Chapter 4

Dr. Moretti stitched the last stitch into my scalp and cut the suture.

"Skin injuries, plus a mild concussion." He tossed the blood-stained gauze into the tray and sighed heavily. "But your worst injury isn't your head."

I stared blankly at the pale wall.

Inside the front of my shirt, there was still the handful of grayish-white powder that I had fought so hard to get back.

"Where's Sofia?" I heard my own voice, hoarse like sandpaper rubbing together.

Moretti turned his face away, unable to look me in the eye.

"She thinks you're using your injuries to force her to submit. Now... she's staying by Marco's bedside every step of the way."

"Force her to back down?" I tugged at the corners of my mouth, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace.

"Back then, you risked your lives in the South District, and you even risked your life to save her. How enviable your relationship was back then..." Moretti's eyes reddened slightly.

“He died back then,” I interrupted him coldly.

When the IV needle was pulled out of the back of my hand, blood gushed out instantly, but I felt no pain.

This numbness drove me to push open the door to the hospital room and plunge into the cold night wind of Chicago.

The night wind carried me as I pushed open the heavy oak door of the villa.

Instead of peace, I was greeted by a piercing cracking sound.

"Throw all this junk out! It's disgusting to look at!"

Amidst the mess, Marco arrogantly directed his bodyguards to throw my clothes, books, and even the doodles Lily had drawn before her death into the muddy water of the yard.

Seeing me standing at the door with my head covered in bandages, Marco not only didn't back down, but instead revealed a smug grin.

“Thanks for that shot, Vincent.” He deliberately shook his cheek, which was covered in a bandage. “Sophia said I was too frightened and specially arranged for me to move here to recuperate.”

I stared intently at him, my nails digging deep into my palms, barely suppressing the urge to pull out a gun and blow his head off.

The sound of high heels came from the spiral staircase.

Sofia, wearing that expensive silk nightgown, languidly walked downstairs.

"Nonsense." She glanced at the mess on the ground, her tone light and without a trace of reproach.

She walked up to me, looked at the newly bought urn I was clutching tightly in my arms, and a hint of impatience flashed in her eyes.

"Alright, Vincent, Marco didn't do it on purpose with Lily. I've already found the best priest to reconsecrate the grave."

Was it not intentional? The ashes were scattered, and a simple re-consecration can erase it all?

“Marco will be staying here for a while.” Sofia raised her chin matter-of-factly. “He’s well-behaved and won’t bother you. He certainly won’t take your place.”

Looking at the woman before me, who had once shared life and death with me, I suddenly felt utterly unfamiliar with her.

The mother who swore to avenge Lily has died on the throne of power.

I didn't argue, and I didn't utter a single unnecessary word.

I hugged Lily's urn tightly, looked at them one last time as if they were two corpses, turned around, and strode out of the house that had buried half of my life's work.

I'm taking my Lily and leaving this place. We don't want to stay here anymore.

The roar of engines tore through the night on the Gold Coast.

I did not go to the airport.

Flights leave records, but I want them to disappear completely.

As the wheels rolled onto Interstate 90, I floored the accelerator and sped wildly westward.

The wind blew in through the broken car window, drying the blood and tears in my eyes.

In the passenger seat, I carefully secured Lily's urn with the seatbelt.

"Don't be afraid, Lily, Daddy will take you away from this filthy place." I freed one hand and gently stroked the cold porcelain body.

The speedometer needle remained firmly on the red line. As dawn broke, I had crossed the state border and entered Iowa.

Intense fatigue and the dizziness of a concussion struck.

I jerked the steering wheel and parked the car in a deserted rest area.

I pulled out the encrypted phone that I had never used in front of Sofia and dialed the number of my trusted confidant in Chicago.

"Put the stuff into the load-bearing walls of the villa. The time is set for 3 a.m. tomorrow."

The person on the other end of the phone gasped: "Boss, that's your and the boss's home..."

"I have no home anymore." I decisively ended the call, pulled out the SIM card, broke it into pieces, and threw it down the drain.

As we set off again, the scenery gradually became desolate and vast.

I drove at breakneck speed until dusk, when I finally slammed on the brakes in a small town nestled between mountains and water in Colorado.

The wind here is gentle, without the biting, bloody smell of Chicago.

I sat on the porch of the rented wooden cabin, the tablet computer beside me glowing faintly, displaying the surveillance footage from the villa's living room.

Time was ticking away.

In the scene, Sofia is carrying a glass of red wine and walking towards the bedroom on the second floor, while Marco's figure is faintly visible behind the door.

“Sophia, you said that if someone is unfaithful, they will be left to die in the streets, and will not have a good death.”

I looked at the distant, rolling mountains, my voice as soft as a sigh.

"What you can't do, I'll help you achieve."

The clock hands silently ticked toward three in the morning.

"boom--!"

The blinding flames instantly burst through the roof and engulfed the entire scene, before plunging into utter, deathly darkness.

The spare phone on the table was vibrating violently.

I pressed the answer button, and I heard Dr. Moretti's still-shaken breathing on the other end of the line.

"Vincent! My God, the villa has been blown up!"

I leaned back in the rocking chair in the cabin, watching the morning mist rise from the Colorado mountains, my voice completely flat: "Really? Is she dead?"

Moretti was speechless, taken aback by my cold tone.

He swallowed hard, his voice trembling: "Was it you who planted the bomb?"

“I was just scolding her. I asked her, how could you abandon your injured husband and go to have sex with that male college student?”

I gave a cold laugh and didn't reply.

Moretti's emotions grew increasingly agitated: "Vincent, I even warned her! I said she had broken your heart, and if one day you found out the 'truth' about Lily's death... you would want to kill her for the rest of your life!"

The fingers gripping the phone tightened suddenly.

The armrests of the wooden chair made a faint cracking sound.

"What truth?" I squinted, my heart feeling as if it were being gripped tightly by an invisible hand.

Is there something I don't know about Lily's death?