Page 40 of Stalk

I cluck my tongue. “Now, now, Alessandra. No need to lie to me on your deathbed.”

Quick as an unexpected thunder clap, I lunge for her. She only manages half a step away from me before I catch her by the back of her neck. She whimpers in my grip and forgets all about the knife in her hand. I don’t want her to come to her senses, though, so I grip her wrist tightly until the blade drops to the tile under our feet with aclank.

“You were a naughty girl, Alessandra, and now it’s time for your punishment.”

I lean forward and kiss the slope between her shoulder and neck, just for the hell of it, making her body break out in goosebumps, and I smile into her quaking flesh. I get a better hold of my blade, then drive the point up and into the center of her abdomen. Alessandra inhales sharply, then cries out.

Music to my ears.

I leave the blade in, then slip it out ever so slightly before jabbing in once more. Then again, and again. Finally, I pull my weapon out all the way. Her head rolls forward and I drop her to the floor. But she’s still alive. Once she’s on her knees, I kick her so that she’s on her back, sprawled out like a dead frog on the pavement. I crouch down and hover over her so that we’re face to face.

“Say hello to your husband for me.”

With that, I slit her neck and watch in delight as the light slowly leaves her eyes, turning her baby blues dull. I stay like that until she’s exhaled her last shaky breath, then stand up and sigh contentedly.

As if on cue, I hear Cinnamon running down the hall. I turn behind me and see the thing looking up at me with love in her eyes. She licks her snout and then continues to pant. She runs around me and sniffs at her dead mother, then goes around the kitchen island to lap up some water from her bowl, none the wiser.

Meanwhile, I stare down at Alessandra and come up with my plan. I decide that it’s probably easiest to cut her up into tiny parts and shove her and her essential personal belongings—wallet, purse, passport, cell phone—into whatever expensive luggage she’s bound to have and make it look like she’s gone abroad. I’ll put her into a bathtub and do the dirty work there once I find the suitcases and her personal belongings. Once I’m done with that and she’s all “packed up,” I’ll clean up, lock up the house, and take my leave.

Several hours later, I stretch out my back by placing my forearms on either side of the door frame in the guest bathroom, and groan. I’m finally done cutting, packing, and cleaning. Alessandra’s body parts are wrapped in Saran Wrap and tucked away in three separate Gucci suitcases along with all of her personal belongings, aside from her keys. It will be best for me to drive her Porsche away after I lock up and park it at the airport, and Marco will pick me up from there. I’ll just have to be careful to avoid any security cameras. Once Marco picks me up, we’ll find a good place to dispose of the suitcases.

Luckily, Alessandra’s car is parked in a three-car garage, so I’ll get out of here unnoticed. After I roll the suitcases out and load them into the back seat, I lock up all the doors. I send a text to Marco to meet me at the airport. Once he confirms, it’s time to get the hell out of dodge.

After sliding my phone into my back pocket and wiping the sweat from my brow with my forearm, I head back out to the garage. But I forgot about the damn dog. If you can even call it a dog.

The wretched thing darts past my ankles and runs into the garage, then does a little hop by the passenger side door. She yaps at me then sticks her tongue out happily.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter. I lock up the door that leads from the garage into the house, then open the passenger side of the Porsche, and Cinnamon hops in. Once the garage door starts to slide up, I glare at Cinnamon. “If you think you’re stuck with me, you better get that idea out of your headrightnow.” I didn’t think of taking the dog with me, but I suppose Alessandra would have never left the little beast behind, so I have no choice. I amnotkeeping her, though. Absolutely not.

Cinnamon crosses over the center console and makes herself comfortable in my lap.“Gesù Cristo.”

CHAPTER 16

Ren

It’s been a few days since I met Mattia at the bar, and then joined him back at his hotel. My mind has been constantly racing ever since, and not just about Catherine’s intentions or the pasts of my mother and father, even though all of that is enough as it is. In between watching my back every few seconds for fear of my own assassination, I keep seeing Mattia’s eyes in my head. Those dark, brooding eyes that love to scowl at me and watch me with an intense severity that makes my knees weak.

I strangely miss his company, but I also never want to be in his presence again. The way he watches me is unsettling. The way he talks to me feels… demeaning. Like he truly believes I’m incompetent. I know Mattia feels sorry for me, but more than that, I think he pities me, and Ihatebeing pitied.

I know I should have looked into my mother’s death a long time ago. Her death has never sat well with me, but amidst starting my new, forced life of working for Catherine, I hardly had time to grieve, let alone dig deeper. I know I’ve been avoiding it, and that it’s time for me to find out the truth. As for my father, it never really occurred to me to look into him. I may have never quite believed Mamma when she told me he left us, but I wasn’t going to question her. Not while she was alive.

That’s one thing Mattia is good at—opening my eyes. I’m torn between despising him and his callousness and feeling grateful that we crossed paths in the unfortunate way that we did.

I shake my head from where I stand beside the kitchen island. I lean on my forearms, hovering over a tall mug of steaming black coffee, trying to straighten out all the things going on in my brain. For the last two days, I stayed in bed. I checked my messages in case Catherine changed her mind and wanted me on an assignment, but I’ve heard nothing. Admittedly, I’ve also been checking them in case Mattia reaches out. I’m eager to know if he’s found anything out about my parents on his end, but I also know he had an assignment of his own to complete yesterday, so I’ve had to force myself to be patient.

This morning, I finally tore myself out of bed. The best place to start my own investigation is right here at home. I only briefly went through Mamma’s personal belongings after she died. I couldn’t bring myself to go through it all, because to me, that meant that she was really gone, though I already knew she was. All I did was clear out her office in order to make it my own. I boxed everything that she had in there up and shoved them in her otherwise untouched bedroom.

So, that’s where I need to start. First, I’ll go through the boxes from the office, then I’ll go through her bedroom and her bathroom. Lastly, I’ll make my way down into the basement and check out whatever she had stored down there. I only ever go down there to do laundry, but there are several large storage bins that could be full of anything.

The clock on the stove reads it’s nearing ten. Cleo will be here any minute. Once she’s here and we’re both fully caffeinated, we’ll get to work.

I’m not ready. I don’t want to know. But I have to. If nothing else, I’ll at least show Mattia that I’m capable of this much.

An hour later, Cleo and I sit cross-legged on the floor of Mamma’s bedroom, with several open boxes creating a tiny mountain in between us. “The Tide” by Pale Waves plays loudly from Cleo’s JBL speaker she brought over atop Mamma’s nightstand, because according to Cleo, any kind of investigative work requires an upbeat soundtrack to keep us going. That, and we can talk much more freely with the music going. If my house or phone is bugged and Catherine, or whoever, is trying to listen in, it’ll be hard for them to distinguish what we’re talking about from the music.

Cleo sighs and tosses a yellowed Manila envelope to the side, then brushes up her hair into a messy bun. “Why would she keep every single utility bill dating back to 1998? Your mother was super OCD, Ren.”

I chuckle, because she’s right. Mamma was always,alwaysoverly organized. “Would you rather go through her large book of expired coupons?” I ask, throwing said book to the side.

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