48
Gianna (20 years)
Soft strains of a melodious tune drifted through the air, filling my ears and soaking through the tension in my body. Sighing, I allowed it to unwind me, to help me relax, to make me forget the rigors of having assumed Salvatore's life.
Salvatore.
I came to with a jolt, goosebumps littering my skin, remnants of music still in my ears—a sound I’d heard before, played by Vincenzo. Staring up my ceiling, I blinked to focus not sure if I’d dreamt the music or really heard it. This had become a regular ritual. Where I’d wake, hearing the music and still uncertain if it were indeed a dream or not. “Christ.” Was my husband’s ghost haunting me? If he was looking for repentance, he’d have to look elsewhere.
Almost two months since I killed him and returned home, yet I was nowhere closer to finding the roundtable money or a way to open that sealed room. Both a locksmith and IT technician confirmed that the lock had built-in settings to self-destruct. And I couldn’t let that happen. The thought of all those millions going up in smoke had me freaked out. Both Rosana and Julian had no idea either how to open it, leaving my curiosity in limbo.
Needing to use the bathroom, I sat up and glanced at the bedside clock. My gaze sidetracked to a piece of paper next to the clock. Frowning, I picked it up. Only a set of digits stared back at me. I flipped it back to front and reverse. Nothing. Just the sequence of numbers. I repeated them then dropped the paper to the nightstand. Who would’ve left this here?
I was almost at the bathroom when a lightbulb went off in my head. Not bothering with slippers or a robe, I made a beeline for the west wing, my need to pee forgotten. I barely gave myself time to breathe before punching the numbers in sequence into the keypad.
Wait. How the hell did I remember those numbers after seeing them for just a minute. Who left them for me to find?
Somewhere inside the wooded panel, mechanisms turned before the door buzzed, distracting me. Glancing behind my back, I pulled in a deep breath and stepped into the room. I walked through the little foyer and paused.
“Oh, my God!” I gasped, my eyes darting all over, unsure where to look. I stopped and stared and turned and stared. “How?” Curiosity, uncertainty, anger, ifs, hows, and whys all snowballed, slamming my brain, my chest, leaving me shaking and now more than anything wanting to know who left those numbers. Who wanted me to gain access into this room? Crumbling to the floor in a mixed ball of emotions, I dropped my head into my hands and let pent-up tears I didn’t know I felt fall.
I don’t know how long I sat there or how I rose, closed the door again, and walked back to my room. I just knew I did.
