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The pasta finished cooking, and I took a moment to stare at it, letting the steam curl up and warm my face. I'd lost track of how much time had passed since I'd started cooking but looking over to Sebastian, still lost in peaceful oblivion, reassured me. Time seemed to have slowed down, granting me small moments of reprieve from the chaos outside.
I was draining the pasta when my phone buzzed again on the counter. A surge of fear passed through me as I looked at the caller ID. It was Skylar. My heart thundered in my chest as I answered.
"Skylar," I greeted, trying to keep the worry from creeping into my voice. "How's Zane?"
There was a pause at the other end before Skylar's voice filtered through, heavy with emotion. "He's out of surgery."
A wave of relief washed over me, leaving me feeling weak in the knees. "And?"
Skylar exhaled, the sound heavy and strained through the phone. "He's stable, Hassan. But he's not...he's not awake yet."
My heart lurched at his words, but I forced a calm into my voice. "But he made it through the surgery, right? That's...that's good."
"Yeah," Skylar agreed quietly. I could hear Bash and Justice talking quietly behind him. "That's good."
"How are you holding up, man?" I asked.
He laughed, no humor in his voice. "As good as anyone can be whose boyfriend just got shot, mate," he said. "But thanks for asking."
"Yeah, sorry," I murmured, feeling stupid. Of course he wasn't doing great. None of us were. "How's Justice?"
"She's...she's shaken up," Skylar admitted. "Just like all of us, right? But you know Justice; she's a fighter. She's holding up." There was a pause, and I could imagine him running his hand through his hair, a habit when he was nervous. "Has, could you...when the kid wakes up, could you let him know everything's okay? And that we'll be back soon?"
"Yeah, I will," I promised, feeling my throat tighten at the mention of Sebastian. "Take care of yourself, Skylar. And take care of Zane."
"I will," he answered, his voice resolute. "You too, mate. Take care of the baby."
"And Justice," I added, more of an order than a suggestion. My heart was pounding against my rib cage like a caged bird, trying to break free. How had things spiraled so quickly into chaos? One minute we were at a wedding, the next Zane was in surgery and Vito De Luca was on the loose.
"I'll see to it," he assured, his voice clipped by a sudden static. The line went dead and I was left staring at my phone screen, the flickering light mocking the storm raging in my mind. All I could do was wait.
Lost in thought, I barely registered the ringing of the intercom, telling me that someone had gone into the lobby. The building was ours entirely, there should have been no one else there.
I wrapped Sebastian tightly in his blanket, tucking him securely into the corner of the couch, before I stepped cautiously towards the intercom. The screen showed a figure in a hooded sweatshirt, their face hidden, holding a large box.
"Who's there?" I demanded into the intercom, one hand reaching casually for the gun tucked against the small of my back.
"Pizza," came the raspy reply. It was a voice I didn't recognize.
"Bullshit. We didn't order any pizza. Show me your face."
"Okay," the man said.
He grabbed something from a box, then showed me a face alright, but not his own. It was Lee's, one of our men. His eyes were vacant and lifeless, giving me a chilling stare. I nearly dropped the intercom in my shock.
"Jesus Christ," I gasped, the blood draining from my face and my heart pounding against my ribs like a drum. The image of Lee's severed head would be etched into my mind forever, like a gruesome tattoo.
I backed away from the intercom, my breathing heavy and shaky. Suddenly, the apartment seemed too small, too enclosed. I felt trapped, like a rat in a cage.
"What do you want?" I asked into the intercom, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Nothin'," came the reply, casual as if he wasn't showing me one of our own men's severed heads. "Just thought you'd want your friend back."
He dropped it in a box again, then put it softly on the ground.
As if in slow motion, I watched his obscured figure retreat from the camera's view, leaving the box eerily alone in the frame. My heart was hammering now, a thunderous beat in my ears as fear coursed through my veins like liquid ice. I gripped the intercom tighter, my knuckles white with the strain.
"Who are you?" I demanded again but received no answer this time.
