Page 22 of The Pawn

“You’re wrong on that one. He may have wanted to give that impression, but let me tell you something, the thought of being made a fool of, the image of his wife riding another man, well, let’s just say he was as predictable as any other man.”

“Why would he have such an image of his wife?”

And it was so easy. Just a whisper here, a whisper there.

He grins.

And it clicks.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” I ask.

“Me? Your father killed her. You know that as well as I.” His eyes are flat, empty.

“You planted the seed, didn’t you?” I hiss, all the blanks filling in now.

“You know it was your father that ordered her butchering. Yours. Say it. Admit it for me. Just once.”

And it was so easy. Just a whisper here, a whisper there.

It’s just like it was with my mother. Just like my father wanted my mother to admit to being in love with the Maestro. To having an affair with him. Except that wasn’t true.

This is though.

“Yes,” I say, because does it matter anymore? “He was a butcher. But what poison did you speak into my father’s ear to make him hate her?”

“I simply whispered a few words, set the stage. Never outright lied.”

“Say it. Just like I’ll say it. My father ordered what happened to my mother. To me. Now admit what you did!” I swipe at the angry tears that burn my cheeks. Now is not the time for them.

He grins, enjoying my pain. It was him who killed her even if it wasn’t with his hands.

He killed Michael. He killed my father. But it’s not those things that make me burn with fury, that make tears stream from my eyes.

It's my mother.

It was him. He’s the reason she died like she did.

He was the puppet master, and my father was his puppet. His butcher puppet.

“Rami,” he says casually and Rami enters. He must have been just outside. Malek rises to stand, shifting the chair out of the way. I rise too, my eyes locked on him.

“You’re the reason she’s dead. You fucking bastard. You’re the reason she’s dead! You say you loved her!” My voice is high and furious. “Do you know how she suffered?”

I move around the table because I want to get to him, but Rami is inside now and he steps between us, hands closing over my arms. Another man enters. He looks terrified. He’s followed by the second soldier.

Malek holds his hand out, a smile on his face, his eyes on me.

The soldier who walked in last places the handle of the butcher knife in Malek’s hand.

My throat goes dry. Blood roars in my ears.

Rami walks me backward, back to the other side of the table.

“Do you know that for ten nights, they tortured her? They cut off one finger at a time. Can you say you loved if that’s what you wanted for her?” I scream at him.

He doesn’t respond.

Rami pushes me to my knees, moving to stand behind me, crouching with me as I struggle to get free of him.