Page 97 of All the Little Raindrops

“Caspar!” Gervais yelled just in time for him to turn and duck, narrowly avoiding the steak knife Fontane swung at him despite the fact he was obviously dying. Green foam ran from his mouth, and his eyes were so bugged out they looked like they might pop. The sound of Caspar’s name caused Fontane’s already strained eyes to impossibly widen even more, and threw him off enough that Caspar was able to easily grab the knife from him. He brought his fist back, smashing it into Fontane’s face, the man grunting in pain as blood spurted from his nose. Caspar punched him over and over and over again until he was driven back against a table laden with all manner of delicacies and carving knives that would now go to waste. He leaned in and whispered two words in Fontane’s ear. “For Evan.” And then he dragged the blade across his throat and watched the life in his eyes extinguish. There was poison onFontane’s tongue, but the real poison had dripped into his soul. His son would not carry his twisted legacy. It dried up here, with him.

The noise around Caspar was growing louder, a chorus of misery and death. The sound of demons floundering. He wanted to watch it until the end. But the women in the cages needed help. “Get them out and then leave,” he said as Gervais approached.

“I’ll come back for you,” Gervais said.

“No,” Caspar answered. “It’s too risky. We talked about this.”

“You’ll meet us, though, right? You’ll be there?”

“Help them, brother,” Caspar said, squeezing his shoulder.

Gervais paused. He’d known him much of his life. He sensed what Caspar was not telling him. “Help them,” he said again, meeting his eyes and giving him a nod.

The cages had reached the floor, and a couple of the women were moaning and slamming their shoulders against the bars, begging to be set free. Gervais’s gaze lingered on Caspar for only a moment longer before he turned, heading toward the nearest cage. The final task to free the innocents.

This night would not end as that one had.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Noelle was barely controlling the sobs that had been racking her body as she’d watched the two men escape their cages, killing the guard who gave chase, just as she and Evan had done. Beside her, Evan watched, still and silent, his arm wrapped around her body, gaze trained on the screen.

Evan had called Aria, and Noelle could hear the sirens approaching now. But what could they do from there? Watch in helpless horror along with them? They had no idea where the two men were. They were free, though. Safe. Noelle knew from experience. They had won the game.

And they also had no idea of the location where naked, caged women were hanging from the rafters and a horde of men in tuxedos had collapsed on the floor, their hands gripping their throats as though they’d been poisoned.

Evan continued to hold his phone to the screen, his hands trembling as he filmed what was going on. They didn’t know if the live stream of what they were watching would be saved somewhere once it was over or whether it would be gone forever, so they made sure to capture it. Made sure that they could provide still shots of every man in there, both struggling on the floor or dead.Insurance.These were the men who had caged them, the ones who paid to victimize and torturethem and many others. No cover-up would be possible. What had happened in the dark would be brought to the light. They’d make sure of it.

Evan continued to film the screen even when the police arrived, swarming the residence, and then they watched as a man in a server’s uniform picked one lock after another with some tool Noelle could not see well enough to identify. He freed the naked women in the cages, untied them, and removed their gags, as the men behind them continued to vomit and seize and then grow still, one after the next. The server kept his face directed away from the camera so she couldn’t see him as he let the women out of their cages, and then together, they all stumbled toward the exit, the man pulling what looked like red velvet tablecloths off the tables and tossing them to the women.

“Six people, five wrapped in bright red,” Aria was saying into her radio to the police helicopters she’d dispatched. “They left a building. They’re running. Within a five-mile radius of this address.” They had to be, Noelle prayed. Vitucci had only left an hour before. Whatever building he was in wasn’t far.

Noelle turned her face into Evan’s shoulder, crying quietly. So much death, so much sickness. Somehow, inside, even though she didn’t know all the particulars, she knew that this was the final battle. And yet, even so, despair flowed through her along with the rage. She lifted her head and made herself watch them die. Rome was falling, and she had to bear witness.

She had to know that evil eventually ended. The visions in front of her were horrifying, but they were also a complicated form of justice, and watching it unfold was going to help her heal, help her unravel her grief.

It. Was. Over. She glanced up at Evan to see his eyes trained on the screen, too, and despite her raging emotions, the one that glowed brightest was her love for him. And she vowed with everything in her to keep that glow front and center, no matter the darkness that threatened to descend in the wake of this horror.

We leave here whole.

We leave here together.

Her gaze moved back to Vitucci as he walked slowly through the dozens of bodies, maneuvering around some, stepping on the throats of others, pausing and leaning closer to a few faces before their bodies went still. She had the notion he’d wanted those particular men to see his face in their final moments.

She watched the man who had staged this moment and so many others. She wondered what his real name was, the man who was some strange and elusive mixture of evil and goodness, revenge and righteousness. Both a sociopath and a savior. She knew suddenly and clearly that the event she was watching would go down in history, as would he. She wondered if he’d be called a villain or a hero. Even she wasn’t sure, and he’d helped save her life and that of the man she loved standing beside her.

Sirens began wailing in the distance. A limping Vitucci approached the old man in the wheelchair slowly. He was the only one not on the floor. Whatever poison had been administered, the old man hadn’t consumed any.

Vitucci slowly wrapped his hands around the frail man’s neck and leaned closer, whispering something in his ear. The man began to shake but not with fear. With rage. His eyes bugged out, a hellish wail coming from his mouth, and his clawlike hands raised as he uselessly attempted to fight back. The sounds of helicopters could be heard in the background now too. Vitucci leaned back, the old man’s face going a deep shade of red as he squeezed. The old man stared up at Vitucci, still defiant even as death’s shadowy figure swooped nearer. “Caspar,” he wheezed.

“That’s right,” Vitucci said. And then he squeezed and squeezed, the man’s face going from red to purple to near black as Vitucci brought his face so close to his that their noses nearly touched. Still, Noelle did not look away, even as Vitucci finally let go with a gusting exhale, andwhat had been the old man tipped from its wheelchair and fell to the floor in a heap of flesh and bones.

Vitucci turned, the expression on his face victorious but somehow shocked as well. He stumbled as though he was having trouble finding his footing and let his head fall forward for several long moments, his shoulders rising and falling. The room was silent now; the last of the death throes were complete.

Vitucci reached for a glass sitting on a table next to him. Noelle blinked as his gaze met hers over the screen, and she sucked in a breath, certain he knew she was watching him. Certain he was looking straight at her. He raised the glass and toasted the camera, and then, without any hesitation, he brought it to his lips and threw it back, swallowing every drop. Then he reached for another and another, downing them both before falling to his knees, one word whispering from his lips, too silent to hear. But Noelle watched his mouth and was certain he’d uttered “Celesse.”

EPILOGUE

Noelle squinted out over the ocean as the waves crashed on the shore, rushing toward her and then falling away. Overhead, the clouds were clearing, shafts of sunlight streaming through the gloom. The storm that had raged through the night had passed. What was it about the morning after that made the world feel cleansed? It was a smell. It was a feeling.

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