“I will not yield to?—“
It all happens almost simultaneously. Five gun shots ring in the air. And at first when the warmth coats my face I believe I finally met my end. I had thought of death so much and now it has come. Cruel in its nature. Almost anti-climatic for how I thought it would be.
“Enough!” Bellows a voice that has only ever followed me into my unconscious. A voice that has haunted me day and night. A voice that does not lie. One that promised me death by his hands.
“They were all fucking blanks, Rico!” Pietro shouts defensively.
Through watered eyes I vaguely see Rico stride towards him like a man on a mission to kill. He stops just a hairbreadth from him. “That wasn’t part of the plan. I had a plan and you went half cocked and ruined it.”
“Carina said appearances. I gave the appearance that her life was at fucking stake. We needed him to fold! He needed to fear us!”
“Well, your plan didn’t work, did it? The only person you succeeded in frightening was her.”
Pietro juts his chin and eyes him with a knowing cocky glint. “Is that what has your knickers in a twist? Is she not supposed to fear you, Rico?”
Rico’s tone drops to ice cold levels. “Watch it, Pietro.”
“Or what?” He taunts. “Are you going to kill me next?” Tension fills the silence between them. He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re headed in dangerous waters. Perhaps Gino should take over. You’re in over your head with her, Rico. She’s the fucking enemy. You of all people should understand that the most.”
“Here’s what you need to understand,” he says, staring him down with eyes colder than the glaciers, “she’s my captive. Her life is mine. Her death is mine. Whatever fucking concerns her belongs to me.”
“Careful there, I’m starting to think you’re developing feelings.”
“You know I can’t.”
He clicks his tongue. “Four of our dead soldiers say otherwise.”
“Call the clean up crew,” he says in a dismissive tone. “You’ve done more than enough tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he mutters under his breath before continuing on in Italian to himself.
And I feel it then.
My eyes furiously blink as my chest heaves from the short quickened breaths.
I feel how painfully alive I am.
A shrill of terror and agony rips from deep within my chest. Pain leaks from my eyes. Exhausted mentally my body has no choice but to slump forward within my confinements.
Cold yet strong and tender hands come to frame my face. The scent of amber overrides the stench of iron and death. And I hate how I find comfort in it. In his scent. In his large roughened hands.
I absolutely despise how I’m finding comfort in him. My brother’s killer.
“Look at me, la mia gazzella.” I don’t want to but something compels me to. My eyes flit to his and in the dark depths I find the assurance I need. “Keep your eyes on me.” I do as I’m told. He waits expectantly for an answer but I can only offer a nod. He takes it. “Gino. Knife,” he says over his shoulder.
“Here,” Gino says, giving the knife to Rico.
“Leave us,” he says lowly.
“Constantine won’t be happy about this,” he warns him.
Rico’s eyes don’t leave mine. I find myself drowning in them. And it’s comforting. There’s something comforting to allow yourself to sink in the calm waters. To allow it to pull you under.
“Leave us.” His tone brooks no argument.
On a heavy sigh Gino adheres. His wet footsteps squelch against the plastic as he goes.
Meticulously with deft and nimble fingers he begins to cut the restraints. My flesh and bones cry in relief. After every cut of the rope his eyes glance at my face to gauge my reaction. I wince when the knife accidentally glides against my skin. His fingers immediately go to soothe the area. They softly ghost over the cut to inspect the injury.
