41. Whack-A-Mole
Chapter 41
Whack-A-Mole
Antonella
I grip the doorknob, turning it ever so slightly. Careful not to make a sound.
Adrenaline pumps through my veins. Cillian could be on the other side of this door. What if there’s cameras and he’s been watching the entire thing? Is he waiting to torture me some more?
If not worse than before for misbehaving .
Fuck this. I’m surviving.
I have nothing to give him. Zero useful information he’ll want. I wouldn’t have cracked if I did. Unless he wants to know that my Zia’s sauce isn’t her own recipe, after all.
The one bright side—I have a gun. I can at least use it until I’m out of bullets.
I pop my head out, looking down both hallways— empty and dim . I limp down the right hallway, hoping I can find an exit, staircase, and a bathroom.
Thank God .
After I pee and wash my hands, I try scrubbing some of the blood off of my face and wrists. “I look like Hell, and feel like shit.” I groan, looking at my depressing reflection in the mirror .
I drink some of the sink water and splash some of it in my face.
Okay, a little bit more alive than before, and ready to get the fuck out of here, I stop before my hand hits the handle.
The gun.
I snatch the cold, metal gun off of the bathroom counter. I almost forgot. I cock it back, hoping there’s some bullets in there. I have no fucking idea how to check.
When I get out— if I get out of here, I’m having Giordano teach me how to handle one of these properly.
How long will it be before Cillian comes back for me? What will he do when he finds the man on the ground? I can’t call for anyone. Cillian hijacked my phone.
My hand hovers over the knob. Is he on the other side? One way to find out. I fling it wide open, gripping the gun tight in my hand.
“Hi, Antonella.” Cillian simpers as he blocks my exit to the hallway.
“Fuck!” My eyes grow wide with a mixture of fear and nervousness. I shoot the gun, yet the only sound is a click. No bullets fly out. I pull the trigger again—nothing. “Oh, God. Oh, God! Abort mission!” I drop the useless gun at my feet.
“Bye, Antonella.” Cillian frowns as he lunges forward at me, but I duck down and to the left at the last second, causing him to fly directly into the farthest white-tile wall in the bathroom. I sprint down the hallway, continuing on my original path, as fast as I can—the fastest I’ve ever run in my entire life.
For good reason.
His laugh’s sinister, echoing through the hall. He’s going to shoot me. The adrenaline rushes through my whole body. Fight or flight mode, again—definitely flighting .
I gulp as I approach three different hallways. “Oh,” I breathe out. Go straight, go left, go right. “Eeny, meeny, miny… moe.” I book it left, creating some, but not enough, distance between us .
“Come out, come out, wherever you are…” Cillian chants in a sing-songy voice, chilling the air. Am I going to die here? At least I can say I gave it my all until my last breath.
BANG !
My heart climbs into my throat, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. He shot straight from the hallway I came from before, into the one I, thankfully, didn’t choose. He must not have seen which way I went.
I continue running, my feet practically hovering over the concrete floor. I’m going to give myself a personal gold medal for this if I make it out alive.
“Antonella—a,” he sings. Why is this stronzo singing? It only adds to the eerie vibe.
BANG !
My right hand flies up, covering my mouth in attempt to muffle any sound which would give up my location. He sounds further away from me this time, though the gunshots don’t sound any quieter. They vibrate and bounce off the walls causing ringing in my ears.
The halls are all empty. He only has one more hallway…
The one I’m in.
It’s pitch black in here, too, which doesn’t help. It does and doesn’t. He can’t easily find me, either. My left hand glides along the walls for a door— anything .
Nothing… nothing… nothing… nothing… trim…
Door handle!
I turn the knob and open it, trying to allow the most minimal amount of light in as possible, and lessen the creaking sound of hinges. I fling myself into the room and pull the door closed behind me, turning the knob until clicks into place.
I spin, taking in the new, bright area around me. It’s an almost-empty warehouse. It’s all cement—nothing inside of it besides four doors, one on each wall. No windows.
No escape .
“I’m going to throw up,” I whisper. I’m stuck in a maze.
Slow clapping comes from a dark corner as Cillian emerges from the shadows.
A blood-curdling scream is stuck in my throat, fear settling deep in my stomach. My feet want to run, but where would I go? He has me trapped now.
“Oh, Antonella… you made a terrible mistake.” Cillian’s laughter is evil, one even the Devil himself would be jealous of. “You’re predictable at best, beautiful. You’re lucky I love a good chase. You made this fun.”
“No—o,” my voice cracks. It can’t be. How can he be there and here at the same time?
“All three hallways lead to this one room in the warehouse,” he takes a single step toward me, tapping the gun against his chin. “Right back to me. It’s poetic.”
I shake my head. My trembling hand flies up to cover my gaping mouth as my gaze remains unswerving.
Step by step, the clicking of the bottom of his shoes are the only sound in the room as he steps forward toward me, waving the gun around in his hand.
I back up as far as I can, slamming against the door. Reaching down, I try to open it again. It doesn’t budge.
Locked .
Now’s the time to shit myself, right?
Cillian shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “I have my men posted up on the outside of all three doors.”
This is it.
“All the fighting, for what?” A lone tear streams down my flushed cheeks.
“You hurt one of my men, beautiful. You sent him to the hospital. He didn’t do anything to you…”
I shake my head. “ No .” He isn’t going to make me feel guilty for trying to live.
Wait, he said three doors? There’s four. One of them has to be an exit. Right? Not the one I’m standing in front of. My gaze darts between the other three doors on the walls.
Is he messing with my head? Or is he bad at math?
“Yes, yes… you did. ”
BANG !
I jump, and a raspy scream rips through my sore throat. My hands fly up to cover my ears as I squeeze my eyes shut—preparing for pain, or nothing at all.
Yet, neither pain nor death come.
Slowly, my eyes open and I lower my cold, trembling hands.
Cillian stands there—laughing at me.
My ears are ringing. Most sound is muffled at the moment. He points behind me. I turn my head, zeroing in on the bullet hole in the wall, which, if it’d been two inches to the left, would’ve splattered my brains on the wall. Instead, he purposefully missed.
This is a game to him.
My eyes snap up to the door behind him. It’s that one, isn’t it?
The same door, the one behind Cillian, flings wide open—practically off the hinges.
He came for me.
He found me.
My knees become weak underneath me as I fall to the ground, sobbing in relief. There’s no way Cillian will make it out of here alive.
Even if I die, too.
“Nice of you to finally join us…” Cillian’s expression remains unfazed. “Took you long enough.”
Stronzo.
I shoot Cillian a nasty glare while clutching around my aching stomach, the soreness of nerves, running, and being tortured overwhelming me.
“Let her go, Cillian. This is between us, ” Giordano growls, stalking angrily over to me. Carefully, he pulls me up from the floor, allowing for me to stand to my full height in front of him .
I burry face into his chest, inhaling the delicious, comforting scent of his sandalwood cologne.
Home .
If this is how I’m going to go, then let it be in the arms of the greatest, amore epico della mia vita.
“Indeed it is.” Cillian hums. “You’re free to go, beautiful. You’ve been the most admirable… victim .”
I peer over my shoulder, scowling at him as I wipe the single tear away from the corner of my eye. “I am not your victim.”
I understand Giordano’s need for revenge. This is bullshit.
“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, beautiful.” He laughs, flicking his gaze back up to my love.
“Antonella, go ,” Giordano whispers, pressing his lips to the top of my head.
I inhale a deep, shaky breath, pushing my head further into his chest—embracing his warmth.
His strength.
His love.
He wraps his arms around me. He says again, desperate, “Go.” But his actions say otherwise, holding me as if he doesn’t want me to leave.
Why am I getting the feeling this is going to be the last time? Not if I have anything to say about it; fuck that.
I’m not going to leave him.