Chapter 22: Between Guilt and Fear

I took a few steps and observed, took a deep breath, and observed the wreckage of my cell phone, my irises bore silent testimony to how much I despised it even more at that moment.

It didn't take long for someone to be there, greeted Stefano. I recognized him; he was the man accustomed to cleaning the upper rooms, and, of course, he was ready for the least amount of work Stefano would have for him, especially when the noise echoed throughout the house. My eyes were fixed on the strong, albeit old, man. All of them were capable of lifting quite a weight, regardless of their age. Their skill was unquestionable, probably acquired over many years here. All of this only demonstrated that Stefano didn't need me; he just wanted to keep me here for Davide, his heir and successor, although he knew I would do everything to prevent it.

Suddenly, I found myself reminiscing about Stefano from five years ago. He seemed more cheerful as if there was still something beyond himself to care about. I wondered if the Stefano from five years ago would continue trying to punish me, knowing that being here, a prisoner of the country's most notorious criminal, without any distractions, was already torment enough. I believed he wouldn't, even though the Stefano who was looking at me now seemed to have no thoughts about it. While his man collected the pieces and I thanked him on behalf of his boss, Stefano simply observed and waited for his reaction to me, which never came. The man didn't even look at me or respond, which was becoming a habit. For a moment, I almost forgot about that object. I almost forgot to open it, and I'm sure it would have been better that way.

Stefano watched me as I walked over there, his eyes gleamed with a hint of satisfaction. With careful hands, I undid the delicate bow adorning the box and looked at Stefano apprehensively while he merely wet his lips before I finished the job. My stomach churned instantly, and I felt a shiver run down my spine just from the smell that emerged a pungent, sweet, and putrid odor. Instinctively, I brought my hand to my nose, and the last glimmer of hope in me that something good might be inside crumbled before me. I recoiled. I didn't want to continue. I just wanted to expel Stefano from there.

"Continue, Beatrice, I want you to retrieve the paper at the bottom of the box," he ordered, his voice tinged with amusement, while every inch of me couldn't help but hear it without realizing that I should never have met Stefano.

I knew exactly what it was when I slid my trembling, sweaty finger to open the white tissue paper that covered it, but I also knew I wasn't ready to see it. So, when the sight of one of the man's fingers I had touched, along with his tongue, unfolded before my eyes, an even greater sense of repulsion took over me. My eyes narrowed, my mouth dried up, and a mixture of anguish and guilt enveloped me entirely. Stefano had done worse than he had said. Stefano was cruel; Stefano was, indeed, someone who knew no boundaries. But still, I couldn't feel better for knowing all that, as, in a way, he was right. I, too, was like him.

Everything there had been transformed in an instant, as if the world around me had disappeared, leaving only those repugnant objects in view, relived the day when I was the last to hear my father's voice before he could be killed. My mind was slipping, a crisis was impending. "No, no, no," I said to myself, trying to escape that memory and forcing myself not to falter in front of Stefano. My eyes closed, trying to regain some control over myself and my thoughts.

"Open your eyes, Beatrice; this is my gift to you; savor it." He let a short, dark smile escape as I tried to gather the courage to continue. My hands hesitated as if there were an escape, but in the end, I gave in to what Stefano wanted. I opened my eyes. I forced myself to continue, still feeling Stefano's presence, as he acted as if this were normal as if there were something fun about it. My face contorted even more if that was possible. My body was tense as I moved toward the envelope, trying to block out the disturbing images flooding my mind. As I descended with my hands, the textures touched my fingers; those images were etched in my brain. I felt my hands tremble, my breathing grew heavier, and my heart beat irregularly. Stefano watched me with an even more sadistic smile, savoring my agony. The room was in complete silence, except for the muffled sounds of my terrified thoughts. Each second was torture, and I wondered how I had come to this point, entangled in a sick game with such a cruel man. Even though my hands trembled, and my mind was teleporting to another place, I gathered enough strength to finally grab the envelope and pull it out of the box. I stepped back far enough, but I couldn't move and stop staring at the envelope's paper, stained and crumpled, as if it had been held by dirty hands.

I was paralyzed, my mind returning to the moment when Davide's silent sobbing echoed as we both hid in the bedroom closet minutes before the voice that held my father, coldly, administered an injection, probably lethal, to his neck. His lips still moved to try to scream, delighting the hooded man. His voice was dying with time until the man finished his job, choking him with his arms before he was close to death and watching his chest stop rising and falling right there. All those sensations were enveloping me once again, along with the guilt of not being able to save him and of seeing him taken away from there through a small gap. My eyes were inert at that moment. It was as if I were still covering my mouth to muffle the sound that wanted to come out, so they wouldn't hear us there and we could live. My breath became even shallower in that room; my chest felt heavy, and I could feel an absurd pressure on my chest. My mind started to replay the same sequence of events, and everything became harder to bear.

The sight of the stained paper, the disturbing flashes of the past, and Stefano's presence as a cruel spectator of my torment—all of it blended into an avalanche of despair. The room seemed to close in around me, and the atmosphere became suffocating.

My hands trembled even more uncontrollably as I held the stained envelope, the feeling of dirt invading my body. I had let the man I loved most die, and his blood, along with that of the man in the box, was in my hands. Stefano was probably talking, giving orders, and playing his role as master of everything, but I couldn't hear him. I didn't even care about him at that moment. Tears started streaming down my face as I desperately searched for air.

"No, Dad! It's all my fault...," I murmured to myself, wanted to scream, wanted to rip that pain out of me, but my voice was weak and almost inaudible. I felt the pain engulfing me as I remained trapped that day.

"You have to take deep breaths, Beatrice." I heard a distant, faint voice, but I couldn't pay attention to it. It was late at night, and the dim light of his bedside lamp was the only illumination in the room. "Beatrice," I heard that voice again, recognizing Stefano's cold tone, but it was firm and now closer as if he was almost there. "Take deep breaths. Do what I'm telling you."