Although I’m still wearing Aurora Bianchi’s wedding lingerie. But I’m sure I can ditch that somewhere. I want to get it off my body as quickly as possible. If I can’t get the fasteners undone, I’ll cut it all off if I have to.
A lone light glows above a door ahead, a warm little beacon in the battering wind and snow. As we make our way towards it, I slip on an icy spot, not used to the new boots which are a touch too big for me. Curse catches me firmly by the elbow and doesn’t let go until we walk through the door.
I’ve never been to a motel before. And after everything that’s happened tonight, I expect something much worse than what I see. Because what kind of motel would two murderers on the run end up at?
Murderer.
I am one now. I don’t care what Curse says. I’m the one who started all of this.
I’m the one who brought death down upon Marco Messina’s head tonight.
But I guess even someone undeserving like me can catch a break, because the small lobby of the motel is clean and cozy with a cabin-like feel. Curse speaks rapid French with the proprietor, a short older man with glasses. I realize that Curse is still wearing his mask. I keep my hood up, shielding my face from any potential cameras.
Curse pays with cash, a combination of colourful bills. I’ve only been to Canada once, that trip with Mia when I was sixteen, but I remember loving the shiny, rainbow bills and the coins with the animals on them. Polar bears, loons, and caribou. I don’t remember which bill or coin is which, though.
I might be here for a while. I’d better learn. Angela LeBlanc was born in Montreal, after all…
The man behind the desk tells Curse a few more things. He could be telling him anything from the WiFi password to warning him about the local bigfoot legend for all I understand of the conversation. When he’s finished speaking, he hands Curse a key attached to a big plastic tag that’s stamped with the number 13.
Lucky us.
We make our way back out into the storm, following the line of the building until we reach our room. It’s way at the far end. I wonder if Curse asked for a room far away from everyone else. Not that being crowded looks like it’s going to be a problem. I’m not sure if it’s the weather or the somewhat obscure location of this tree-ringed motel, but I don’t see any other vehicles parked in front of the other motel room doors.
I give a small sigh of relief at that.
Curse unlocks the door and holds it open for me. I enter the room and turn on a lamp, finding it much the same as the lobby was. Clean and surprisingly homey, with warm wood accents and more than one plaid throw blanket about the place. Only one bed, though, I notice. Not very big either. A double, by the looks of it. There’s a small desk with a chair, a TV, and a door that I assume leads to a bathroom.
A bathroom which I only now realize that I need badly.
“I’ll be right back.”
Curse has just locked the door behind us. He turns at the sound of my voice, then gives a single nod. The bag that had my outfit in it is empty now, and left behind in the car, but he’s got another, larger duffel bag with him, which he sets down on the bed and unzips.
He pulls out a gun. The metal of it glints dully in the corner of my vision as I head for the bathroom.
I turn the lock on the handle when I’m inside, though I don’t really know why. If Curse wanted to, he could get through this locked door without any real effort at all. He got into Marco’s house like every door and window had been left wide open for him.
I’ve heard whispers about him over the years. Him and his brother both. How Elio has become a terrifying force to be reckoned with north of the border, powerful, calculating, and unrelenting. And I’ve heard how feared Curse is as the Titone famiglia’s best assassin. I’ve heard how he’s killed men that he never should have been able to access, men with guards and guns and security systems galore. Slipping in and out like a ghost, leaving untold violence in his wake. Or sometimes, leaving nothing at all. No body.
Not like tonight, though. Marco is probably still exactly where we left him, with his throat slit open on the floor. Thinking about this, that someone will no doubt find the body soon, stabs panic into my belly like a knife. I came in here to pee, but instead I hunch over the toilet and vomit. I didn’t eat much at the wedding dinner, so it’s mostly burning bile. My throat stings, my eyes blurring with tears as my body tries over and over to eject more than it contains.
As predicted, Curse has no trouble getting past the door I’ve locked. It’s amazing, really, how quietly he does it. He doesn’t have to break it down. He just swings it open, like it was never locked at all. I glimpse him briefly in the mirror, standing silently and watching me. I avert my eyes from him, flushing and making my way shakily to the sink where I wash my hands and rinse out my mouth. There, I finally see my own reflection, and I balk at the ghoulishness of it. I’m so pale beneath the ruined makeup that my skin almost looks grey. My eyes are red and ringed with black, my lips chapped and flaking.
“Are you sick?” Curse asks. “Or…” A rough edge comes into his voice. “Pregnant?”
“Pregnant?!” I echo in disbelief. I shake my head, then splash water onto my face, trying to clean away the makeup. It doesn’t work, so I resort to using the motel hand soap as facial cleanser.
I’ve never even had sex before. The only time I’ve ever had a man in my bed was in Taormina, and Carlo used his hands. And then there was Marco tonight, of course. But we never made it to the bed. My panties are still on, for God’s sake.
I suppose, for all intents and purposes, I am still technically a virgin. There were opportunities for me to have sex throughout my life, usually when under Mia’s very lax supervision. So many times I could have snuck away with a soldier or a stranger. But I never wanted it. In fact, I fucking recoiled from it. The idea of letting a man touch me, having him be all the way inside me, makes me feel like some vital, internal part of me will break.
Or maybe it’s already broken. Maybe it broke in Taormina.
“No,” I say flatly after rinsing and patting dry my face. “I’m not pregnant.”
Curse gives another nod. If he’s relieved by that, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t show much of anything at all, to be honest. Doesn’t help that half his face is still hidden by that mask.
“Are you going to keep that on all the time?” I ask. My voice sounds harsh and hollow after puking. “The mask?”
