Chapter 21 Mr Pedro(2)
Alessia's POV
I slowly come back to consciousness. My vision is blurry for a few seconds before things solidify. I am lying down on the long sofa in Alex’s office. I turn my gaze to Alex and Mr. Padre, who are still seated, but it seems they are rounding up for the day. Mr. Padre packs up his papers as Alex tells him, “So first things first.”
“Find out everything about the Molanos.” My heart skips a beat. “Every single detail. Remember, they are the keys.” Mr. Padre nods his head as he takes notes.
“Find out what day Alessia’s mother was killed and find out if any members of La Geneva were in Sicily.” Mr. Padre glances at Alex for a moment as if he wanted to say something but decided against it. He faces his notebook and continues to jot down. Alex continues, “I also need the date so I can retrieve the CCTV camera footage from the house. She should have closure, and I will make sure she gets it.” I blink back the tears as my mother is discussed in such cold factual terms, even though I will grudgingly admit to myself it’s nice of him to want to help me get to the answers, no matter how painful they will be.
“Look into La Geneva. Check all flights into the country if anyone that fits their coven flew in.”
“Check the black market for La Rosa. This is just to cover all basics. No one will steal it and try to sell it. It’s too damn powerful and valuable.”
Mr. Padre nods. “Indeed, it is one of a kind, and no replica or jewel that comes remotely close has ever been created. History states it’s one of the reasons Natura couldn’t practice magic after creating it. She poured her life essence into it.”
“As you know, Mr. Padre,” Alex says, picking up his gun and turning it around, “I have a personal reason for chasing it. My father.” For the first time since I have met him, I glimpse a flicker of pain on his face for a moment before he masks it. “My father was on the hunt of La Rosa for years when he died. He tried so many times to steal it from the Sirranos. He was adamant that it was created for his great grandfather and the Sirranos stole it. He even went to the cursed Red Sea, and there are rumors he was killed by one of the witches from the covens he went to interrogate there.” He closes his eyes for an instant before opening them again. I watch him and something cracks open in my chest as his pain resonates with mine.
Mr. Padre sighs. “I heard the story. So sorry for your loss. The late Signor Ferrini was a spectacular man, larger than life.”
He shakes his head once as he slips his cool face back on, and there is the monster I am used to. He has returned. I cough once to let them know I am awake and they glance at me. Alex’s expression is unreadable as Mr. Padre’s eyes meet mine with a hint of worry.
Alex addresses me. “Lay down and rest. I will see Mr. Padre out.” He crushes his cigar and stands up. I look at him, always so damn bossy and commanding.
Mr. Padre rises from his chair facing me. “Take care, dear. Remember your lessons will start tomorrow. Mr. Ferrini will supervise you.” I nod my head at them, not ready to speak.
They walk out together and I lean my head back on the chair. I am contemplating standing and moving toward the table to read the notes Mr. Padre left when Alex’s voice drifts to me. He seems to be on the phone.
“Yes, he just left,” he says and waits for a moment before adding, “Keep Mr. Padre under watch.” He pauses, his voice turning lower and darker. “We are dealing with very sensitive and classified information. I don’t want it getting out. If he talks about it or even breathes about what we discussed here today, kill him, carve out his tongue, and bring it to me.”
My heart turns to stone once again as the earlier pity I felt for him evaporates into thin air. I suddenly feel nauseous and I press a hand over my mouth, pushing the porridge I had earlier down. I can’t have him knowing I heard his phone call. I lean back slowly, trying to calm my racing heart, taking slow deep breaths.
I almost forgot that he was, still is, a stone-cold killer. The same man who held on to me when I cried, the same man that allowed me to hit and punch him until exhaustion takes over, is the same one deciding if an innocent man lives or dies with a single phone call. Maybe he was right. Hatred isn’t a bad emotion to hold on to after all.