1
GIULIANA
The thunder of an explosion rattles my apartment windows so hard I think they might shatter.
I jolt upright in bed, my heart hammering against my ribs as I try to process what the hell just happened.
The digital clock on my nightstand glows 11:05 p.m. in accusatory red numbers. Outside, car alarms wail like banshees, and voices shout in the distance.
What the fuck is going on?
I stumble to my bedroom window, still wearing the oversized Cubs t-shirt I sleep in, and push aside the dark curtains.
A few blocks away, orange flames lick at the Chicago sky, painting the low-hanging clouds an ominous amber.
The fire is massive.
Whatever exploded was big.
My stomach drops as I realize those flames are near where my veterinary clinic is.
“No.” The word comes out as barely a whisper, nausea rising in my throat. “Please, no.”
I grab my keys from the kitchen counter, not bothering to change out of my pajamas and flip-flops.
My hands shake as I lock the apartment door behind me, and I’m halfway down the stairs when my phone rings.
“H-hello?” My voice is still groggy from sleep and low with fear.
“Ms. Conti?” a deep voice rumbles. “This is Chief Rodriguez with the Chicago Fire Department. I’m afraid I have some bad news about your veterinary clinic.”
The world tilts sideways. I grip the stair railing to keep from falling. This can’t be happening. “How bad?”
“There’s been an explosion. The building is…” Chief Rodriguez sighs and my stomach lurches.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s a total loss. We’re going to need you to come down and speak with our investigators.”
The phone slips from my numb fingers, clattering down the concrete steps.
I chase after it, my vision blurring with tears I refuse to let fall. Not yet. I need to see it first.
I need to know for certain that everything I’ve worked for since veterinary school is really gone.
The drive passes in a nightmare haze of red traffic lights and my own ragged breathing.
I can smell the smoke now, acrid and bitter, seeping through my car’s air vents.
As I get closer, the orange glow grows brighter, more terrible, until I have to pull over because I can’t see through my tears.
When I finally park across the street from what used to be Conti Animal Care, the heat hits me.
The building is completely engulfed, flames pouring from every window and reaching toward the sky like grasping fingers.
The metal sign I installed last year—the one I saved for six months to afford—lies twisted and blackened in the street.
Firefighters yell at one another as they try to smother the fire with their hoses.
People are gathered on the sidewalk, watching the remnants of my life’s work burn away.
