Page 14 of Death Of A Sinner

I walk over to the sofa and curl up on top. This isn’t going to end well for me. Giovanni isn’t stupid. He knows what I was doing. It’s a matter of when. When he will punish me.

How long is he going to leave me sitting here? I could open the drawer. I know there’s a gun inside. I could end it all. I could escape the pain. But then I’d be leaving them behind. My children.

I won’t do that to my boys. I can’t.

Five hours. That’s how long it takes for the door to open and my husband to walk in. Except he’s not alone. Three of his men are dragging something behind them. Henry. His lifeless body drops to the floor and his dead eyes stare up at me.

“You did this to him, Mary. You are the reason he’s dead,” Giovanni says. His voice calm, even, quiet as he glances over a shoulder. “Leave us.”

I hold my breath. I know what’s coming, the pain, the beating that I’m about to get.

“What am I going to do with you? You selfish fucking bitch. Did you really think you could take them? That you could steal my children? That you could run off with him?” Giovanni paces up and down the length of his office. “I knew it,” he says. “I knew Vin wasn’t mine. I knew you cheated. That’s what I get for marrying a cheap whore.” My husband stops in front of me. Reaching out a hand and wrapping it around my throat. “Admit it. Admit that baby isn’t my blood.” He screams at me as my body is raised from the sofa, my feet barely touching the ground.

I shake my head. “Heisyours, Giovanni. I swear it,” I choke out.

“You whore. Don’t fucking lie to me.” He tosses me back down onto the sofa.

I knew this would happen. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have tried to leave…

ChapterEleven

The Past

Ididn’t know how many hours of physical abuse I could endure. It’s not something I ever wanted to find out, but my husband has been beating on me for hours now. I know this is going to be the end of me. I know I’m not going to kiss my children again. I won’t get to watch them grow up. I won’t get to comfort them when they’re hurting.

I should have fought back. There are a million things I should have done differently. It’s funny how you never realise those things until it’s too late.

Please, God, let them be okay. Please watch over them. May they grow into men, kind men. May they find happiness. May they find love. Because you and I both know, if I’m taken away from them now, they’re not going to know that their mother loves them.

My prayer is silent. I can barely keep my eyes open as the ground beneath my feet spins.

“You want to leave me? The only way out of this marriage is death,” Giovanni hisses, his breath and spittle hitting my face. “Which is exactly how you’re leaving.”

Cold metal presses into the side of my head. I won’t beg him again. I won’t plead anymore. This is it. I’m done. At least I won’t feel the pain anymore. Because I won’t feel anything.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Your sins need to die,” Giovanni says. “I’ll never let you take them.”

The barrel pulls away from my skin, and my breath catches in my chest. Then the sound of gunfire rings out and my body hits the floor. Hard.

I don’t feel it. Where is it? The bullet wound. I don’t feel it.

Giovanni’s hands wrap around my hair, lifting my head from the ground so he can look me in the eyes. “The problem is… death would be too kind for you. You’re exiled. If you ever try to come back, if you try to contact the boys, it won’t be you who I’ll kill. It’ll be them. One by one, I’ll cut their throats right in front of you. I’ll make you drink their spilled blood. I’ll make you bury your own children, knowing their suffering is on your hands.”

I shake my head. “No. Giovanni, no. Please don’t do this.”

This is somethingI willbeg for. He was right. Death would be kinder than living in a world where I can’t see my boys. My head is slammed against the ground, followed by a sharp pain against the back of my skull. Then nothing. Blackness takes over.

* * *

Present

The door creaks open. I don’t bother to open my eyes. I don’t need to. It’s only going to be one of two people. Tommy or Esther. No one else comes in here.

“Babe, you need to get out of bed,” Tommy says, opening the curtains.

“I can’t,” I groan.

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