Page 78 of The Crimson Lily
Giovanni picks me up from the ground and hauls me back toward the car. I struggle against his grip, kick and batter the air while I’m at it.
“I have to get to Maksim!” I cry. The worst has happened. The worst thing I imagined has fucking happened.
Giovanni spins me around and grips my face in his hand to make me look at him. “You go in there, they will kill you!”
Bang.
A gunshot.
“No!” I scream. I turn back, pace toward the woods, but Giovanni catches my wrist and pulls it with all his strength. “Maksim!” I shout, falling to my knees on the cold, hard ground, twisting my arm in Giovanni’s clutches, almost breaking it.
Bang. Bang.More gunshots, far in the distance.
I scream again, fearing worse than the worst. I picture Maksim’s lifeless body in the grass, blood dripping down his face, his dead eyes looking at me, accusing me. It’s my fault, I convince myself. I should have gone in there. William wantsme, not Maksim!
“Maksim!” I call again, helpless.
Giovanni lifts me off the ground and drags me to the car. Chiara is pacing in circles outside like a panicked puma.
I let my instinct get the better of me.
Unaware of my moves, I anchor my feet, turn around, and cast a fierce punch at Giovanni’s face. This causes surprise. He lets me go, and I race to Chiara, like an enraged she-wolf, about to get her revenge.
“How could younotknow this was a trap?” I shout at her, my voice breaking. Now I think it’s her fault.
I grab her by the shoulders and push her against the car. There’s fear in her brown eyes; I can see it in the darkness. Good. Because I am angry.
“I’m sorry,” she cries.
“Explain it to me!” I roar.
“I have no idea!” she roars back. “This was supposed to be a usual gathering! I don’t know why a Syndicate lord was here!”
“Fuck!” I yell, releasing her.
I need to punch something, so I go for the car’s window, but I am quickly stopped by the cocking of a gun to my head.
My blood freezes. Every bone in my body turns to stone.
“Get. In. The. Car,” Giovanni snarls, spitting blood and saliva.
I have no choice but to comply. Giovanni grips my shoulder and shoves me into the vehicle like a heavy piece of luggage. We drive off fast, like guilty robbers after a heist. I am silent, my face burning with rage or panic or extreme sadness.
Chiara turns to me, her eyes glazed with tears. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs.
I ignore her. She says something in Italian to Giovanni, who ignores her as well. He is darn angry too.
We rejoin the main road that leads to the capital. The streetlights are pulsing to our right. We are like a carousel of still frames rolling to create this furtive animation of a car fleeing into the night. I only have eyes for the window. My heart is in my throat, and it pushes my tears out. I burst into muffled cries in the backseat, hoping neither Chiara nor Giovanni will hear.
Eventually, the air loosens, and Giovanni holds out a hand that lands on my knee. I am still sobbing. He says nothing. He just keeps his hand there. A comforting gesture from a friend. Chiara’s sniffles match mine, and Giovanni keeps on driving. We could almost enjoy the silence. My anger has dimmed and turned into a thick mist of distress. I don’t believe Maksim is dead. Despite the gunshots I heard, I know he’s still alive. Call me hopeless. Call me delusional, but I have to settle with that thought to survive. I have to keep myself convinced that my Maksim still lives to keep on going.
20
It’s 4:00, or maybe the clock has just struck 5:00 as I disgorge whatever liquid I have left in my stomach. It tastes like rancid pizza mixed with seawater. I’m so cold and consumed by rapid spasms, I just want to evict all the contents of my stomach. I vomit again. The side of a rocky road is not a bad place to empty myself. My insides fume like cow shit on the cold, hard ground. It’s not pretty.
I can hear Chiara and Giovanni behind me, yelling at each other in the car, wild chimes of Italian wrath aimed at each other. Two violins competing in a battle of resonance.
A few minutes later, Giovanni comes to check on me. “How are you feeling?”
