, I've avoided all interactions with the opposite sex. Even at work, people assumed I was gay simply because I kept a respectful distance from all the ladies in the office. And now I have to get married... likely to an eighteen-year-old. The thought of it makes me ill.
That's not to say that there have been no accidental touches throughout the years; it's practically impossible to live completely isolated. But each one of those touches caused me physical pain and so much mental anguish that I needed time to recover. Aside from that, I want to believe that I adjusted well enough to live in society as a normal being—or as normal as I can ever be.
"Signor, someone to see you." Amelia interrupts me from my thoughts. I take off my glasses and massage my temples.
"Show them in."
Not a moment later, Vlad casually makes his way inside, plopping himself on the chair in front of me.
"Marcello." He smirks at me, in between loudly chewing gum.
"Any recent developments?" I ask, knowing Vlad would not come here just to say hello. We'd tried to get to the bottom of the last attack, but according to him both Quinn and Matthew Gallagher had made themselves sparse after Jimenez's death.
"Not really. You know, same old, same old." He says, his eyes fixating on the clock behind me.
"What does that mean?" With Vlad, you always have to pry the information from him.
"Oh, you know," he shrugs innocently. "Ortega's cartel is working with an MC chapter now, Quinn is back in town... same old."
"You said there had been no sightings of Quinn."
"Oh, did I? Until now, that is. My contacts are saying he's preparing for a big match. They've opened up a few more arenas in the Bronx."
"And you didn't think that was a development?"
"I'm not worried about Quinn. Guy is a machine, but a smart machine? Don't think so. His father, though? Hasn't been seen since the attack on the Agosti. Now if there were information on him, that I would call a development." Vlad relaxed back in the chair, sporting a carefree expression. His acting is so good, I don't think anyone would notice what hides beneath the surface.
"My people want revenge for the casualties." I add.
"And you think I don't want the same?" Vlad asks, clearly offended.
"I don't know what you want. In fact, why did you come here?"
"Marcello, Marcello, are you always so rude to your guests? No wonder people can't stand your surly ass." Vlad shakes his head in fake indignation.
"Cut to the chase, Vlad."
"Hmm..." He studies me for a second. "You've made the correct choice to assume your role as capo... and so you will reap the benefits."
"What are you talking about?" I frown.
"The thing you've wanted the most... it's almost yours." Vlad says cryptically before standing up and walking towards the library. "There was a recent death."
"Chimera?" I ask, realizing that is the only reason he'd come personally.
"Yes. Saratoga Springs."
"What? That's..."
"It's getting closer and closer, also faster than before. If this was a normal serial killer, I'd say his cooling-off period is getting smaller and smaller. But we both know he's not ordinary."
"What are the police saying?"
"No prints, no evidence really. The locations are also so haphazardly chosen that they can't establish a pattern."
"So nothing." Vlad nods.
"But we have something they don't. Motive."
"You've said before that you think he's after me. But I simply can't imagine who it could be."
"Think, Marcello. There must be someone."
"There were tens if not hundreds of people, Vlad." I shake myself. It's futile to even try to remember. It would only make everything worse.
"This Chimera, whoever he is, knows every single thing there is to know about real Chimera's M.O. Alas, I cannot help you if you don't help yourself, Marcello." Vlad sighs and throws a file on my desk.
"Maybe something will jolt your memory."
Bringing his hand to his forehead in a mock military salute, Vlad leaves.
I stare at the file in front of me, almost not daring to open it. When I finally do, however, it's to see my biggest nightmare staring me in the face.
There are pictures of the crime scene in Saratoga Springs. Chimera always left behind a signature, to show that the boogie man was in town. The original Chimera would assemble the teeth of its victim in the form of the letter C. This Chimera seems to have deviated from that, ever so slightly. Although he'd stuck faithfully to script until now, it seems this copycat is trying to leave his own mark in a way. There is still the letter C, but this time it is assembled in a big showy way using the ribs of the deceased.
The victim, a man it seems, is cut in half. His torso is set on a table in the middle of the room—the centerpiece. The chest cavity is empty of its organs. Instead...
I can't help but avert my eyes.
A dead baby is curled up in a fetal position within the man's chest cavity, where his other organs would have been. Simulating an in-womb death, the baby is strangulated by the man's intestines—probably used instead of an umbilical cord.
I can't look anymore. I throw the papers on my desk and close my eyes for a second, trying to think of something else.
But as much as I want to, I can't.
Because ultimately it is my fault these people are dead; my fault that his copycat has something to prove.
It's always my fault.
THINGS HAVE BEEN CALMER in the famiglia as of late. Francesco has been monitoring the activity and has been giving me daily reports. Nicolo seems to have swallowed his pride for now, but I wouldn't put it past him to be plotting something. It's just as well that the alliance with the Agosti is almost completed. Just a moment ago I'd received a call from Enzo that he had something to discuss with me and that he has a candidate in mind for me. We scheduled the meeting for after noon.