Page 11 of After the Chase

I'd followed at a distance. He'd walked through the narrow streets, his pace was relaxed and unhurried.

I'd watched from across the campo as he'd climbed the stairs to the third floor. It didn’t take long for a light to turn on in a corner apartment. The building was old, the lock on the main entrance simple. No security cameras visible.

I'd waited thirty minutes, then approached. The main entrance lock was a basic pin tumbler and it had taken me forty-five seconds to pick it. The stairwell smelled like cooking oil and old stone, a building with many memories. I'd climbed to the third floor, my footsteps silent before I examined Luca's door, which matched the outdoor position of the light. Apartment 3C.

It was another simple lock with no deadbolt or security chain visible from the gap in the door. I didn’t enter. Not yet. Instead, I'd memorized the layout of the door's position relative to the stairs, the apartment across the hall (dark, possibly vacant), the fire escape access at the end of the corridor.

Then I'd returned to the hotel.

Chase was awake, looking for me, no doubt his soul even asleep noticed my disappearance. Watching his face as he fought with himself whether he truly wanted to know my plans amused me. This relationship had turned out much better than I even thought it would. I always planned for him to be under my total submission, to be co-dependent and his whole life to be about me. I was not expecting his slow demise into my world. I may not understand why he gets offended or thinks I patronizehim, but I can see the darkness slowly creeping in. He wants to know what I do but he is too scared to hear it, because then it is real. Because then the next step is that he will want to see. The fight is leaving him as the parts of the “good” guy start to leave him day by day. He will see the world in its harsh and raw truth. The evil that it holds. It will be majestic.

After encouraging him back to bed, I watch him as he falls asleep. I smile to myself that the full process of breaking and re-building Chase is nearly over, his evolution complete.

The next evening, we'd returned toOsteria della Luna. Chase had been surprised by my suggestion, but he hadn't objected even though I could tell by the fidgeting of his hands he was maybe anxious. He never objects because he trusts my decisions, the management of our lives.

Luca's face had lit up when he'd seen us, his attention immediately focusing on Chase. Throughout dinner, I'd watched him like a hawk. I watched the way he moved. His patterns. How often he checked on our table versus others. The route he took to and from the kitchen.

I'd followed Luca again that night. Same route. Same apartment building.

The main entrance lock had yielded in under a minute. The stairwell had been dark, silent. At Luca's door, I'd paused and listened. Distant music sounds from inside, but no voices. He lived alone.

I'd picked the lock and it had taken longer than the main entrance, ninety seconds, maybe two minutes. The mechanism was older, more worn. But eventually, the pins had aligned and the lock had turned.

I slowly opened the door, waited for any sound of movement but all I could hear was music from the bedroom and the sound of running water from the bathroom where Luca must have been showering. I only stepped over the threshold toscan the apartment. I'd needed to see the interior layout and understand the space and plan the approach.

Back at the hotel, Chase was in bed, pretending to be asleep. I could tell with how his chest moved. Chase still didn’t understand that I knew every single thing about his body and movement. I had trained myself and continue to learn to this day about every part of him.

The next night, I'd waited until Chase’s breathing had slowed and deepened into sleep. Then I'd dressed in my dark clothes consisting of black jeans, long-sleeved shirt, thin gloves and my new purchase of soft-soled shoes. I'd gathered my tools in a backpack: lock picks, a folding knife with a four-inch blade, plastic sheeting, cleaning supplies, and of course my camera phone. Everything I needed.

The walk to Luca's apartment had taken twelve minutes. The campo had been quiet at 2:35am, just a few tourists stumbling back to their hotels, too drunk to notice me. I'd entered the building the same way as before, the lock yielding in under a minute. The stairwell was again dark and silent, the building all asleep, blissfully unaware of the beast circling apartment 3C.

At Luca's door, I'd paused and listened. No sound from inside and this time there was no music, no shower running. I'd checked the apartment across the hall, which was still dark and definitely vacant. The fire escape had been fifteen feet away, accessible if needed. Then I put on my ski mask.

I proceeded to pick the lock. It had taken the same ninety seconds as before. The mechanism was familiar to me now from practice, the pins aligning smoothly. The lock successfullyturned and I'd opened the door slowly, carefully, listening for any sound that might indicate he was awake.

Nothing.

The apartment had been small, a combined living area and kitchen, a bedroom visible through an open door and a tiny bathroom to the left. It smelled like cigarette smoke and cheap cologne. The furniture had been minimal and mismatched. A typical bachelor's apartment. I'd gently closed the door behind me and locked it. Then I'd moved toward the bedroom.

Luca had been asleep on his back, one arm thrown over his head, his breathing deep and even. The streetlight through the window had cast his face in orange and shadows. He'd looked peaceful and vulnerable, a total lie.

I'd crossed to the bed in three silent steps. My hand had covered his mouth before he was fully awake. His eyes had snapped open, wide with shock and confusion. He'd tried to scream, but my palm had muffled the sound as he'd tried to fight, his hands coming up to claw at my arm, but I'm stronger, more controlled.

I'd leaned close, my voice perfectly measured. "You looked at something that belongs to me."

His eyes had widened further as recognition hit. Let this be a lesson, you never know who you are dealing with in the outside world, before you realize you invited the devil himself into your life.

"You touched him. Trying to fuck another man in front of his husband, thinking you can do what you want without consequences."

He'd been shaking his head frantically, trying to speak against my palm, but I hadn't cared what he had to say.

I'd pulled the knife from my pocket with my free hand and opened it with a practiced flick. The blade had caught the streetlight, four inches of carbon steel, honed to a razor edge.

"This is what happens when you threaten what's mine."

I'd driven the blade into his throat just below the jaw, angling upward into the soft tissue. The carotid artery had severed immediately and blood sprayed hot across my gloved hand, my arm, the pillow beneath his head.

His body had convulsed, his hands grasping weakly at my wrist. But the damage had been done. The blood loss had been catastrophic, and within fifteen seconds, his movements had slowed. In thirty, they'd stopped entirely.