He sighed, already reaching for the doorknob. “You’ll work as a housekeeper in my home.”
And the door closed.
Hours later, I was dressed in black jeans and a white T-shirt, with Converse sneakers on my feet. It was the only kindness my soon-to-be murderer had shown me, since I had spent the rest of the day locked in the bedroom, without food or even a single glass of water.
We were in his car now.
At least, I'm not in the trunk this time.
Sitting next to him, I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned back in my seat, not wasting my breath on questions. He told me before we left that we were going to the airport, and that was all. I looked at the vehicle and a chill ran down my spine at the sight of the oxblood leather seats and the polished wood dashboard. It looked expensive, very expensive, and his words from that morning still reverberated in my mind.
In Italy, I could walk freely... because he controlled the region. Which meant that when I least expected it, some random guy could end my life.
I wrapped my arms around my body and leaned closer to the window, letting the warm air run through my hair. I was on death row. I didn't know when or how it would happen, but it would. When Camillo Vicari decided, I would be executed.
“If you're cold, I can close the window.” His rough voice made me look at him. He wore the same glasses he had on when I met him at the diner, rectangular ones that made him look like a movie star from the 90s, and had just one hand on the wheel, as if driving came as naturally to him as breathing. I paid attention to his long, thick fingers, the veins and tendons that ran down his forearms and painted webs on his hands, wondering how many lives they had already ended.
At my silence, his face turned slowly and I saw his thick eyebrows furrow. “Signorina Parker, is there a problem?”
I sighed and turned back to what was beyond the window beside me. To the Mississippi landscape that would soon be too far from my eyes.
“No.” That was all I replied.
We had just arrived in Jackson, and it was just as I remembered it. Depressing. There was too much space between the buildings, which ranged from exaggerated attempts at modernism to houses falling apart. It was a city of contrasts, reminding everyone why Mississippi is considered the poorest state in the Union.
Still, I made an effort to remember the charming parts of that place. The southern magnolias and red maples that defied the urban sterility. The typical brick-fronted buildings, which reminded me of the streets of Silver River and so well reflected the Southern identity. The way the late afternoon sun fell on the houses and spread across the gardens, turning everything in its path into copper statues...
I would never see that again.
I wrapped my arms tighter around my body. Although my stomach had been growling for hours, it wasn't the main reason I was remembering at that moment Aunt Lizzie's fried catfish or her burnt sugar cake. Food and feelings were the same thing in Mississippi. When our words weren't enough, when hugs didn't convey what was in our souls, there was always a plate of food that would do the job. For me, it was my aunt's fried catfish and burnt sugar cake. They had been with me when my dad died, and they were there when Lester died as well, a silent reminder that there was someone in the world who loved me deeply.
Tears welled up in my eyes, and I freed one arm to wipe them away without Camillo noticing. I was going to miss Aunt Lizzie, Liv, and Oli. I was going to miss the food, the laughter, and the smell of the earth. I was going to miss Mississippi. But there it was. We only appreciate what we have when its loss is imminent and inevitable.
I closed my eyes, swallowing my emotions.
Deep down, I wasn't afraid of death. I wasn't afraid of leaving anything unsaid, because I had said everything I could to those I loved through words and gestures. And as much as it broke myheart to realize, after so long, that Lester wanted me to live, the truth was that I didn't mind leaving. But I would miss them. I would miss being there, surrounded by those I loved so much. I would miss the simple fact of being alive.
I thought of Senator Jones. She died such a brutal death, convinced that she would finally get justice for her son. The manic way she laughed, certain of a victory that never came... And for what? She fell to the ground without knowing what had happened to her. A life cut short in an instant, just as she had intended to do to mine.
“I’ll have them serve dinner as soon as we take off.” Camillo's voice pulled me out of the mental puzzle I was trying to piece together. “You people usually have dinner around five, don’t you?”
I stared at him with raised eyebrows and narrowed eyes, a growing anger overwhelming all the other emotions that were flooding me. “Oh, how thoughtful of you, my dear kidnapper!” I sneered. "After giving me a measly cup of coffee and locking me in that room all day, you remembered that I also need to eat. What a gentleman!"
He grunted something I didn't understand.
“Will that dinner be another tiny cup of coffee? Or will you be generous enough to give me a cookie to go with it?”
“There was food in the refrigerator,” he grumbled, his brow furrowed and his eyes fixed on the road. “I told you to grab something if you wanted.”
“I don’t go rummaging through other people’s fridges. Especially not a serial killer's. Thanks, but I don't want to come face to face with a severed head.” I retorted, my attention fixed on the window again. I didn't want to look at him, talk to him, or breathe the same air.
Fucking Italian.
“The only head getting chopped off is yours if you don't stop with the insults.”
That made me open my mouth wide and sit up straight in my seat. “Excuse me, sugar, but in your country, what do you call a man who kills people like they're insects?” I fired back, unable to believe that the jerk still wanted me to be polite. “And you can stop with the threats, by the way. I know exactly what's coming for me. You don't have to constantly remind me.”
He sighed.