AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Sharp and horrific.
Loud and final.
I drop the milk and sprint down the hall and into Leo’s room.
He’s huddled near the bed, green eyes wide and surprised, wearing the striped pajama set with dancing elves he got two Christmases ago.
The set is too small for him now, the hems exposing a couple of inches of his wrists and elbows. I rush over to Leo and pull him against me, berating myself for leaving my phone in the kitchen.
Just as quickly as the gunfire began, it’s stopped.
I need to call the police.
“It’s okay,” I tell Leo, squeezing him tight. “I’ll be right back. I just need to get my phone so I can call the police and make sure they know what’s happening. Everything will be fine.”
I look down. Protecting him is my only instinct. I haven’t—can’t—let myself absorb any fear.
Leo nods, his expression serious.
I’ve always known Leo looks a lot like his father. The similarities have grown more pronounced as he’s gotten older. But I didn’t realize just how alike they appear until I saw Nick again earlier.
There are moments Leo resembles me, but the hair, the eyes, his nose, his expression right now? All Nick.
There’s an eerie silence around us, like the calm after a storm.
It’s broken by a noise even more terrifying than the gunfire. A slam that sounds like a front door being forced open, followed by footsteps so close, they could only be inside this apartment.
Fear freezes my blood. The past twenty-four hours have been a riotous emotional roller coaster. My body has burned through a lot of emotions. But I feel the fear everywhere. It wants to bind me in place, but I can’t allow it to.
“Stay here,” I say, then rush toward the door.
I have no idea what I’m going to do.
This isn’t a ritzy neighborhood by any stretch, but the crime rate is low. Gunfire at four on a Tuesday afternoon is nothing I ever expected to experience. But I’m not going to hide under the bed with my son. I’d do anything to protect him. They can have anything they want in the apartment—including me. But not Leo.
There are two men standing in the living room. One is broad with closely cropped black hair. The other isn’t as big, but is still muscular. His hair is longer, hanging past his chin.
My heart takes off in double time as they watch me walk down the hall toward them silently. Neither of them is visibly armed. They’re both dressed in heavy, dark clothes that are simple yet look expensive, far from the starving or desperate who might attempt armed robbery as a last resort.
There’s a rapid stream of a foreign language between them as I approach. Russian, if my binge-watching ofThe Americansis an accurate indication.
“You’re trespassing,” I say once I reach the end of the hall. I’m proud of the fact that my voice is even and strong, no trace of a waver.
“Fuck. I sure hope this is the right apartment.” One of them speaks English.
The other man, the burlier one, takes a step back to study my front door, which is now hanging crookedly on ruined hinges. “This is 613.”
The man who spoke first sighs. He has blond hair and a scruffy beard, which he scratches at. “Goddamn Italians. Dramatic about everything.”
A response is spoken in Russian. I can’t understand a word of it, but I think it involves me based on how they both glance my way.
“I’m going to call the police,” I state, hoping it will scare them off.
“That would be a mistake,” the dark-haired man says. “We’re supposed to be in New York, which is why this is a clean sweep.”
The blond scoffs. “Clean sweep? They’ll know it was us.”
“Knowing and proving are two different things.”
