Wrath Is the Only Justification I Need

Zoe hid the car under a tree, in a place deeper in the forest and away from the grass field. For an extra layer of disguise, she even plucked nearby bushes to cover the vehicle. She then tied the golden balance scale to her arm using a manila rope and held the camera with her other hand. Ready for her mission.

“Take ten steps ahead, and… here. This is a good spot.” Zoe followed my suggestion to an area lower than its surroundings. The foliage above gave her a cool shade, and the bristly hill provided cover, perfect for a stakeout.

I would have liked to avoid this type of hands-on work, but there was only so much I could achieve by giving anonymous tips to the Carabinieri. Through burner phone calls and mail drops, I had given the authorities information about the mafia, such as their safe-house locations, bank account numbers, member lists, and criminal plans.

These efforts had brought about several arrests and prevented most of their planned bombing, but the mafia had become more desperate and careful, especially after the Maxi Trial. I had to collect more physical evidence to help the prosecution. This would not only minimize the number of deaths caused by the mafia, but also set a legal precedent to deal with future threats.

The bosses still thought that traitors had been leaking information, and that meeting in the middle of nowhere could remedy that, not expecting anything close to quasi-omniscience. The minivans arrived on time and willingly entered my net. A gathering between low-level goons representing their bosses and the corrupt politicians in the mafia’s pocket.

Zoe snapped a series of high-resolution photos from beginning to end, so many that she might as well have taken a video. The involved parties sped away in their vehicles immediately after their discussion, without any suspicion of Zoe’s presence.

“Finally, it’s over.” Zoe exhaled a breath that she had held in for a good minute. The danger had passed, but I couldn’t shake the numbness in my chest. I asked my quasi-omniscience various questions, hoping it would give me the answer I needed.

Sure enough, a piece of knowledge greeted me like a punch to my face. The feeling of free-falling crushed my senses into a messy pulp. “Zoe, we have to go now.”

Zoe seemed to notice the jitters in my voice. Her face stiffened. “What was it?”

“Go!”

Zoe scrambled through the grove. The wind blew against her, determined to get in her way. Once she slipped into her car and turned the keys in the ignition slot, the engine awakened with a scream that must have mirrored that in her mind.

The vehicle lurched into motion, scraping against several trunks on its way to the main road. Even on the highway, the wheels swayed at times, almost encroaching on the opposite lane; I had to take control of her arms to correct the car’s path.

The four-hour drive back to Palermo was mostly afflicted with silence, so quiet that I could hear every one of Zoe’s breaths. But once in a while, Zoe would ask me something along the lines of, “Please tell me what is happening. Why are you asking me to hurry home?”

I never answered her. There was no point in distracting her on the road.

She returned to the familiar neighborhood, but the street had lost its cheerful air, tainted by the police tape around the entrance of an apartment building. The windows looked like downcast eyes, mourning a tragedy. One that had occurred in Zoe’s flat.

“Let me in! My parents are inside! I need to check if they’re okay!” She screeched as two police officers clutched her arms, preventing her from rushing in.

“Madam, I’m sorry, but this is an active crime scene,” one of them said.

“I… I took pictures of a mafia meeting. I’ll give them to you if you let me go in.” She was exerting so much force in moving forward that it felt like she might tear her arms off.

“What are you talking about?”

“Please. I’ll give you anything. Please let me go to my parents.”

The officers looked away from Zoe’s pleading gaze, though their grip still didn’t loosen. “Your parents… They had…”

Her parents were dead. Killed by a hired hitman. Even though it was stated to her so plainly, Zoe still refused to believe what had happened. That was until she saw their inanimate bodies at the morgue. Her frosty heart made the chilly air feel warm in comparison.

“How did this happen? How did they find me?” She asked once she left the hospital. Her strides seemed to imply that she was in a hurry, but she had nowhere to go.

“On one of your missions, a mobster recognized your license plate from an even earlier stakeout. He told his boss about it, though only in passing.”

Zoe stopped walking. She widened her eyes so much that it felt as if the eyeballs were about to pop out. “WHAT?”

“It makes no sense for them to act on so little evidence. They should have written it off as a coincidence.” And not to mention the unnecessary attention this would bring on them. The boss was more impulsive than I thought. He had ordered this hit in a fit of rage after hearing about another round of convictions.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you call the police earlier?”

“That wouldn’t make a difference.”

Zoe pulled a handful of her hair. “It would! Dio mio!” She ripped the balance scale off her arm; the ropes flopped onto the ground.

“What are you doing?”

She ignored my question, holding the scale by its pillar near her mouth. “Themis, give me justice,” she whispered to it. The scale spun its beam, and a voice must have been muttering into her head, because her face was united in concentration, and she nodded occasionally. I felt like a teenager who was left out of the friend group.

***

“Interpol is working with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and the Carabinieri to catch Timoteo Truglio. We just have to continue as we have been, and everyone responsible for your parents’ deaths will be punished.” I had been telling her this throughout our flight to Canada, but she only replied when we were outside Timoteo’s hideout in Quebec.

“Why would I care about that?” She stared at her target’s villa. This was not so different from the stakeout we went on just two days ago. There was also a grass field, surrounded by a swarm of more green. But her steps felt as if they were pressing into the earth.

She clutched the pillar of scale, likely listening to its instructions. The goons guarding the entrance spotted her and drew their handguns.

“Missy, this is private property. You aren’t allowed to enter,” one of them barked.

“But I’m here to kill your piece of shit boss.” Zoe pulled out her knife and charged at the two gangsters. They opened fire. Both bullets hit Zoe, but vanished at once, leaving no wound.

Two thuds. The gangsters dropped to the ground, bleeding. Zoe ambled past them. One of them used his remaining strength to lift his arm, just to shoot at Zoe again, aiming at her face. The bullet ended up in his cheek, and he died instantly.

The rest of the thugs in the house repeated the same pattern, blasting their pistols at Zoe. Every time, the wound reflected onto the shooter. Zoe didn’t use her knife even once. If only these criminals had thought before discharging their weapons. I suppose I shouldn’t expect too much out of them, but watching them fall one by one made me wonder…

Should I have sabotaged her trip here? Should I have killed her? I wanted to take control of her hand to toss away Themis’s scale so she would die in the flurry of bullets.

Zoe burst through the doors to Timoteo’s study. She aimed at the mob boss with a gun she had picked up from a dead gangster. Timoteo’s bodyguards pointed their weapons at her in return.

I felt a smirk emerging on Zoe’s face. She fired in Timoteo’s direction, but purposefully missed the target. The bodyguards retaliated with a hail of aimed attacks, and it worked as well as I had expected. They collapsed, with bullet holes riddled throughout their bodies.

“You look familiar. Who are you?” Timoteo commanded from his desk. The scales created a blind spot that blocked me from reading his mind, but I imagined he must’ve had a trace of fear under his façade.

“You killed my parents yesterday.” Zoe bit her lip after saying this; she gave her all to keep her arm from shaking, but I could still feel her muscles contracting.

“Oh, you are really the snitch. How did you know so much about me?”

“Wow. You weren’t sure, and you still killed my parents. Fine. You must have a family somewhere too. I don’t care where you have hidden them. After I kill you, I will find them the same way I found you. And I will kill them. But not before I make them curse you first.”

Timoteo raised his arms. “Woah! Woah! Slow down! It’s just business. But regardless, I lost. Complimenti. You’ve caught me. Hand me over to the police.”

“You’ve won, Zoe. Don’t shoot him. The scale will only reflect the wound back to you,” I added.

Zoe instantly tossed the scale aside and shot at Timoteo’s shoulder.

“Che cazzo!” Timoteo yelled. He clutched his wound. With a few breaths, he regained some of his composure. “Listen. I have money. I can pay you anything. So, can we all calm down and negotiate?”

Zoe scoffed. “Why should I care? I could have all the wealth in the world if I wanted it.” She fired at Timoteo in the chest, getting another scream in response.

“Who… who are you?” Timoteo’s breaths were getting labored. He had to put in all his effort just to maintain his glare at Zoe.

“I am Death.” And after the declaration, Timoteo didn’t say anything, only staring at Zoe as if she provided a glimpse into Hell. He groaned in pain until his body couldn’t take it anymore, and he slumped onto the desk.

Zoe inhaled the air filled with the scent of iron. She dropped onto the floor, cackling. Her laughter was so explosive that she had to clench her stomach. “Death! Macaria! The Pale Horseman! Whatever you call yourself. Can you still tell yourself this is the better outcome? Can you still trick yourself into thinking that you have saved more lives? No, you are not the savior of anyone; what you are is a cold and heartless monster.” Tears leaked out of her eyes as she continued to laugh hysterically.

I didn’t say anything, my insides distorted by the poison injected through her words. It hurt. I never felt something this intense, like my heart was being shredded into pieces, and it wasn’t even from a physical injury. In this muted disorder of my mind and body, I realized what Zoe had meant by ‘a special kind of torture’.

Since then, I had never spoken to her again.