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She’s afraid she’s going to die.
Her chest is squeezed so tight, her breath is so shallow, she feels like her heart is going to explode, leaving her strewn across this anonymous hotel room in a city she doesn’t even like. This is going to be her end.
Willow tries to take deep breaths, to soothe the tightness restricting her air. She never should have let that lady take Frank. She should go. Run, find Frank and leave, disappear into another dirty, anonymous city. She’s managed to hide from Carlo this long. The only reason he’s on his way here now is because she willingly turned herself in to him. She must be stupid. He’s going to kill her.
She almost leaves her skin when Liam rubs his hand across her shoulders. Liam is the reason she’s here. For a moment, she almost hates him. Hates that she let him talk her into sitting in this room and waiting for her death to come to her. She shrugs off his hand and sits back into the corner chair, trying to school her breathing into short, even puffs.
Peters is still there, calling Liam over to have a quick talk before clapping him on the back and leaving the room. She hears a loud rap on the wall next to her. Liam knocks back, once, then twice. Then, it’s just her and Liam, sitting in this beige room, waiting for a killer.
She can tell Liam wants to talk to her, to reassure her that everything is fine and will be over soon but she doesn’t want to hear him right now. All his words will fall hollow on her ears. Her vision is tightening down, the room is zooming into a narrow focus as she waits for the hammer to fall.
Liam is on the end of the bed, watching her carefully. She thinks he’s saying something. His lips are moving but she doesn’t hear any of the words he’s making. Then, she sees him punching at his phone, his mouth talking into the black screen. Then he’s above her, shaking her shoulders.
“Willow, Willow.” His voice is urgent and deep. She can hear fear.
“Willow,” he says again, “they’re here. Carlo is here. Stay here, don’t move from this chair, stay behind me. Willow, do you hear me?”
A knock splits the room. Liam pushes her back into the chair. She watches, her head feeling like it’s underwater, as he crosses the room and peers through a crack in the curtain.
“Just Carlo and Tony,” she hears him mutter. She wonders why he’s telling her this then realizes it’s for the wires, for the police in the other room. Liam pulls open the door and backs across the room, putting himself between her and the people at the door. Stupid, brave man.
Carlo steps into the room.
He brings the smell of expensive cologne and cigars and cheap women in with him. He’s still bald, still wearing a gold pinky ring, still dressed in a silk bespoke suit. Nothing has changed about him. His voice is still gravelly and his eyes are still cold. His smile still like a snake.
And it’s this snake smile he trains on Willow.
“Whispering Willow,” his abrasive voice scratches at her ears. “How nice to see you. Been a long time, baby!”
Willow is frozen. Terror seeps through every pore, freezing her.
Carlo slips his hands into his pants pockets. He always liked to appear casual. Nonchalant power, he called it. He strolled around the small room before stopping in front of Liam. “Liam, boy. Good to have you back on the payroll, kid.” He gave a hearty laugh and punched Liam in the shoulder.
Willow wonders briefly when the police are going to bust in. Now would be nice.
Carlo looks around the room and a look of fake dismay crosses his face. “Now, where’s my kid, Willow? And, what is it anyhow? I need to know what kind of cigars to give the guys to celebrate.”
Willow makes a choked squeal. Not Frank. No. Frank isn’t here, she remembers. He’s safe.
Carlo turns on Liam. “Where is my kid?”
Liam clears his throat. “With a friend. She’ll bring him later. I didn’t think he…needed to be here…for this…”
“He? It’s a boy!” Carlo spins to face Tony, who’s been silent near the door this whole time. “You hear that, Peters? It’s a boy!”
Tony gives Liam a keen look, understanding dawning on his face as he connects the dots.
Carlo reaches deep into his coat pocket and pulls out a gun. The overhead lights glint off the shiny barrel, the smell of fresh oil wafts faintly across the room. Carlo thumbs off the safety and rocks back the slide, the click of the bullet sliding into the chamber ricocheting across the room.
“Aw, you’re probably right there, Liam. Nothing will fuck up a kid more than watching his mom bite it. And I got money but I don’t really want to be on the hook for those therapy bills, you know what I mean?” Carlo chortles.
“Okay, now…out of the way.” Carlo waves the gun in Liam’s direction. “I’ve been waiting years for this bitch.” His genial laughter is gone, replaced with deadly intent.
“You’re not going to do it here, are you?” Liam questions incredulously.
“Why not? I got you and Tony here to clean up my mess. Move.”
“Someone will hear, you can’t…”
