Mercy

Loss.

Death takes no bribes- Benjamin Franklin

Loss:noun
the fact or process of losing something or someone.

Chapter 1

The scent of rain, which usually brought me a sense of calm, felt different today. It felt oppressive, as if it carried the weight of my grief. I stared down at the bier, soon to hold my husband's coffin. I always knew death had no perfect time, but I never expected it would visit us this soon. We walked in silence, the occasional sobs and whispers mingling with the priest's prayers. Moments later, I watched as Leonardo, my husband, was lowered into his grave. I couldn't bring myself to shed a tear.

My fingers played absently with the material of my black dress as my eyes stayed fixed on the name engraved on the headstone: Leonardo Conti. A man of immense power, cut down in the most dishonorable way. Anger was all I felt, burning within me like a furnace, because the one responsible for his murder was still out there. I, Alessandra Conti, swore to avenge him.

A light touch on my hand pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up into the sorrow-filled brown eyes of Beatrice, Leonardo's sister. "Mi dispiace per la tua perdita" (I'm sorry for your loss), she whispered, her voice breaking under the weight of her grief. I squeezed her hand gently, my voice cold yet determined. "Dobbiamo trovare la persona che ce l'ha portato via" (We must find the one who took him from us). I laid a single flower on the coffin, my final tribute, before Beatrice and I turned and walked away in silence, entering the waiting car.

The drive back was quiet, but my thoughts were anything but. The family house was still marked as a crime scene, and I wasn't in any hurry to return. That place held too many memories-memories that now felt tainted. I couldn't shake the image of Leonardo lying lifeless in the very home we had once filled with laughter. We had bought it together, never imagining it would be the place he'd be murdered.

The car pulled up to the hotel we'd chosen to stay in temporarily. Men stood guard outside the building-extra security, because we didn't know if the killer would come for us next. As soon as I entered my room, my phone buzzed with a message from the lead detective, informing me that he was on his way to take another statement. I rolled my eyes. Two weeks of relentless questioning, yet they hadn't made any progress. It felt like they were just going in circles, asking the same questions over and over again.

Time Skip

"Good evening, Mrs. Conti. I'm Detective Matteo, and I'll be taking over the case from here."

I eyed him skeptically. "What happened to Detective Joey?" I asked, not recognizing him.

"Detective Joey will still assist, but I'm now the lead detective. If you're worried, rest assured, ma'am-I'm one of the best."

His words were confident, but they did little to reassure me. Still, I nodded. He placed a recorder, a pen, and a notepad on the table in front of me. "I know you've already been interviewed, but I'm going to go over everything again. We need to be thorough, and I want you to think carefully before answering any questions."

I gave him a curt nod. He clicked on the recorder and began.

"Please state your name and age."

"I am Alessandra Conti, and I am 29 years old."

"And what was your relationship to the deceased?"

"I was his wife," I answered, my voice steady, though the word was felt like a knife to the chest.

"Any children? How long were you married?"

"No children. We were married for three years."

He scribbled something in his notebook. "Where were you on the night of October 17th, during the time of the murder, between 2:21 and 2:47 a.m.?"

"I was at a bar," I replied honestly, holding his gaze.

"Why were you at a bar at that time?" His tone had shifted, suspicion evident.

"My husband and I had an argument. I needed air, space. I felt suffocated at home."

"And what time did you leave the house?" he pressed.

"Just after midnight, I think. I wasn't checking the clock."

"Did you notice anyone outside the house? Anything unusual?"

I sighed, irritated. "I wasn't paying attention. I was angry. I wasn't exactly sightseeing."

"Were you the last person to see the deceased alive?"

"No," I said firmly. "Beatrice was with him when it happened."

His brow furrowed. "Why wasn't this mentioned in your previous interview?"

"I wasn't asked, and honestly, I wasn't in the right frame of mind to remember."

"Who discovered the body?"

"Beatrice."

He nodded slowly. "I was told you arrived at the hospital quickly after his death. Why was that?"

"I got a text from my husband, asking me to come home. He said he was sorry, so I was already on my way back when I got the call about the hospital."

"What time did he text you?"

I pulled out my phone. "1:47 a.m."

"And when did you get the call?"

"2:51 a.m."

His eyes narrowed. "What were you doing between 1:47 and 2:51?"

"I told you, I was on my way home."

He tapped his pen thoughtfully against the notepad. "What's the distance between the bar and your house?"

"About an hour and a half."

He made a note, his face unreadable. "Alright, ma'am, one last question."

I exhaled, relieved this was almost over. "Go ahead."

His eyes met mine, cold and calculating. "Did you murder your husband or hire someone to do it?"

The room fell into a suffocating silence as I stared at him, my pulse quickening.

I had expected many things, but not this direct accusation.

Authors note;

Honestly guys, it'll get better please trust the process, I don't know if I'll get any views but I'm going to hope that my hardwork will be fruitful,

Anyways uhm thank you 🙏🏽

Unrelated but, cereal before milk or milk before cereal?