Lucia began to scream; it boiled in her lungs before exploding from her throat, curdling and rippling through the air. She had never made a sound like that, and it was so profoundly foreign to her that somehow, in the moment, she wondered if it came from someone else.
Now in the apartment, the man lunged at her, but missed. Foscari bolted from the window seat and leaped towards the man, trying to nip the backs of the man’s legs. With a swift flick, the man tossed Foscari, and Lucia heard the moment his little body tumbled against one of the dining chairs.
She screamed again, filled with fear and fury, as the man – who smelled distinctly of cigarette smoke and pine-laced aftershave – pinned her to the ground. Lucia kicked and fought with every fibre of her being, but he was simply too strong for her. After a swift kick to his groin, Lucia bought herself a few seconds to wriggle free from his grasp and stumble to her feet.
The shadowed silhouette of the man also stood up. In the gloom Lucia could make out that he was wearing an all-black half-mask, so all that was visible was the thin line of his lips. These contorted into a devilish grin when he noticed her looking at him.
‘L’Orfana,’ he practically hissed, slowly inching his way towards her.
Lucia braced herself for his weight, the force, the sheer magnitude of the man, to hit her. She closed her eyes, knowing what was to come; before it could, however, a deafening cry split the air.
‘Leave her alone!’
Lucia’s eyes flew open, and she dropped to the floor, gasping for air.
There were now two figures thrashing about, and it wasn’t until the second man cried out again that Lucia could process it all.
It was Alex.
‘Get out! GET OUT!’ Alex screamed, the exertion of which caused his voice to crack.
The intruder threw a well-directed punch through the air, catching Alex’s chin, and even in the darkness Lucia could discern the sound of his teeth smashing against one another.
‘Alex!’ she bawled into the abyss.
Another punch, followed by a short, sharp kick.
Alex moaned and Lucia heard him drop onto her bed.
Through the shadows Lucia could make out the figure of the intruder moving towards her again. Then he stopped short, standing over her. ‘Troia,’ he jeered, before spitting on Lucia.
The sensation of the warm saliva on her cold clammy skin made her retch. As she gagged, Lucia could just make out the sound of the man retreating down the stairs. Pulling herself up as quickly as she could from the floor, she made her way to the window above Calle del Leone. She pulled away the curtain and opened the window. As if in a trance, she watched the dark figure of the intruder emerge at ground level and disappear up thecalle.
She let out a furious cry: for the fight, from the terror, and for Alex.
Alex.
Bolting to the kitchen she hit the lights, and suddenly his contorted frame, curled up on her bed, was visible.
‘Oddio!’ she wailed. ‘Are you ok?’
Rolling him onto his side, the damage was clear – two split lips, a bloody nose, and a gash across his left eyebrow.
‘Lucia, areyouok?’ he croaked.
She wanted to help, but her hands were quivering so much from the shock that they were no use to her. ‘What has he done to you?’ she cried between sobs.
‘I’m ok. I’ll be alright.’ He dabbed the corner of his mouth where blood was pooling. ‘How are you?’
His usually collected, sensible façade seemed to recede. Perhaps it was the fight, or the bruises. Perhaps it was the low light and ruffled hair which softened him considerably. In any case, Lucia darted to the en suite to fetch her first-aid kit and a wet face washer.
Returning to the main room, Lucia’s breath hitched when she spotted Foscari padding slowly towards her.
‘Amore,’ she whispered, and collected him, running her hands over him to check for injuries. ‘Tutto bene?’ He pushed his nose into her palm as she patted him. ‘Thank you for waking me. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t.’ Setting Foscari down on the bed, she collected what she needed for Alex, and returned to his side.
Alex was running his tongue along his teeth, assessing each for chips and cracks. ‘He didn’t hit me hard enough to damage any, thank goodness.’
‘Here,’ she said, taking his face into her left hand while dabbing the drying blood with the washcloth in her right. She felt him flinch under her touch. ‘Scusami.’
