Page 113 of Die for You
However, I manage to turn and grab Gianna’s broken wrist, slamming it onto the altar.
She howls in agony.
I grip her hair, and as the fire is burning on the altar cloth, I rub her face into it.
Her muffled screams are music to my ears.
The product she has in her hair instantly sets alight. Her scalp is on fire. I watch for a few seconds before dragging her toward the stoup and dunking her face into the holy water. Her hair sizzles as the fire extinguishes. I’m surprised she didn’t implode when drenched with the holy water like in the movies when it touches something unholy.
I yank her back out and smack her cheek as her eyes flutter. “Wakey, wakey. I’m not done with you yet.”
Death is too easy for Gianna. I intend to make her suffer and tarnish her name and reputation. Only then will I end her miserable life.
“Bria, no!”
I turn and see Bria break free and aim the gun at Gianna and me. I’m about to duck behind a pew, but the gun leisurely tumbles from Bria’s hand, crashing to the floor.
It all happens in slow motion.
She looks at me and then down at the knife embedded into her heart, the knife Lenny threw to save my life.
“Looks like you made your choice.” Those are Bria’s last words as she collapses with a thud.
Lenny stands still, eyes wide open, stunned that he killed his wife.
Gianna wheezes, her lungs filled with smoke, but beneath her gasping for air, she cackles—cruelly.
“What’s so funny?” I scream inches from her face.
Her face is burned, bloody, and swollen. Yet she’s still in the belief that she’s won.
“I…win,” she manages to push out, her breaths labored.
“Wrong, you sick fuck. We all fucking lose.”
I punch her in the face, and as she drops to the floor, I reach down and snag my fingers through her hair. Lenny stands over Bria, watching for any signs of life, but a knife to the heart usually means one thing.
Ironic, it seems, because I bet that’s how Bria felt about Lenny’s betrayal—metaphorically.
But now, it’s literal as well.
I leave Lenny to grieve as I begin a slow hobble down the aisle, dragging Gianna by the hair. She has nothing left and lays still, groaning and mumbling gibberish under her breath.
I shoulder open the chapel door and limp down the corridor with Gianna trailing me. Every part of me hurts, but funnily enough, the pain spurs me on.
This place has caused me nothing but anguish, but it’s time to end that once and for all. It takes me a while, but when I turn the corner and am greeted with terrified screams, it makes everything worth it.
People literally run away from me, screeching in horror. A man throws up in his wife’s cocktail. And a woman faints, Scarlett O’Hara style.
What a bunch of crybabies.
The crowd parts, and I feel like Moses parting the Red Sea. Seems fitting, seeing as I am slathered in red—my blood as well as Gianna’s.
I drag Gianna’s body up the stairs to the stage, and thankfully, the sisters have ushered the children back to their rooms. I toss her into a chair and arrange it at the front of the stage for all to see. She can’t keep herself up and slouches.
She’s barely recognizable.
I tap the microphone, and it echoes over the speakers. “What a glorious affair this is,” I declare, sweeping my arms out wide.
