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The television is just as I left it, which gives me hope Mrs. Henderson was hearing things. Sometimes, I think my neighbor makes things up as an excuse to have something to talk about. What a shame she has to freak me out in the process of finding a little human contact.
It isn’t until I’ve preheated the oven and popped the pizza inside that I notice the tea kettle sitting on a different burner than the one I left it on this morning. I always use the bottom left of the four burners, then leave the kettle on the bottom right burner once I’m finished.
So why is it sitting on the back left, then? Doubt leaves my skin pebbled with goose bumps before I shake it off. I’m looking for reasons to be freaked out, scaring myself for no reason. I was in a hurry, so I used a different burner. Big deal.
Then why is the television remote on the arm of the couch instead of on the coffee table where I always leave it? I stand and stare at it as though I expect it to jump out and snap at me. I know I left the remote on the coffee table after I turned off the news and left for the station. I distinctly remember doing it.
Now, my lungs don’t seem to want to fill with air. I turn in a slow circle, scrutinizing everything around me.
Maybe Mrs. Henderson wasn’t imagining things.
Maybe somebody did break into my apartment today.
I dart over to the coat rack and withdraw my gun from the holster. Flipping off the safety, I begin a more deliberate search of my home. Not that it takes long, going through a one-bedroom apartment, but I check the closets, behind the shower curtain, and beneath my bed. Anywhere someone could lie in wait.
When my search yields nothing, I kneel beside the bed, wondering if I’m completely losing it. Did I really make it this easy for Luca to plant himself in my brain? I’m supposed to be above this. A professional. Yet I’m on my hands and knees, looking under the bed as if I’m a child, making sure nobody is ready to jump out and grab their ankle when they go to sleep. “Get it together,” I whisper to myself, heading to the kitchen when the timer goes off, signaling dinner is ready.
Only I’m not so hungry anymore. Knowing I should still eat, I do it while standing by the window overlooking the street, pairing the pizza with one glass of red wine that quickly becomes two in hopes of calming my nerves. It’ll knock my normally non-drinking ass out.
As I watch the city below, there’s nothing inherently threatening about the rain-soaked pavement or the people hurrying along it in hopes of reaching shelter, but that doesn’t stop me from gulping wine to soothe myself.
And it doesn’t stop me from tucking my gun under the pillow before going to sleep.
Just in case.
6
LUCA
Dante: Check in.
Dante: I mean it.
Dante: Where the fuck are you, Luca? Don’t make me send people looking around. Don’t make me waste time.
Fuck. Grinding my teeth, I respond to my older brother’s most recent text.
Me: Relax. Doing some work. I’m safe.
Because I know what has him freaked. Losing three of our own yesterday—soldiers, low-level—but they were conducting business on the family’s behalf when they were gunned down by some fucking coward in a passing car.
There’s a reason I have a loaded gun in my lap. I’m not taking any fucking chances.
Which is why I happen to be where I am now, sitting in my car, watching the front windows of Emilia Washington’s apartment. A shithole, nothing more. Pretty much exactly the way I imagined it when I learned the address.
“What are you doing up there?” I wonder out loud as I watch her shadow dance across the ceiling. “Did you appreciate the presents I left?”
A few little things. Nothing major. Just enough to make Emilia question her surroundings and wonder if she got herself into more trouble than she counted on when she chose to screw with me. I like to think of it as a marinade. I’m getting her nice and tender for when I decide to renew our acquaintance.
Usually, I leave the breaking and entering to my soldiers, but I couldn’t take a chance with her. No. A little stalking was necessary to uncover more about the detective who came to screw with me. But upon entering her bedroom, it’s clear that work was her life. The space is neat and simple, with a tidy bed, crisp white sheets, and a desk piled with work stuff.
There weren’t any personal decorations except for a picture of her with an older couple, I’m guessing, her family. But when I searched her drawers, closet, and personal belongings, there was no sign of a man anywhere. I couldn’t help but feel a bit turned-on by the absence of a boyfriend. Good thing too, because I might have taken pleasure in gutting that fucker.
I wondered when the last time someone licked her pussy or made her moan out their name. Or those delicious lips, the same lips that left their mark on mine, were wrapped around a huge cock.
The light goes out, and I sit up straighter, anticipation making my heart race. She’s going to bed. How long will it take her to fall asleep?
My phone beeps, and reluctantly, I peel my eyes away from her.
