Page 25 of Bianchi

Leonardo picks up a picture from the pile scattered around the desk. He stares at it before setting it down and asking, “I don’t want to speak out of place, but do you think that’s wise? You were just involved in a shootout and, for all we know, this could be a trap.”

Standing, I brace my shoulders and lift my chin, incensed that he’d question my decision. “You, more than anyone, know that I never cower away from a threat. And the next time you open your mouth to question me, do yourself a favor and reconsider. Given our friendship and all you have done for Massimo over the years, I’ll let it slide this time.” Buttoning up my jacket, I add, “Be ready by 2 am.”

Both know better than to question me further, although I’ll argue they shouldn’t have questioned me in the first place. I understand their frustration, especially when we’re getting blocked at every turn.

Leaving Massimo’s office, I head for my bedroom. I need an outlet for this pent up energy that doesn’t involve a certain captive. As tempting as it is to fuck my frustration out, I need to remain focused, and that’s only something I can get from a couple of hours in the gym.

The war is so close I can almost touch it.

Chapter 14

Aurora

The barrel of a gun is aimed at me from across the restaurant. From my position beside the table Romeo and I were seated at, I can’t see his face, but we’re the only two people here. Everybody else faded away when a single gunshot rang through the air. My body vibrates from the intensity of the tremors racing through me as he seems to glide across the room.

For a moment, I close my eyes, cataloging the sounds around me. Glass crunching under his black military boots; the wind howling through the open window and the pounding of the rain as it hits the asphalt outside.

I feel his presence get closer and as he crouches in front of me, I open my eyes, trying to make out the features of his face. My teary vision blurs him out and the shadows underneath his hood hide any discernible features.

He lifts the gun again and an evil chuckle echoes around the room. It sounds like it’s coming from everywhere, not just from him. It reminds me of the scenes in horror films where the clown appears in all the mirrors. Except, I can’t see his face. His shoulders shake with the force of his laughter, and he drops the gun to his side before tilting his head.

“P-pl-ease.” The word comes out as a stuttered plea, as I beg the faceless man for my life. The tears that threatened to fall now tumble down my cheeks unchecked and snot runs from my nose, coating my top lip. When he lifts the gun again, I scream, “N-o-o. Please, I-I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Sirens howl in the distance, but they aren’t getting any closer.

I’m on my own and nothing I do will save me, because it’s now, when I’m faced with certain death, that I realize I’m not really ready. My eyes flutter closed and I mutter a prayer. Praying for something or someone to save me. I promise to be a good person, to do anything if I can just live one more day.

I flinch, a sob wrenched from my lips when he stabs the gun into my cheek, twisting and turning the cold metal against my skin.

“Eyes on me.”

My eyes dart open, bouncing around the hollow black space of his hood. I search for any hint of familiarity, a hope that maybe I can understand why he’s doing this, but I come up empty. There’s nothing about him that I recognize, nothing jolts my memory.

“Like many things in life, death is inevitable.” He pauses, looking over his shoulder. “But you should know, when the devil comes knocking, if you want to see her again, you need to hand over your soul. Everything will end when he comes for you, and then you’ll finally have the peace you have been craving so badly.”

What does that mean? It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, but my attention shifts to movement behind him. I scoot further back, my head knocking against the edge of the table.

The silhouette of a woman comes into view, her hands clasped in a prayer position. I rub my eyes, trying to clear the haze covering her face. It’s as if she’s a drawing that’s been smudged.

The cold metal of the gun pressing into my cheek fades away until it’s just the two of us. Her features slot into place like a puzzle until she’s standing before me with a soft smile and love shining in her eyes that looks the same, but somehow different.

“Mama?” The word is ripped from me, both pained and disbelieving.

I move to my knees, uncaring of the shards of glass that dig into my bare flesh. The need to be near her, to touch her one more time, masks any pain I might feel. I’ve missed her so much.

She takes a step forward, her features filled with anguish, and then, in the blink of an eye, she’s gone and the faceless man is back.

There’s a twitch in his hand when he raises the gun. It doesn’t match the authority in his tone when he sneers. “If only you’d have listened, Aurora.”

Before I get a word out, he pulls the trigger and I shoot up in bed. My breaths come in quick, shallow pants and I push away the covers as I scramble to press my back to the concrete wall. The brick is abrasive on my exposed skin.

No matter how hard I fight it, I can’t quite separate what’s just happened from my reality. They’re both a nightmare, neither easy to escape from. My eyes dart around as I press a hand over my racing heart. The corners of the room are bathed in shadows, but I can see enough to know that I’m alone. My chest rises and falls in a rapid rhythm as I try to filter through the noise in my mind. One question pushes to the forefront; why was my mom there?

A bead of sweat trickles from my forehead, running down my face before dropping to the floor. Strands of my hair stick to my face and I push my fingers through it, wiping my damp palms on the front of Romeo’s T-shirt.

I frown when every breath I take is an effort and tiny black spots fill my vision. For the first time since I was taken, I’m afraid. Terrified, in fact. Of what’s out there and what’s to come. I feel so out of my depth and there’s nobody that can help me through it.

When a familiar stinging at the back of my throat makes its presence known, I force myself to walk toward the shower on unsteady legs. Drowning in my panic isn’t an option right now, and so I seek a familiar comfort in the solace that comes from the water. A lot has happened in such a short space of time and no matter how hard I try, I can’t make sense of any of it.

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