Page 17 of A Trap So Flawless

Then stop.

She isn’t bent over because she’s injured.

She’s bent over my papà who lies limp and bleeding on the carpet.

Four years old in the hallway of my youth. Papà and Elio and another man bleeding on the floor as a door clicks shut.

But it’s always another man. Always.

Never Papà.

“Vincenzo!” Mamma sobs. She bangs on his bleeding chest. I shake myself out of whatever suspension has gripped my limbs in numbness.

“We have to stop the bleeding,” I hear myself say. I fall heavily to my knees, and some distant part of myself echoes with pain. “Give me something!”

Mamma jerks her head up and stares blankly at me, like she had no idea I was here even though this is my fucking wedding reception. She blinks through ruined makeup and, absurdly, she then asks me, “Amore, what happened to your beautiful dress?”

“It got blood on it.”

I’ll have more blood on me by the time this night is through. Papà is bleeding badly from his chest. He’s breathing, though. I think.

“Fuck,” I whisper. I reach up and blindly feel along the table above, hunting for one of the thick cloth napkins. My hand seizes on one, and I tug it down and press it against the bleeding wound. But in mere moments, it’s getting soaked through. “Fuck!”

I need something else. In desperation, I steal Papà’s pocket square from its place, adding it to the bloodied napkin and holding them both down with as much force as I can muster.

It can’t be more than a minute or two, but it feels like I’m frozen there forever, on my burning knees with my hands against Papà’s bleeding chest, gritting my teeth while Mamma weeps beside me. But the sirens are louder. And then there are new voices, barking in English and in French for me to move, get out of the way, bougez-vous! I jump up and stumble away. Paramedics instantly surround Papà, as if sucked into the vacuum of my absence. In seconds, he’s loaded onto a stretcher and carted out the door. Mamma follows without a single look back at me.

So I look down at myself. The big shirt is more red than white. My hands look like I’ve put on shiny scarlet gloves. The wedding band gleams dully. Just like my dress behind the bar, I’m overwhelmed with the need to get it off. I clutch at the band. My finger is wet, so it slides much more easily than it should. I want to hurl the thing, but all I’m capable of is dropping it from my shaking hands. I watch the white gold descend. It lands among shattered glass and…

And another ring.

Just beside the white-gold band I’ve dropped is the yellow-gold band with that brilliant diamond. The one Darragh gave me. The one Papà took from me. When I pulled his pocket square free, I must have dislodged it.

I consider leaving them both. Let the stupid rings have each other. Let them both sit here in the fucking carnage forever. See if I care.

But… Goddamnit, I do care. After a too-brief moment of hesitation, I bend and snatch up the yellow-gold engagement ring. I cradle it in my bloodied hands.

Then, I put it on.

Chapter 7

Valentina

The police took my shirt as evidence.

They took Curse too. Along with most of the other men who were at the reception. For questioning, I assume, though in Curse’s case, if could be for something worse. The last image I have is him leaving me behind that bar with his gun drawn. I don’t know if he killed any of the bikers in the street. We have contacts in the Montréal police and the justice system here, but I still don’t know when he’ll be back.

I don’t know when Papà will be back, either. He’s in surgery now at a university hospital downtown. Mamma is there, having travelled with Papà by ambulance straight from Sofia’s. I’m alone at our townhouse after being dropped off by the police, my own round of questioning finished for now.

I shower, scrubbing myself thoroughly despite my exhaustion. I emerge raw, naked, makeup-less. But not ringless. I towel dry my hair roughly, then twist it into a tight knot on the top of my head. The pulling sensation at my scalp feels weirdly good. Reminds me I’m alive.

My phone, which is on the bathroom counter, begins to vibrate, and I have to swallow a panicked yelp. I take three deep breaths, then hover my finger over the screen, about to ignore the call.

Until I see that it’s Elio.

I accept the call and I hear his voice before the phone even reaches my ear.

“What the fuck happened?”

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