Vengeance (COMPLETED)

Part 11

Over a week has passed. I haven't left my room at all, except to attend the medical clinic at the back of the building. Atticus took me straight there when we arrived from the mainland. Bruised ribs, a sprained wrist, torn hamstring, another concussion, about fifty stitches, and a thousand cuts, bruises and scrapes — and I got off easy. My head has been pounding day in and day out. I've only just started being able to sleep normally. The images of the dead men haunt me. Atticus is right though; I did the right thing. I did what I had to do. Simpson spent hours training me exactly for this reason. I just never expected I'd have to use it. But if I hadn't, it would be me bleeding out on the floor.

What bugs me even more, is that this is my life now. It was always going to be my life, the second I went after Vassilis. I was naïve. It was stupid to think I could live a quiet, peaceful life after putting away a major mafia boss. It was all pretend. I was never going to escape him. If I had kept my mouth shut, none of this would've happened. I would be safe in New York City, with my law degree, working for a Big 4 corporation. And Vassilis would be free.

God, I hate this. I should've trusted Atticus from the beginning. I was stupid to think I knew better. They really are trying to keep me safe, and I've fought them at every turn. I've only made it more difficult for them.

Atticus has been visiting every day. He had a TV brought into my room, as well as a stack of books. They've helped keep my mind off things. Catarina's come by a few times, too, and she's here again now. I haven't really been in the mood to talk, but it's starting to improve. I'll be ready to leave the room soon.

"So how long have you and Santos been together?" I munch on a handful of grapes, sitting beside Catarina on the balcony.

"Almost a year now," she smiles. "We've been married for 10 months."

"That's pretty new then, isn't it?"

"I guess so, but it doesn't really feel like it. We knew each other for about 4 or 5 years before we got married." Catarina proceeds to tell me all the ins and out of their relationship — how they got together, what they liked about each other, what their first few weeks looked like, how much their wedding cost, etcetera. It was an arranged marriage her parents set up. That's how they do things in the Santos family, and also in Catarina's. She's an heir to one of the major Italian mobs, the Sainte family. The families apparently formed an alliance once the brothers took over. Their marriage was clearly a way to solidify the alliance, but Catarina assured me she wouldn't have gone through with it if she didn't genuinely love Santos. I get it, though. This is normal for her. She always knew she'd have an arranged marriage, so it's good she at least gets a say in whether or not it's the right fit. And it sure seems to be. She adores him. This is the life she's always wanted, she tells me.

"Weren't you worried when you first met him?" I question. "I know you said they're not like their father, but didn't you doubt that?"

"When we first met? Sure. I wasn't convinced they were any different than their father, but I trusted my father, and he wouldn't have begun working with them if they were anything like Vassilis. They were enemies. Santos is nothing like him. It took me a while to understand, but it's true."

"What makes them so different?"

"I mean, sure... Santos does illegal things, but most of what he does is protection. Companies and organisations, even governments, pay them to protect them from other syndicates. They work with law enforcement to stop trafficking. They buy people out of it. When artwork is stolen, they're hired to return it. What they do is still illegal, but they do it for good. Their whole goal is to protect the public from people like their father, who profit from harming others. Vassilis was a dictator, a tyrant. He thrived off making other people suffer. Santos and his brothers... they're the opposite. They hate seeing people suffer."

"Is that why they hate their father so much?"

"Vassilis was an abusive asshole," she states. "He was a piece of shit Dad, and I hate swearing, but I mean it. He was violent and abusive. He tormented those boys. I'm talking... choking them, pointing guns at them, keeping them locked in a cupboard for misbehaving, physically beating them until they passed out."

"Jesus," I'm taken aback by her words.

"He was awful. He wanted them to be just as cruel as him, but it had the opposite effect. It brought the brothers closer together, to protect each other and revolt against him," she explains. "Your mother was working with them, you know?"

"What?" That catches my attention more than her graphic descriptions of violence. Catarina scowls.

"Atticus didn't tell you?"

"No, he didn't."

"You should ask him about it. He knew her pretty well."

"I will," I get up out of my seat. This is definitely worth leaving the room for. The two guards posted outside join me as I head down to the ground floor. My initial thought is to meet him in his office, but I change my mind when I see the door of the conference room open. Atticus is in there alone, crouched down at the head of the table, reading from one of the binders. He looks up when he notices me in the doorway. He gets up out of his seat, his eyes filled with concern.

"Should you be out of your room?" he asks.

"You didn't tell me you knew my mum," I jump straight to the point. His face falls.

"You spoke with Catarina?" he puts two and two together.

"Yeah, she mentioned it."

"Of course she did."

"So?" I push. "Tell me about it."

"I don't think you want to hear this."

"Of course I do."

"Erin—."

"Tell me," I insist.

"I—," he still hesitates. "You've just started to recover. I don't want to make you upset."

"Atticus, come on," I give him a pointed look. He has to tell me. I deserve to know.

"Fine," he gives in. "But at least sit down. You shouldn't be out and about yet."

I take a seat beside him, only separated by the corner of the table. He lets out a deep sigh, his brows furrowed deeply. He clearly doesn't want to tell me this story. I can't see why not, though. If I had l known my mother was involved with them in some way, this entire mess could have been avoided. I wouldn't have been so reluctant to trust them.