My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. His grip on my arm tightens. "Listen to me," he says. "It's fine. I've got it." I shake my head. I'm already spiraling. My hands are shaking. He steps closer. "Go upstairs. To my room. Don't come out."
"But—"
"Rava." His voice snaps, sounding like he's scared. "Please. Just go."
My body doesn't feel like mine anymore. It moves on instinct. I turn toward the stairs. He stays by the kitchen, staring at the front door. I look back at him once. He nods. Just once.
I go up, into his room. I don't shut the door all the way. I leave it just cracked. Just enough to hear. My back is pressed against the wall. I hear some voices. Footsteps.
"Mr. Fontana, there has been a formal complaint claiming that prohibited items are being stored in this residence. Under this authorization, we are required to search the house."
No. No. Shit.
My knees immediately go weak. My fingers dig into the wall behind me. I feel like I'm gonna throw up. They're going to search the house. Every room. Every drawer.
They think Gio has drugs. Or weapons. Or I don't even know. I don't even fucking know. But I know what they do.
They put people in handcuffs. They drag them out. They lock them up. I bite down on my tongue. Trying not to cry.
He's down there. Alone. What's he thinking right now? Is he scared? Is he pretending not to be? Is he trying to look calm for them while he's just as terrified as I am? I squeeze my eyes shut.
God, please, don't let them take him. I slide down the wall, my back still pressed to it, hands trembling in my lap. I can hear them moving things now. Opening cupboards. Doors.
If they find something,anything, he's gone. And then it hits me.
The box. The fucking box. My head snaps up. Fuck. FUCK. That's where everything is. Whatever he couldn't risk leaving out in the open, whatever he couldn't burn or lose, it's in there. And if they find it? He's done.
And I'm just sitting here. No. No, get up. Get the fuck up.
I stumble to my feet, and rush to the closet. I have to find it. I have to move. I have to save him.
Please, Gio.
Pleasetell me you didn't hide it too well.
Please tell me I can still get to it first.
I try not to touch anything I don't have to. I open drawers carefully. If they come in and see a mess, they'll know someone's been up here. And then they'll look for me. And then they'll find the fucking box.
I swallow hard. I want to cry. God, I want to fucking cry. But I can't. I'm too scared.
Focus. I crouch low and start moving things. Behind shirts. Under blankets. I'm moving quick but trying to keep it neat, like I was never here.
You fucking idiot. You knew.You knewthis might happen. You didn't say it, but you fucking knew. And you trusted me with it. Just in case.
God. You're crazy.
You're brilliant.
"We'll check upstairs next." My breath stops. I start shaking again. Full-body tremble. My fingers go faster. I'm moving like a maniac now, but still trying to make it look untouched. My vision blurs for a second. My hands go numb.
Don't faint. Don't you fucking faint.
"Come on," I whisper soundlessly, "come on, come on, come on—" Then I knock into something. A picture frame.
It tips. Cracks. A small sharp edge slices across my palm.
You goddamn stupid fuck—
