Chapter Five #2
“Shut up!” He finally lets me know he’s alive. His voice is gritty, but still deep enough to entice me even when I want to strangle him.
“Or…?” I reply, looking at the phone. Still no reply from Rami.
“After I’m done with you, I’ll let the maid sweep out your ashes with a dustpan!” He growls with annoyance.
Killing his afterglow buzz is my mission tonight. I should poke the bear a little more, just to be sure he feels as miserable as me.
“Great comeback. Was it Shakespeare? Maybe Edgar Allan Poe? Always had a thing for dark poets, Shakespeare had a knack for murder and betrayal.”
Another sound, more on the frustrated side.
“How about this? I will step on your scattered pieces of brain and then clean my shoes on the welcome mat on the way out,” I try to copy his irked tone from earlier.
I hear a very faint snort this time. Did I imagine it? I must have.
I count to twenty to give him a false sense of peace, before announcing, “I need the bathroom, cuddles.” I’ll never run out of cheesy nicknames.
“Hold it in.” His response doesn’t surprise me. Jerk.
“I have a child’s bladder,” I declare, making the condition up.
“A what?”
“It means that I’ll water your floor if you don’t uncuff me. The stench will remain for days.”
I receive no reply for a long minute, so long that I’m about to start my unfiltered thinking out loud again, when I hear heavy footsteps coming my way. A second later, Luca’s gigantic body invades my vision. Green eyes filled with cold anger glare at me. Ha! And his after-sex buzz is gone.
He releases my hands, showing zero tolerance or gentleness. I rub my abused wrists and then stand.
“Fucking move it!” He grabs my bicep and pushes me. “And why are you still wearing my t-shirt?”
“Because someone didn’t bring any of the things I asked him for, like pjs for example,” I clip.
He is so detestable. I’m going to fuck with him so much I’ll make his mind so full of me it will burst. “Why do you want me to take it off?” I halt, turn to face him, and grab the hem, grazing my middle thigh with the intention to pull the fabric up.
He takes hold of my wrist to stop it and snarls—so much for relaxed.
I’ve never seen those bushy eyebrows this knitted.
I’m ready for another hot spanking, and maybe a paddle could be involved this time.
As my mind forms dirty images, a red dot appears on Luca’s forehead.
I frown staring at it. Then my reflexes take the wheel, and I scream, “Duck!” just as I yank him down… by his chest hair.
The sound of shattered glass registers first as bullets start flying.
They come through the kitchen window and hit the wall behind Luca—avoiding his face by less than an inch.
Dropping down to the floor, I squeeze my eyes, waiting for the hard surface to painfully stop my fall.
But when it happens, my head is cushioned by Luca’s arm.
He presses me against his chest and rolls us until we are against the base of the kitchen counter.
When in a moment of shock, the brain stops processing its surroundings, and the body freezes for a few seconds, then all senses bombard it all at once.
That is what is happening right now. I’m on my side, lying with my face squashed against his warm, bare chest, panting.
My lower body is being strangled between his legs, as the sound of gunshots continues to roar inside the apartment.
My eyes are still closed, heart drumming, my arms tight around his neck.
“If you piss on me, I’ll mutilate you,” he hisses menacingly in my ear before screaming some orders toward the door, to Carlo.
He’s afraid of me peeing on him while bullets are trying to hit us?
Luca Nero is a fucking dick. Something slides across the floor near us, and then he stands up, still holding me, and moves as he shoots toward the window.
Dear life, no more fucking around, please just forget my damn name!
The door behind me closes. Luca bumps my shoulder as he walks inside while barking in Italian on the phone. I thought after sharing such a distressing event, he’d treat me with a smidge of civility. Boy, was I wrong.
After glaring at his huge back, I look around my new birdcage.
Woo-hoo! The feel is completely opposite of the cheap hole I’ve been staying in until now.
A spacious, free from everyday clutter, sprawling layout—so wide I could hear my own echo.
Floor-to-ceiling windows, premium flooring, and minimalist vibes.
Saying that this high-end condo is large is an understatement.
I see two open doors, one to a bedroom, the other to a bathroom, but the size of each room looks triple what would be considered comfortable.
The white kitchen is sleek with handleless cabinetry and large stone islands—quartz perhaps.
The walls, painted in a muted tone of warm off-white, are bare, no paintings or pictures hung.
A solitary, high-design, sculptural chandelier hangs from the ceiling like a waterfall over my head.
The fireplace looks unused, and in the gigantic room, there’s only a sofa and a rectangular coffee table in front of a large TV.
Without furniture to fill it and with the absence of personal items and lived-in clutter, the place possesses a silent, echoing atmosphere, like a ghost apartment vibe.
On top of that, the pristine cleanliness is something probably present in your average serial killer’s house.
But I bet that during the day, the sunlight floods these open spaces, reflecting on the polished marble floors that stretch continuously from room to room.
Abundant natural light feels like heaven to me.
I look at the darkness outside the window and wrap my arms around my stiff body.
I feel cold, and not only because I’m just wearing Luca’s t-shirt.
I take a shaking breath, and some tension melts while I imagine the warmth of the sun kissing my skin.
We miraculously made it out of the shooting uninjured.
Luca and Carlo kept firing their guns until we left the apartment—the living room must look like Swiss cheese now.
Me? I was the koala wrapped like a vise around Luca’s upper body.
Didn’t really enjoy it since I was shivering like a leaf in the wind.
My stomach is burning, my low-sugar monster demands fuel.
But I don’t feel like eating, I’m too shaken for that.
I still walk to the kitchen and open the cabinets.
Someone has managed to Tetris the boxes and jars of food onto the shelves.
I grab the Cinnamon Toast Crunch and slide my hand inside to get a fistful.
The box was left open for a few days because the pieces are chewy and have an off-flavor.
The door opens, and Carlo brings a couple of plastic bags inside.
He leaves them on the counter near me. One has Chinese takeout, and the other groceries.
I turn to look at him with grateful watery eyes, but he has disappeared.
Luca is there instead. He yanks the cereal box out of my hand with a disgusted face and throws it in the metal trash under the huge sink.
“I need to eat.” My voice sounds too weak to my ears, just like my body feels as I lean against the kitchen island.
I’m exhausted, ravenous, and jittery. I cross my arms to hide my unsteady hands.
I’ve been shot at before, not as the main target but as an insignificant bystander near the mark, my father.
But I’ve never been in a massive shootout, nor has someone protected me before.
The fact that Luca shielded me with his body feels unsettling.
“Here!” He takes a lollipop out of the grocery bag, unwraps it, and hands it to me. Apple and caramel—yummy.
I give him a muffled thanks around the sucker.
“Go sit,” he orders, pointing at the white leather sofa.
I gather the last traces of feistiness I have left. “I refuse to sleep on another couch. My back is killing me!”
“Quiet!” I can feel his cold rage; it’s almost palpable between us. He’s always angry, but this is a new growly level.
It doesn’t stop me, though. I’m pissed, too, and worried after what happened.
“I won’t, you stubborn mule. I’m sick of all this shit.
I didn’t ask to be kidnapped and sit like a duck about to lose its liver.
I was on my way to—” I can’t finish as he abruptly takes hold of my neck and leans his face over mine.
“I said quiet, Enzino.”
Ahhhh! Those long fingers wrapped around my throat don’t scare me, but quite the opposite—as I said before, an eye opener.
“I told you I have a first name! And do you really think that bringing me into a luxurious condo changes anything?”
“This is my place.” He lets go of me and moves to the kitchen, leaving me with my mouth agape.
“Wha…What?” His place? It’s practically empty. Is he Marie Kondo? If it doesn’t spark joy, dispose of it—if that’s the case, he must be a picky fucker. “There are three pieces of furniture in total here.” The condo screams sterile perfection and minimal effort.
“Not everybody likes to live in a pigsty!”
He has the capacity to fire me up both with lust and fury at the same time. I slide the lollipop out of my mouth, ready to give him a real piece of my mind, fuck the consequences. But the Chinese take-out boxes in his hands take all my attention.
“Sit!”
I brush off his commanding tone. My stomach is magically open for business, thanks to the mouth-watering scent of deep savory umami and earthy spices. I’m such a slut for food. I think I even mutter an ’mkay as I take a seat—this sofa, at least, is comfortable.
As soon as he places the carton boxes on the coffee table, I grab one. The fragrant smell of grilled dumplings fills my lungs. I pick one up with my fingers, but it’s searing hot, and I let it drop back in the container with a wince.