When he ended things last summer, I never thought he would speak to me again. I understood his fear of our being a distraction to one another, and I felt it too. Until Cian, I’d never been treated so well in my life.
I just wish we were finding one another again under better circumstances.
Watching Cian reminds me of a summer’s evening when he was meeting me atop a bridge and I purposefully made myself late just so I could admire him in the late evening sun.
He stands suddenly and drags one hand through his hair, then he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. Several euros fall to the table as he pays for his drink, and just as he’s about to leave, he hesitates.
Then he snatches up the card I left for him and stuffs it into his pocket along with his wallet.
Relief floods through me with such force that I wobble and warmth tickles behind my eyes.
It’s a good first step.
Now I just hope he shows up.
4
CIAN
The cool, late-night air does nothing to persuade any of the Italian locals to stay indoors. Low temperatures and a sting of rain in the air can’t dampen the small clusters of people moving past me with beaming smiles and warm laughter toward the various bars that dot this side of town. Half of these buildings look like they’ve been around since the beginning of time. Just the sight of the old brickwork and intricate architecture is enough to make my chest squeeze.
Saoirse would have loved to see this. She kept it quiet but I knew how much she liked old architecture. Her distant dream of moving to live in a house that has stood for centuries now lies in the rubble of the family manor. Everywhere I look, I’m reminded of them.
I see Cormac’s beaming smile in the men I pass as they raise glasses overflowing with beer, Ma’s garden in the flowers decorating the pretty dresses of the women rushing past me, and I see the life I could have had if I’d somehow been faster.
The what-ifs are never-ending.
Briefly closing my eyes, I stop on the edge of the sidewalk and take several deep breaths of cold air. Each rush is like ice shards slipping down my throat and settling into my lungs, but it’s a good sensation. I’m still alive, for now. Which means I can still make that bastard pay. Closing my fist around the card Faina left me, I open my eyes and scan the street for a taxi. Walking to the bar she asked to meet at seemed good at the time, but with these rising crowds and noise, I won’t get there in time.
Not with my walking pace.
The bright lights of an empty cab flash at me from several feet away. Raising my arm, I make eye contact with the driver and upon seeing his nod, I rush toward him. Luckily, no one else gets there first and I slide into the back seat just as the misty rain in the air turns into a gentle downpour.
“Where to?” the driver barks at me in a thick accent that almost muffles his words.
I reel off the address of the bar Faina gave me two days ago and settle in for the ride. Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror, and just as the length of the stare grows uncomfortable, he starts the cab and we pull away from the sidewalk.
We’ve barely made it a foot down the street when the door opposite me flies open and a large man in a black coat throws himself inside the cab.
“Hey!” I snap, immediately reaching for my gun. “Occupied?—”
His fist collides with my face before I can finish my words. My head snaps back. Dull pain explodes across my jaw and smarts where my skull smacks into the window. He surges against me and two meaty hands seal around my throat before I can suck in another breath.
We slump down onto the seat, wrestling with one another while the driver does nothing but keep the car on the road. I drive my elbow down onto the stranger’s forearm once, twice, then a third time and finally dislodge one of his hands from my throat.
It allows me a fraction of air, then I jab my knuckles hard into his eyes.
He jerks backward with a rough cry of pain and suddenly, sweet air floods my lungs as I gasp and choke. Scrambling for my gun, my fingertips scrape against the handle just as the stranger surges forward once more with murder in his eyes. I raise both legs and slam my feet into his chest. He crashes upward into the roof and then back against the driver’s seat. Both men exchange something in quick Italian and I glimpse the driver reaching for his gun in the glove compartment.
Shit! What the fuck is going on?
The stranger surges toward me once again, but this time when I raise my leg to keep him back, my weak left leg makes contact and an aching weakness pulls through my thigh like the stretch of taffy.
The stranger surges forward and my knee collides with my own chest. Pain lances through my hip. Fingernails scratch down my cheek as he reaches for my throat again, and I glimpse the barrel of the driver’s gun.
Come on, Cian! Not like this!
My fingernails nearly tear off in my desperation to get my gun out of my holster from this sandwiched position, but as soon as I do, the weight of it brings me comfort. I shoot the driver twice in the ribs and he surges to the side with a cry.
