3. Aurora
Chapter 3
Aurora
T here’s a faint lingering of death and destruction permeating the air as I hold my apartment door open. The light in the hallway flickers as I stand with one foot in the entryway of my apartment and the other still in the hallway, considering my options. Whoever he is, I knew he was here before I unlocked the door. Yet, I didn’t do what any sane person would. I should turn around and run. It’s not too late.
I knew this day would come. The world my father occupies was always going to find me, no matter how far I tried to distance myself from it.
It would be easy to blame my lack of self-preservation on working sixteen-hour shifts as an emergency dispatcher, but deep down, I know I can’t. Something much darker that’s been festering inside of me for years is in control of me now. It twists and turns in my gut, propelling me forward with a bravado and acceptance of whatever my future holds. Crossing the threshold, I brace myself, ready to come face-to-face with the devil who’s waiting for me.
Just like I’ve been waiting for him.
An awareness ripples through me, my body warming as I kick the door closed behind me. From my position by the front door, I have a view of my living room and kitchen. There’s no sign of him. He must be hidden in the shadows, because I know he’s here. I can feel him, like the ground beneath me.
Adrenaline courses through my body, and although I don’t know why he’s here or what he might be after, I’m ready for the confrontation. For the excitement .
Hanging my keys on the hook by the door, I go through the motions of taking off my jacket and putting it in the cupboard by the door with my bag. It’s been raining pretty much nonstop for the last four days, and although my feet are soaked and cold in my sneakers, I keep them on. Hopefully, they’ll give me an advantage should I need to fight him.
Moving in the direction of my bedroom, the squeak of my shoes punctuates the air. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I can feel his eyes on me, slowly hunting his prey.
My breathing is steady, portraying none of the panic that’s now bubbling beneath the surface. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea . I don’t bother with the lights, allowing the darkness to envelop me as I navigate the familiarity of my apartment, praying to God that he doesn’t make himself known before I’m ready.
My mind goes to my bedside table and the 9mm gun I have taped to the inside of the top drawer. I’ve never had a reason to use it, but after the couple who live in the apartment above me were robbed, I figured it was better to be safe than sorry. I’m not sure what use it will be to me now but it might buy me some time.
I clench my jaw, annoyed at the invasion of my home. Who does he think he is? Breaking into my apartment, waiting to… to do who knows what. Pressing my lips together, I slip into my bedroom at the end of the hallway.
Moonlight floods the space, a beam guiding my path to the bedside table. I don’t bother to close the door behind me. It creaks from where I haven’t had time to grease the hinges and I don’t want to give him a reason to come and find me just yet.
An urgency overtakes me as I open the drawer, my hand diving in and coming up empty, before my movements turn desperate as I search for the unused object. My mouth goes dry, and I shake my head in denial. Realization makes my shoulders slump, and I exhale heavily, staring at my empty hands like the weapon may appear if I wish for it hard enough. The reality is, he’s found it. Of course he has .
I’m going to die .
A sick, yearning smile pulls at the corners of my mouth before falling away when the hard nozzle of a gun is jabbed into the back of my head. I feel his heat at my back, warming my body, and curse myself for not leaving when I had the chance.
“Looking for something, Aurora?” His slightly accented voice sends a flutter of need to the pit of my stomach. There’s a dark and dangerous edge to his tone.
I close my eyes, forcing my body to sink into the anticipation of what's to come. This is how it ends? A bullet through the back of the head from a man I don’t know? Maybe that isn’t his plan at all. He could have killed me already.
Scenarios run through my mind, each one becoming more and more violent. Can I get out of here alive? Do I even want to? I dismiss the last question before it fully forms. Obviously, I want to get out of here. But trying to fight him will use up strength that I might need to preserve, because even without seeing him, I know he’ll overpower me. The thought sends a ripple of awareness down my spine, but I fight against it, holding my body still. A light sheen of sweat coats my upper lip, and I dig my fingernails into the palms of my hands, the pain a welcome distraction.
The cocktail of fear and powerlessness slides its way through my body, stiffening my limbs and crushing my posture. There’s going to be no way out of here alive.
I harden my expression, unwilling to show him any fear, and wait for his next move. Fighting him might make the end come quicker, but there would be no dignity in it, and although I could scream, in this building, nobody would come. I’m on my own now . I’ll meet my maker with peace in my heart, even if the devil is the one pushing me out of existence.
I thought I’d have more uncertainty; more of a will to live when the end came. All I feel is acceptance and a desire to be free. I push my head back onto the barrel, silently begging him to pull the trigger.
A dark chuckle reverberates in his chest. He’s teasing me . The pieces slip into place like dominoes falling. Killing me quickly doesn’t give him what he needs or what he came for. He’s going to drag this out until I’m begging him to end it.
I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
He might have orders, but there will be no pleas falling from my lips today. Whoever has sent this mobster will be sorely disappointed.
Inhaling deeply, his expensive cologne sends a frisson of awareness to my core. God, what is wrong with me? I hold my breath, refusing to dwell on the fact that his scent is both arousing and comforting at the same time. It’s irrelevant to my life being taken.
He moves closer, but still manages to keep his body away from mine. The movement pushes the gun harder against my skull. The baritone of his voice feels deeper now, commanding and calm, when he says, “No sudden movements, bellissima . We’re going into the living room.”
I swallow thickly, turning toward the door. He remains out of my eyeline as he follows behind me. My movements are slow and cautious, as if I’m pushing through treacle; each step harder than the last as we walk.
Frowning, I tilt my head as I come to a stop on the edge of the living room. One of the chairs from the table in the kitchen is positioned in front of the large bay window. I rented this apartment for that window and how the morning light spills in through it. It doesn’t make much sense to kill me there, not when anyone could potentially witness it. Maybe that’s the point. He wants to make a show of my death.
Biting down on my lip, my eyes dart over to the chair I usually sit in to read— my mom’s armchair . It’s been carelessly pushed to the side, and now, instead of facing the window, it’s pointing into the room. Heat flushes through my body, and I noisily blow out a breath. His lack of care for my possessions is angering me more than his presence in my home.
A nudge to my back propels me forward and out of my own head. I stumble over my feet, but his large hand wraps around my elbow, halting me. A zing jolts through me from the contact, and I suck in a breath before snatching my arm back. What the fuck was that?
I move through the room, my chin held high. Sliding into the chair, I focus on the rain falling just beyond the windowpane. The sky is gray and overcast, adding to the ominous feeling filling the room and threatening to suffocate me.
Moving into my line of sight, he blocks my view. The glow from the street lamps outside illuminate the room enough for me to see his face for the first time. I blink rapidly, trying to reconcile the handsome man standing in front of me with the acts I know he’s here to commit.
His hair is slicked back, curling at the collar of his shirt and his intense dark eyes—they almost look demonic—are framed by the longest lashes I’ve ever seen on a man. We hold each other's gaze until I can’t take anymore and drop my focus to the muscle ticking in his stubbled jaw. My eyes move to his mouth and the fullness of his lips before I force myself to look away.
Even the clothes he’s wearing are very fitting for the role he’s here to fulfill. A black shirt, with a silk-looking waistcoat covering his torso. His sleeves are rolled up, the corded muscles of his forearms a further reminder of the power he exudes.
His movements are meticulous as he picks up a roll of duct tape and begins to secure me to the chair. I consider making a move to try and take the other gun from the black leather holster secured to his chest, but think better of it. Instead, I return my attention to the window, a million questions on the tip of my tongue fighting to be voiced.
Who is he?
What does he want from me?
How did he get into my apartment?
Will he take his time or put me out of my misery before I’ve had a chance to say a word?
The sound of tape being pulled brings my attention back to him, and I watch, fascinated, as he puts it between his straight, white teeth and rips. A smirk lifts the corner of his mouth, and I look away, huffing out a breath. This isn’t even remotely funny .
Without a word, his fingers thrust into my hair, and he jerks my head back. The sting remains, even after he’s released me. He covers my mouth with the tape and moves to the armchair, sinking into the cushions. His posture is relaxed and sure, like he has no qualms about his reason for being here.
I might be in a compromised position, with my feet and hands bound, and tape covering my mouth, but I’m still feeding off his energy. I’m not fearful. My heart isn’t racing and the adrenaline that was there when I first got home is now gone. I feel almost serene.
When I was a kid, I had moments of wondering what death would feel like. The thoughts alone would terrify me, but right now, I’m not scared. I’m not worried about the agonizing murder this monster no doubt has planned for me. No . I embrace it.
I welcome him dragging me into the pits of hell and ending my nonexistence. Ending the life I’ve wasted, running from my demons, and hiding like a coward. Perhaps I should be promising to do more, to be more , if I can just get out of this mess, but there’s no point.
The end is inevitable, whether I go today or in fifty years.
For the longest time, he sits quietly in the corner of the room, hidden in the shadows. Watching me . I try to block him out, using the time to make peace with myself. The gentle patter of rain against the window soothes me as I reflect on my life. There are so many things I could have done differently, but what’s done is done. There’s nothing left for me to do but accept where I went wrong and let go of the hate and resentment that I’ve held on to for far too long.
The sound of the rain and the city beyond the window are like a lullaby to my exhausted mind. My eyes flutter shut and my breath becomes labored as I try and fail to fight against the fatigue.
He stands, cracking his knuckles as he moves around the room and behind me. When I open my eyes again, I stare ahead at the inky black sky, trying my hardest to switch off my body's awareness of him.
I shuffle back in the chair, the hairs on the back of my neck standing to attention at his proximity behind me. His thick fingers take hold of my nose, cutting off my air supply as he forces my head back so my gaze connects to his.
This is it .
My heart beats an erratic rhythm in my chest and my pulse pounds in my ears. Digging my fingers into the armrest, I force the panic flooding me to subside. His grip slips slightly from the slick sweat forming on my face. My mouth fights against the tape, the sting of my skin being pulled doing nothing to dim the smile that’s forming on my lips. I’ve been looking forward to this moment for the longest time . My lungs burn. The natural instinct to fight wages an internal war with my mind's desire to give in.
His voice is gruff, something akin to admiration shining in his eyes as he asks, “You want to die, don’t you, cucciola ?”
If only you knew .
I drink in his reaction to what he’s doing to me. Full lips lift at the corner, his strong jaw clenching and grinding in a hypnotic dance. Now that he’s closer, I’m drawn to the darkest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. I’m starting to realize this isn’t a mobster. He’s definitely in the mafia, but everything about him screams power and control.
Has he had to do this often?
It doesn’t matter. There’s too much noise in my head, and I close my eyes in an attempt to shut him out. Like coming home, I sink back into the darkness that twists and turns as it envelops me. Nothing matters now.
I’ll see you soon, Mama.
My chest loosens, and I drift into a cloud of relief. A curtain of peacefulness descends on me and then… he releases me. Instinctively, I inhale a desperate breath. My lungs scream as I suck in heavy breaths through my nose, my eyes darting open and searching for him. Demands I know I have no right to make are at the forefront of my mind: Finish me, dammit .
The pad of his thumb strokes over the apple of my cheek in a move that seems far too tender for a man like him. Yet, I watch, intrigued, as he lifts it to his mouth, sucking on the flesh. There’s something almost possessive about the act and it has a pool of warmth flooding my core.
My brow furrows, unsure of what to make of him or my reaction. Forcing my gaze away, I curse myself when I register the wetness on my cheek. Great . No doubt he’s taken my tears as a sign of weakness.
“Costa women don’t show weakness; unless it can be used as a strength.” My mom's words ring in my ears, and I set my shoulders back, determination stiffening my spine.
He stands tall, moving to lean against the wall, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “My name is Romeo Bianchi, and I am the head of The Sicilian Mafia. Your father has committed a crime against mia famiglia and he must pay.”