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His paternal tone makes me bristle slightly. "Martin, I told you, I'm fine. Everyone here is taking good care of me."
I huff out an irritated breath. As much as I appreciate Martin's concern, his overbearing manner is the last thing I need right now.
“It’s really no inconvenience, Tatiana, I – “
"Martin,” I cut him off, “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!" I exclaim, my frustration evident.
Martin's response is muffled, but I can sense the tension, “are you sure?”
“I am,” I emphasize.
“Alright then,” he resigns. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Martin?” I take a calming breath. “The funeral is tomorrow.”
There is a short silence before he answer. “I’ll be there.” I give him the address and hang up.
I take a deep breath as I stare out the window, watching the afternoon sun climb higher over Philippe's sprawling estate. The light glints off the perfectly manicured hedges and marble statuary dotting the grounds. It's all so beautiful, so peaceful here. It is hard to believe that just beyond these sheltering walls, my life lies shattered.
Chapter 25
Philippe
The next day, at the cemetery chapel, I stand by Tatiana’s side. As a visitor to her world, I am a curious addition. Her parents’ friends, most of whom are hearty, elderly Italians, ask questions, comfort her, and hug her. They’re loud and boisterous, and I feel right at home.
A few times, I see Tatiana smile. It makes me happy to see the dreariness fade away for a few seconds as an uncle cracks a joke or an aunt tells her to have a baby. They all tell her how much her parents were loved.
Getting Tatiana out of the house was a task this morning. She cried three times in the car ride over. I had her drink some wine to soothe her nerves.
The funeral progresses, and we move outside. A sudden gust of wind rustles the leaves of the trees overhead, casting eerieshadows across the gravestones. Those shadows? They seem like they belong to people. I search around, unable to find the cause. I can’t shake the feeling that something is amiss.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and I fight the urge to reach for my weapon, concealed beneath my suit jacket. The somber atmosphere is thick with tension as if the very air we're breathing is laden with a silent warning. My eyes scan the faces of the mourners, searching for any sign of danger, but all I see are expressions of grief and loss.
"Philippe," Tatiana whispers, her voice wavering ever so slightly. "I'm scared."
I wonder what she’s scared of. Of her parents being laid to rest? Being all alone? Or something else altogether? I make a mental note to ask her later, when we’re alone again.
“Nothing to be worried about, remember all the security arrangements we put in place,” I reassure her. Still, my senses are on high alert.
At that moment, time seems to slow down, as if granting me the opportunity to examine every detail of our surroundings. The mourners huddled together for warmth and solace; the priest, his voice reciting prayers for the departed; the cawing of crows, an ominous soundtrack to the scene unfolding before us.
And then it happens.
Gunshots echo through the cemetery, shattering the solemnity of the funeral. Panic overtakes the crowd, people screaming and running in every direction. I instinctively pull Tatiana close to me, shielding her body with my own as I scan the area for the shooter.
"Get down!" I shout, pushing her towards the ground as another round of bullets whizzes past us—fear courses through my veins, igniting an inferno of rage and protectiveness within me.
"Philippe, what's happening?" Tatiana cries, her eyes wide with terror.
"Stay down, and don't move," I order, my voice steady despite the chaos erupting around us. "I'll handle this."
As I rise to my feet, my heart pounds in my chest, every beat echoing the promise I made to Tatiana – that I would protect her at all costs. The cold metal of my gun feels like an extension of myself as I carefully aim and fire, taking out one of the shooters.
"Are you okay?" I call out to Tatiana amidst the turmoil, desperate to ensure her safety.
"I'm fine!" she shouts back, her voice trembling. "Please, Philippe, be careful!"
"Trust me," I repeat, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts as I prepare to face the unknown threat head-on.
