Chapter 206: EPILOGUE: FINAL CHAPTER

Marco Tinirello

That day shouldn't have happened.

Father should have never died.

These thoughts ran through Marco Tinirello's mind as he eased into a bench in the St. Mary's church this afternoon. A bench at the far back of the church. The less he was noticed, the better.

He adjusted further, sliding down and gently to the last edge of the bench. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass, casting colored patterns on the marble floor of the church and on his lap. The image of St. Mary imprinted on the windows was projected a little on his chinos pants by the sunlight.

Marco looked around him. Heads and backs lined up on rows of benches ahead of him. Even the bench he sat on, middle-aged women and grannies had begun to occupy the remaining spaces on it. The cheering congregations, all dressed in their best attire, blocked him off from the view from the altar.

Perfect. He whispered to himself, under his breath. A grin staining his lips. They couldn't spot him. His enemies. The very people who had killed his father. Brought the smartest man he had ever known to his death—Luca Tinirello.

Marco could still remember the night of his father's death like it was burned into his brain. His father had had the Biancardi brothers chained in the farmhouse, and his cousin, Rachel Tinirello—his lips curled in hate at even the mere thought of her.

He hated her more than he hated the Biancardis. How could a Tinirello be frolicking with the very people that massacred their family? A bastard one, maybe.

His thought trailed on, just as the soft hum of organ music began from the altar, playing in his head like background music to his thoughts.

…Rachel was bound as well. Everything had been going according to plan. Torture and kill the Biancardi bastards, and then make Rachel both their wives. His father would have her first, and he would have her after. Then they could breed the next generation of Tinirellos and let the family’s legacy live on with them.

That was how it was supposed to be.

But then, the strange men had come, attacking their base with an overwhelming force. His father couldn't defend against the force. He just couldn't. It was a surprise attack, and the enemy's force was stronger than theirs. His father had had to hide him in a secret pouch he’d made in an area of the floorboards. Then his father had gone to take on the Biancardis just by himself. Just fucking by himself. Marco grunted, clenching his teeth hard.

He felt the hair on his neck lift—standing erect, almost ticklish—he looked up. A number of the congregation on the bench before his and the ones on his were staring at him. Their lips didn't move. Their piercing gazes, narrowed on him as if he were the devil himself, did all the talking.

Well, he was the devil. But he just wasn't their devil. He was Rachel and the Biancardis’ personal devil and their daughter for whom this baptism is being held.

Damn it. He grunted under his breath as the piercing gazes lingered. Apparently, he had done some of his thinking aloud. He let his eyes drift to them one after another, feeling the heat of the scowls in their eyes. The ‘F’ word must have been what got out. He thought. It wasn't a very churchy language.

“Sorry,” He flashed smiles at the people, jerking his head in the direction of all of them. He mouthed more sorrys to them all, and he relaxed in his seat.

He carried his gaze to the altar, pretending to be interested in the ceremony. His hand was quivering as he rested his elbow on the bench’s arm and carried his head on his fingers. Hell. He gritted his teeth gently. If only I could strangle these folks right here and right now, he thought. He could still feel some of their eyes on him.

That stopped when the priest called the parents to the altar.

Draco Biancardi and Rachel stood up from the front bench and approached the altar. Logan Biancardi sat back, carrying Briella's baby in his arms. Martin they called him. Marco glimpsed a little of his chubby face since Logan's big body blocked him from view. The boy was already over a year old.

Marco grunted, staring hard at the little of the baby he glimpsed. I should have killed that baby too, after I killed Briella, he thought. That would have been one less Biancardi to worry about.

The white robe of the priest flowed gently with the sway of his legs to the baptismal font, and the soft hum of the organ music faded slowly to a dull whisper.

Marco watched Draco intently while Draco lifted his hands beneath Rachel's, helping to carry their baby in the shawl. His lips curled tighter in a snarl when Draco Biancardi and Rachel traded smiles while the priest asked them some questions regarding the baptism.

I am going to kill him first, Marco thought, his fingers almost digging into the hard wood of the bench. I am going to fucking kill him first. Madness was still a good end for him. I would take him before then.

Marco could still remember Draco's fingers squeezing his neck tight that afternoon in Sumpter County. Even the night when his father had died. He had heard from the pouch under the floorboards, as Draco asked the man that led the attack on them if they had seen and killed him—Marco.

The other man had laughed. “I don't know who the hell Marco is, but we killed every last one of the bastards. None of them even so much as got away from the farmhouse.”

“Are you sure, Ashton?” Draco had snapped with that loud, chilling voice of his.

“Hell yeah,” the man had replied.

“Let us go through the corpses then. I want to make sure the bastard is truly dead.”

Then there had been a pause. A loud, long pause that had Marco's heart banging hard against the walls of his chest then.

Then suddenly, the other man had laughed again, his voice cracking at a hard guffaw. “You don’t have to believe me, Draco. But at least believe in my men. No one got away. None of those bastards left the farmhouse. I made sure of that.” Then there had been another pause. “We don't have much time to go through the corpses. And we have to do some cleanup, burn the whole house down, and leave before the local police arrive.”

“Okay,” Draco had grunted. “Why did Logan even involve you in this,”

The other man had laughed again. Draco's feet had thudded against the floorboard above Marco as he stormed out of the farmhouse.

Marco had merely been lucky to escape the fire. He pinched the burnt scar on his arm absently, the scar he’d suffered escaping the fire.

His mind drifted to the present, when the baby's name was announced.

“Isabella Lucia,” the priest repeated, touching the baby's head three times with fingers he'd dipped into the holy water.

Marco grinned to himself, licking his lips gently. Isabel, he muttered under his breath. Draco and Rachel sure picked a nice name for his future woman. Isabella was going to be his woman someday. He would make sure of that. He would be coming for her when she was of the right age, and with her, he would make sure the Tinirellos name lived on.

His gaze flicked on Rachel, over her slim, petite body trapped in her elegant yet simple sheath dress. The dress hugged her body, and Marco could trace the outlines of her curves. She was still beautiful, though, he thought. But he’ll still be going for little Isabella. That way, he would be able to make sure Rachel and the Biancardis suffer more. Besides, Rachel is married now, married to Draco.

He’d attended the marriage just as he was attending the baptism now. He was keeping true to his father's words.

“Watch your enemies, know them, even more than they know themselves. Follow them around if you can. But do all these while being invisible. While they think you are dead or don't exist, then they wouldn't know you are coming until you pounce on them,” his father had told him.

And that was what he was doing. Marco stood up after the whole congregation rose to their feet, flocking to the altar to greet the new parents and wish them well.

Marco knew everything about Draco Biancardi and about Rachel and Logan Biancardi. He knew the brothers didn't even want a baptism. They weren't so religious. Rachel had had to convince them to do it, citing that her foster parents did it for her.

Marco knew far more than that. He knew Logan's friends, Ashton and Lara. He knew Logan hated the idea of marriage. That was why Draco had been the only one to marry Rachel, just a month after he graduated therapy, which Rachel had forced him to go through. Even though she had become a practicing therapist and worked in a nearby hospital, she couldn't treat him herself, due to the ethics of her profession, and had sent him to a colleague.

Marco knew everything about them. Even down to the food they ate every morning. He had spies working as maids in the house under his payroll. He had the whole Tinirellos fortune, which his father, Luca, had stashed away in some Swiss account as his war chest.

Marco adjusted his fake mustache over his lips as he strolled out of the spaces between the benches.

With the makeup he wore along with the fake mustache, not even Rachel, who knew him as Caleb, would recognize him. He was just nineteen, but he had always looked older—like he was in his late twenties.

His face darkened, turning sour slowly, when the thought of where the name Caleb came from struck his mind. It was the name of his maternal grandfather. His mom was a local farm girl in Sumpter County that Luca had gotten pregnant. But as soon as Marco was a toddler, Luca had killed off his mother and grandfather. Yeah. His father has been a bit extreme with that, but Marco had come to understand that Luca had done it to protect his (Marco's) identity as a Tinirello.

Marco grabbed the arm of an old granny, wobbling to the altar—to Rachel and the baby. “Hello,” he greeted, flashing her a smile. He needed an escort to look less suspicious than he would be. His eyes roamed over her heavily wrinkled face and chubby, yet scraggy body, and he grinned to himself in his mind—perfect.

Her old, wrinkled face dissolved in a smile for him too. “Oh!” She exclaimed with all of her old face. “What a handsome young man you are, boy,” she cried, excitement making her old voice crack a bit.

Marco’s lip almost twisted with disgust at the old lady, but he steeled control of himself, forcing back the disgust in his eyes and face. He flashed her a smile instead. Then he grabbed her arm, slipping it under his. “You are a beautiful, old granny yourself.” He teased her.

“Oh! Don't call me a granny boy,” she said emphatically. She slapped at his chest with her old palm as he led her to the altar to Rachel and Draco.

He grunted, his fist shaking beside him. How dare the old thing dare to touch him? But when he turned to her again, he wore a smile over his snarl.

“Then shall I rephrase and call you a beautiful young woman then?”

He said, with a wicked twist of his lips.

He gritted his teeth softly with irritation when he watched a flush come to her cheeks. He withdrew his eyes completely from her, throwing them ahead to little Isabella, carried wrapped in a shawl in Rachel's arms. A wall of heavy men gathered around her. They blocked the congregations from her, screening the people allowed to get closer to Rachel to see much of the baby.

This is the most view I can ever get, Marco said to himself. He didn't see the baby much, but he saw the cute chubby cheeks and the soft amber eyes that flicked around excitedly as Rachel raised her up more. She had taken Draco’s eyes but made them more feminine. Marco licked his lips gently, and he muttered to himself. “I will come for you, Isabella. When you are grown up. You will be my tool to make your father, mother, and your entire family suffer.”

He grinned to himself, then he unclasped his arm from the old lady's, turned, and walked away.

I will be coming, Isabella. He smiled, a slow, wicked smile stretching his thin lips. He was going to make them all pay for killing the Tinirellos, for killing his father. His loafers clicked on the marble floor as he walked out of the church into the afternoon sun. He was going to make them cry till they had no tears left to shed. He was their devil. Their personal devil.

THE END

THANKS FOR READING TO THE END.

I BELIEVE THE JOURNEY HAS NOT JUST BEEN LONG BUT IS ALSO PLEASING AND ENTERTAINING. PLEASE DON'T FORGET DROP A REVIEW.

WATCH OUT FOR SEASON TWO, COMING SOON