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36
Annie
Raising my arms above my head, I stretch my body slowly as the soft light of the morning peeks through my curtains. I lay quietly for a moment, having a small amount of peace, and then open my eyes and begin to yawn. But then I immediately gasp.
Sitting up quickly, I rub my eyes to ensure I am not seeing things. The wooden chair sits in my room just like it does every night, but resting on the small table next to it is a glass. A whiskey glass.
He was here.
My eyes water as I am overcome with emotion at knowing that Dante was here, watching me as I slept. Something he has done since the moment we met. If he comes, it means he still cares, and if he still cares, there is a chance. For the first time in weeks, I allow myself to believe that what we had meant something to him, and my heart begins to fill with hope that maybe we could still be together. Maybe he could forgive me.
Sitting up, I pull away the blankets from my body and sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the glass. Too scared to move in case it disappears. I rub my eyes again and the glass remains, so I stand up and move slowly toward the chair, still scared that it may disappear in a moment, afraid that I am dreaming.
Leaning over, I grab it slowly and lift it to my nose, breathing in. The familiar scent of his favorite honey whiskey hits my nostrils, and I close my eyes, letting my mind and body feel at ease. The glass is still warm where his hands had gripped it, like he only just left. I gently place the glass back down like it is an artifact in a museum and look around the room to see if anything else is out of place. My medical file sits on the chair, and I pick it up to read what is on the open page. He must have read it.
I read through quickly, noticing it is my psych evaluation, the one that says I am perfectly normal, albeit a frightened woman who just needs stability in her life. It also refers to the lump in my breast and why I didn’t seek medical attention, the various reasons listed but with emphasis on not wanting to die the same way my mother did. I sigh and place the file back down before I look around the room to see if anything else is amiss.
Seeing everything else where it is supposed to be, I grab some clothes from the wardrobe and get changed. The small timber robe is empty except for my few t-shirts and jeans, once again reminding me that I am lacking. Closing the door, I go out to the kitchen to start my day with Nico, this time with a small spring in my step because of Dante.
“Good morning!” I say cheerfully to Nico as I walk into the kitchen. He looks up at me from the kitchen bench where he is again polishing his gun, just like he did yesterday.
“Well, you sound happy this morning?” He looks at me curiously.
“I am.” I grab a coffee and lean against the bench, watching him.
“Good night sleep, then?” he asks, before flicking his head toward the stress ball, reminding me to do my physio routine.
“You could say that,” I reply, as I grab the ball and start squeezing with renewed enthusiasm.
“Are you going to tell me, or are you going to make me guess?” He’s clearly intrigued, and I can’t blame him. I have been moping around this house since I arrived, and today, I am acting like it is Christmas morning.
He clicks his gun back together and loads it. Standing, he walks it to the back of the kitchen, leaving it on the bench near the back hallway, behind a vase, out of sight. He has another one at the front of the house, close to the front door, and I am sure many others are hidden where he can access them a moment's notice, if needed.
“Well, I am sure you know that Dante was here,” I singsong, and he stops suddenly, looking at me in slight panic.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t realize until he was gone, so he doesn’t know that I know, but if he was here, then that means he still cares for me, right?” I ask, hopeful that he gives me the response I need to hear.
He simply nods. “He does. But he has a lot on his mind, Annie. Give him time,” Nico says honestly, and I calm my excitement just a little. Of course he has a lot on his mind. His ex-wife tried to kill his son, and he is still trying to find the man behind it all. Thinking about me must be his furthest concern.
“I know,” I say quietly, taking another sip of my coffee as the flame inside me dims again.
Nico goes to say something, but before he can, a loud bang interrupts us, followed in quick succession by another, then another.
Startled, my cup falls to the floor, the porcelain breaking into pieces at my feet, the hot coffee making me hiss.
“Fuck. Get down!” Nico yells, and I drop to the floor, scratching my hands and knees on the broken pieces, before Nico launches himself at me.
“Quick, come with me.” He pulls me hard by the arm. It nearly comes out of the socket as we run down the back hallway.
His cell phone is in his other hand. “Fucking get here! Now!” he yells to whomever is on the line, and I begin to panic.
“What’s happening?!”
“Somebody is shooting at the front windows. We have bulletproof glass, but it will only hold them for so long,” he says, his demeanor now changed from the friendly laughable Italian to the fearful mob soldier that he is hired to be.
He yells into his cell phone again, just as gunfire starts, and I can hear the glass cracking. I scream, dropping to the hallway floor, covering my head with my hands.
“Come on!” he yells to me, the bullets not making it all the way through the glass, so I jump up and I run with him, into the safety of the bedroom.
