Morally Blasphemous (Morally Questionable Book 2)

by Veronica Lancet

  "Don't... please don't do this. I'm begging you." I move closer to him, lifting my hand to his face. "I don't want you to die." I don't think I've ever been as scared in my life. The thought of a world without Marcello... it leaves me cold. "I forgive you." I add immediately, knowing the words to be true the moment I utter them.

  "Alas, but I don't. I can't forgive myself." He raises his uninjured hand to cup mine, bringing it to his lips for the briefest of touches. "Lina, my sweet, sweet Lina. I've failed you. Again." Tears are rolling down his cheeks. Mine too, but I need to keep my wits about me. He can't do this.

  "We have a child, Marcello. Please don't do this. Don't leave your daughter without a father when she just got one." It may seem like I'm emotionally blackmailing him, but at this point I'm willing to try everything.

  "That's why I'm doing this. Claudia needs her mother. She doesn't need me." He shakes his head slowly, a bitter smile on his face. "You know," he tugs a hair strand behind my ear, his fingers lingering a little on the surface of my cheek. "I can't ever regret loving you. Not when you've been the brightest part of my life. In another life..." He lowers his head and swallows hard. "Maybe in another life, you'd still be you, and I'd be someone better. Someone you'd deserve. And maybe," he sniffles a sob, "maybe you'd love me a fraction of what I love you."

  "I do, God, I do. So don't! Please don't do this. If you love me so much, don't leave me alone!" My fingers dig into the material of his shirt, my eyes pleading with him.

  "That's just the thing, Lina. I love you too much to stay." He blinks twice, trying to clear his eyes. "I'm not afraid of dying. Not anymore." His lips make an attempt at a smile.

  "Time's up." Nicolo suddenly interrupts.

  Marcello winces and leaning forward he brushes his lips across mine.

  "I'll always love you, Lina. Even with my last dying breath." I want to reply to him, but he leans back, struggling to his feet.

  He takes the blade from Nicolo and positions it at his neck.

  "No. You should kneel. Die even lower than her." Marcello doesn't argue as he stoops down, his knees hitting the hard floor.

  He gives me one last look, mouthing Don't watch. But I can't! I can't just stay still. I propel my body towards Nicolo, my only thought to stop him.

  Just as I am a foot away from him, he raises his gun, aiming at me.

  "No! I'll do it." Marcello yells.

  "Hurry, boy, or our bargain will become invalid."

  I think I hear some noise from the outside, but everything pales as I turn horrified and watch Marcello do the unthinkable.

  Lifting the knife just under his jaw, he digs the blade into his skin until a small trickle of blood pours down his neck. With steady fingers, he drags it across, lengthening the wound until he reaches the other side.

  Blood gushes out of his throat. Like a waterfall, the scarlet liquid bathes his skin, painting it red – redder than it was.

  "Nooooo!" I yell, rushing towards him, not caring if Nicolo shoots me or not, death a small mercy at this point.

  "No, no, no." I mutter hysterically as I reach for him. I put my hands on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

  "Don't you do this to me, damn it."

  His mouth moves a little, and he seems to want to say something.

  "Don't speak. Please!" I take what's left of my dress and press over the wound. It immediately soaks up the blood. He can't die here. He simply can't!

  "Dear God, Marcello, please don't leave me! I'm begging you." I can't even see straight for the of tears leaking from my eyes. But I don't let go.

  Somewhere in the distance, a succession of gunshots permeates the air. I hear it, but I register nothing but my darling Marcello, whose eyes are still wide open, staring at me in wonder.

  "Please, love. Please, stay with me." I wail, my voice hoarse.

  "Lina! Lina!" My brother is suddenly by my side, shaking me.

  "Let go! I can't let him die..." I don't think I'm making any sense, but my tunnel vision includes only Marcello.

  "An ambulance will be here shortly. Let me help." He presses his hands on top of mine, helping with the pressure.

  "Fuck!" I hear another voice.

  "What the fuck is wrong with him? Going by himself fully knowing Nicolo was gunning for him? Damn, Marcel, you really did it, buddy." Another man speaks, his voice full of despair.

  "The ambulance should be here soon. I'll take Nicolo and Franco to the car." One of them adds.

  "Fine. I'll keep you updated."

  I don't know what happens next. A flurry of people are suddenly inside the crypt, and I'm being separated from Marcello.

  "Miss, please, let us do our job."

  "He'll make it right? Please tell me he'll make it." I beg the paramedic. He purses his lips.

  "We still have a pulse, but I can't vouch for anything. We need to hurry him to the hospital for an urgent transfusion."

  "B, his blood is B." I call out, remembering that snipped of information.

  "Good. We'll hook him on blood as soon as we get to the car." He assures me, and they put him on a stretcher.

  Enzo is still holding me, tugging my head under his chin.

  "He won't die." I say, willing myself to believe it too.

  "He won't... he won't." He hugs me tighter, trying to comfort me.

  THE RIDE TO THE HOSPITAL is tense. We're both aware that we may get there and he might be... dead.

  "What did they do with the bodies?"

  "Vlad cleaned up the scene and got rid of them."

  I grunt an acknowledgement. Then I ask what's been on my mind all along.

  "Why didn't you come earlier?" Enzo notices a trace of desperation in my voice, and he grimaces slightly.

  "We didn't know the location." He admits. "Marcello left an automated message to be sent after a certain amount of time had passed."

  I take a deep breath, things becoming a little clearer – and more alarming.

  "He came here to die, didn't he?"

  Enzo doesn't answer, but the tight clench of his jaw tells me he agrees with me.

  "He... Nicolo was behind everything. The incident ten years ago, Father Guerra... every single thing." I say, closing my eyes, overwhelmed at everything that had happened.

  "Does it matter?" Enzo asks after a pause, his eyes focused on the road. "Does that make Marcello any less guilty? God, Lina... He raped you." He groans, emotion rolling off my brother like I'd never seen before.

  "I don't think it's as black and white."

  "Sure, he just raped you a little." He laughs derisively.

  "Stop... please. I can't do this right now." I whisper.

  "Sorry." He apologizes, and we drop the subject altogether.

  We get to the hospital to find out he's been admitted into surgery. The doctor on call proceeds to tell us it was a miracle he survived this far considering his extensive injuries and blood loss. From the way he's recounting it, it seems that that the wound in his throat wasn't too deep.

  "There are lacerations at the level of the trachea, and it might cause some vocal impairment, but the esophagus is intact, and that's the good news. As to the other wounds. We've administered a tetanus shot, and we now have a joint team working on his throat and his shoulder."

  "He'll make it, right?" I ask, a glimmer of hope blooming inside of me.

  "I can't promise anything, but it looks like it. It could have been much worse."

  We thank the doctor for his time and we head to the waiting room. Enzo is glued to my side all throughout, as if he's afraid I won't be able to handle this.

  "I'm fine, really." I try to assure him, but he doesn't seem convinced.

  "What happened there, Lina? Did Nicolo..." I quickly shake my head.

  "But there's something you need to know." I take a deep breath. "Allegra was the one who took me there." His expression is tense as I tell him what happened, from the lie she'd told to get me out of the house, to the weird way she was talking.

  "I'm sorry
, Lina." He sighs. "I'll take care of it. I've been ignoring her for too long." He shakes his head.

  "But why? What happened to her?"

  "She's not well... mentally. I tried to make excuses for her because of that, but it's one thing to do crazy shit all the time, and quite another to betray the famiglia. When she took up with Nicolo, she knew what she was getting into." He mutters a curse under his breath.

  "But if she's so unwell, how could you let her near Lucca?"

  "Trust me, I don't. She sees him briefly and under supervision. He needs to know that his mother is at least around."

  "I'm sorry." I touch his arm lightly.

  Marcello's friends, Adrian and Vlad, join us in the waiting room.

  "Won't the police be called?" I ask suddenly, remembering the gunshot wound. Isn't it standard protocol to call them?

  "I handled that." Adrian grimaces. "We wrote it off as a suicide attempt gone wrong. With his history no one will ask questions."

  "You mean the last attempt?" I probe, curious about what Nicolo had meant.

  "Marcello insists it wasn't a suicide attempt, but he has a history of psychiatric problems."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Besides his phobia of touch, he's always had problems with insomnia." He confides, and I remember the many instances in which he'd stay up late citing work reasons, or the nightmares...

  "I see." I nod, not knowing what else to add.

  MARCELLO'S SURGERY is a success, and he is soon moved to a private salon. I stay with him the first night while he's out, but in the morning Enzo convinces me to go home to shower and change.

  When I come back, the doctor pulls me aside to tell me that Marcello won't be able to speak for the time being, not until his vocal cords heal. Other than that, his condition is improving. Given that it's his second attempt in a month, he suggests an inpatient center. I don't want to decide anything right now, so I smile and tell him I'll think about it.

  I head over to his salon and notice a nurse is coming out of his room.

  "Are you Mrs. Lastra?" She asks, and I nod.

  "Is something wrong?"

  "Mr. Lastra is awake." She starts and I take a deep breath, my lips stretching wide into a smile. "But he doesn't want to see you."

  "What do you mean?" I frown, my face immediately falling. Why doesn't he want to see me?

  "He asked me to give you this." She hands me a letter. "Your name's been removed from allowed visitors, so..." She seems apologetic, but I just nod mechanically.

  I go to an empty area and numbly sit down. Unfolding the letter, I start reading.

  My lovely Lina,

  I'm sorry about how everything turned out. You have no idea how much I wish things were different... including what happened that night ten years ago. I can sit here and tell you countless times that I never wanted to hurt you. But the truth is, I did hurt you. Even when I tried to do what I considered best at the time, you ended up being hurt.

  I stop, tears already falling down my cheeks. But I will myself to read on. He's relating everything that happened that night in great detail; how he knew he had no choice, but tried to drug me so I wouldn't be in pain; how he'd struck a deal with his brother for my safety, devoting the last decade to working to catch a criminal and betraying his best friend in the process. The descriptions are so painfully vivid, my heart aches for what he had to live with.

  I simply do not deserve you. Not now. Not like this. Not when I'm a broken man afraid to face his own demons. If what you said back there is true... that you forgive me... I want to forgive myself too. I want to become someone worthy of you.

  But for that, I need to help myself first. I can't in good conscience stay in your life knowing I'm a ticking bomb that may go off at any time. I can't expose you, or Claudia to that.

  I know I have no right to ask this, but... will you wait for me?

  Forever yours,

  Marcello

  I can barely breathe as sobs wreck my body. I want to go to him and tell him that everything will be ok, that I forgive him and that I love him. If possible, knowing what I do now makes me love him even more. I can't even imagine what it's like to live with a burden like that. No, I can't even imagine how Marcello is still sane after everything he's been through.

  It's hard to grasp all he's done in the past, the people he's tortured and killed... but is that really him? Or is it merely who the famiglia wanted him to be? How can he know any better when all his life he's witnessed only human cruelty? The fact that he'd so easily give his own life for me says it all. For a man who's never received kindness, he was ready to commit the ultimate sacrifice.

  And that is the real Marcello. My soul recognizes his in a way that can't be explained by science or words. He's got the gentlest, more pure heart. He just had the misfortune of being born in the wrong family. No one's ever taught him kindness, and yet it comes so naturally to him.

  I wipe my tears and head to the reception desk to ask for paper and a pen. Then I write my reply.

  I'll wait.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  2 MONTHS LATER,

  "LINA." I PRACTICE IN FRONT of the mirror, still not accustomed to my new voice. I clear my throat and try again. "Lina." I purse my lips. The knife had damaged my vocal cords, and while the doctors had hoped that they would heal completely, my voice now has a husky quality to it. It's not unpleasant, but it feels very foreign.

  Like I'd smoked one hundred cigarettes a day for the last twenty years.

  The scar healed nicely, though. Nicer than I would have expected. A reddish pink line now mars my neck. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be able to hide it even with a turtleneck.

  After I'd received that letter from Lina, I hadn't heard from her. Well, not directly. I'd borrowed Vlad's listening device, and I've been able to listen to some of her conversations with Enzo. Both Catalina and Claudia are doing well. From the snippets I'd heard, Lina started her own business, selling some of her fashion designs and creating custom pieces for people. I couldn't be prouder about that. She's finally taking life into her own hands.

  And soon, I'll be able to join her too.

  I put on a blazer and head to my therapy appointment. A lot had changed since I'd walked out of the hospital, grateful to be alive. I don't think I've ever put as much price on my life as I had when Lina had begged me to live, both for her and for Claudia. But I've since learned that before I can live for them, I also need to learn how to live for myself.

  In the past, all of my attempts at getting therapy had been failures. Not that I'd been too disappointed, since I've always hated talking about myself. But this time, the therapist is born in the mafia, and familiar with how things are done.

  After I'd been discharged from the hospital, I continued seeing my old therapist for a couple of sessions, but things weren't working out. I couldn't be entirely truthful, and how could she help me if she had no idea what the extent of my trauma was? Around that time I'd talked again with Guerra, who'd extended his apologies for his brother, saying he had no idea what he was up to. We'd also realized that Franco had been working for some time with Nicolo, and they had planned to take over the leadership within their families. The attack wrongfully attributed to the Irish had been their doing, taking advantage of the terrible reputation the Gallaghers already had.

  I'd also been trying to fix the miss within the famiglia, and Francesco had been invaluable in carrying out my orders and acting as my proxy. During one talk, he'd brought up his eldest daughter, Giulia. A clinical psychiatrist with a few years of experience, Giulia was the answer to my prayers. I hadn't been her first mob client, and certainly not the last.

  At my first appointment, the conversation had flowed. She hadn't been phased by anything I'd said – or at least she hadn't shown it. A few more sessions and she'd had a couple of diagnoses for me. From PTSD to depression, she'd tackled my self-harm tendencies and my insomnia. I don't claim to have been suddenly cured, but it feels better to know there's a s
cientific explanation for all of my episodes, and not a demonic possession as my mother had called it. In fact, Giulia had suggested that the bulk of my trauma comes from my mother. My father's abuse had only added to it. With her constant rejections and religious fanaticism, she'd instilled in me I'm not worthy of anything. It had been then easy for my father to mold me into what he wanted.

  The session this time focuses on that night, and the source of my biggest shame. I walk Giulia through everything that happened, and she listens attentively, not betraying any disgust for me — what woman wouldn't feel like that for what I did?

  "I see." She pushes her glasses up her nose and makes a few notes. "What do you think would have happened if you didn't do that? Tell me your honest opinion."

  "Father would have made good on his promise. He would have given Catalina to his men. Or... because he was unpredictable, he could have killed her too."

  "Do you think you could have done anything else then?"

  I shake my head, closing my eyes. "No." I breathe out.

  "There are two things that I see, Marcello. If you hadn't done it, someone else would have. By doing it yourself, and I'm not excusing your actions, but you had control over the situation. You took care of her in a way that no one else would have. You made sure she got out alive."

  "Yes, but..."

  "What does she say about this?" Giulia suddenly asks, and I lower my head in shame.

  "She says she forgives me, but I can't fathom how she could ever do that."

  "Why? You don't trust her? Trust her word?" She leans forward, eyes trained on me, challenging me.

  "I do." I whisper.

  "But you can't forgive yourself." She nods, turning to her notebook and jotting down something. "You can't change the past, Marcello. No matter how much you wish it didn't happen, it did. But that doesn't mean that the man you are today is still the man you were before. Or that you can't change for the better. The past is the past. Let it go. You can still change the future."

  "How can I ever feel deserving of her, knowing what I did?" I ask, my voice breaking.

  "You won't. But that will make you try harder every day. Lover her more everyday so she feels that you are deserving of her. The ever-trite adage, actions speak louder than words."