Page 67 of Bad Blood
From feeling everything with him to feeling nothing at all...I offered up a piece of myself, and what did he do? He crushed it with his fist.
Lesson learned.
Move, Thalia. Move.
Ella uses a meditation app to help her stress levels. I can hear the soothing voice in my head, as my feet hit the tiles, my stiff muscles aching in protest.
Breathe in.
Hold.
Breathe out.
I do this for a couple of minutes, feeling the cloth slowly slipping from my face and my lungs expanding again.
Breathe in.Bardi finally messaged me back. The meet is confirmed.
Hold.In six days, I’ll be gone from this place and that man forever.
Breathe out. I’ll make all of this right somehow. I know I will.
Placing the discarded bowls in the sink, I set about cleaning the remains of dinner away and tidying up the kitchen. It takes me ages to scrub dried sauce from the countertops and the floor, but once I’m done the place is gleaming, and it’s after midnight.
I’m reaching into a cabinet to put the saucepans away, when Santi’s housekeeper, Svetlana, comes barreling into the kitchen. She stops dead when she sees me, her gaze dipping to the state of my clothes, and then she’s backtracking fast and closing the door as quietly as she can.
“I’ve cleaned up as best I—”
“Shhh,” she whispers fiercely, bringing her finger to her mouth. Grabbing my hand, she pulls me sideways into a pantry. “Are you alright,zvezda moya?” Her hands are all over me, patting me down as if searching for bullet holes.
“I’m fine,” I say, cringing away. It’s weird behavior for someone who’s barely even talked to me. Plus, I’ve had more than enough of being manhandled for one evening. “It’s just sauce. I had an accident.”
One I won’t be repeating anytime soon.
“I meant from earlier,” she urges. “The gunshots outside your apartment?”
My mouth drops. “How did you—?”
She pulls me even deeper into the pantry. “I have been asked by a business associate of your father’s to deliver a message.”
The air comes whooshing out of my lungs again. I should have known his spies would be everywhere.
“What message?”
“He did not fire those bullets at you,zvezda moya. He would never, ever harm you.”
Tears of relief prick my eyelashes. “But my father had a sniper—”
“He was killed during the shooting.SeñorSantiago found his body a couple of hours ago.”
Even in the dim light of the pantry, I can see the dark circles under her eyes. The lines on her face look like crevasses. She’s riskingeverythingto tell me this.
“But if it wasn't my father…?”
“He does not know who is behind it yet. All he has is a discarded M27 rifle. His men are tracing it now.” She glances over her shoulder at the closed door. “I must go,zvezda moya.”SeñorCarrera would kill me if he knew I was talking to you. He is much more dangerous than you think he is.”
“Wait,” I hiss again, as she’s reaching for the door handle. “Can you deliver a message back to my father for me?”
She nods, her movements jerky and jittery like a frightened mouse.
