18. Emilia
The man in the long, black coat couldn’t look more out of place if he tried. Not that there’s anything particularly strange or unique about Craig as he sits on the sofa, but he doesn’t belong. Like a bull in a china shop, only he’s not rushing around and breaking things. Maybe it has something to do with his demeanor. The way he keeps rubbing his hands on his thighs and tapping his foot against the floor like a man with something on his mind.
“You probably don’t want to watch this.” I pick up the remote to turn off the new season of The Great British Bake Off show, I’ve been trying to catch up on. It’s not like I’ve been paying attention ever since Guilia’s call, anyway.
“It’s fine. I don’t care. It’s actually kind of soothing.” Not a minute after, he says that one of the contestants drops an entire bowl of batter on the floor while trying to get it into greased tins. “Oof. That sucks,” he groans out, wincing.
“So what’s up?” I prompt. Not that I mind the company. I don’t, in fact, even if Craig happens to be the company. I’ve been alone in here for days. Being in the same room as another person is a refreshing change, never mind how strange it is that he won’t take off his coat.
I turn to him, eyeing the coat, wondering what the deal is. “Is there something I can help you with?” I ask.
Some nameless emotion washes over his face, wrinkling his brow before it smooths out again. He wouldn’t be a bad-looking guy if he weren’t always either scowling or smirking, two expressions that have never been my favorite.
“It’s been a crazy few months.” His shoulders shake when he laughs. “I guess I don’t need to tell you that.”
“I’m still trying to remember the past few months,” I remind him with a short laugh of my own. I don’t feel like laughing, and there’s nothing amusing going on, but I feel the need to match his energy. Very strange, intense energy. I can’t put my finger on what it is strange about him. I only know something is.
“Do you want something to drink, maybe?”
I have to get off the sofa.
I have to leave the room.
I can’t remember a time when someone has thrown me off the way he is tonight.
“Do you have any alcohol around here?” He stretches his legs out, crossing them at the ankles and making himself comfortable while still wearing his coat. “I could use a drink.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of water or iced tea, but there should be some in the cabinet.” Yes, maybe he does need a drink. Maybe that would calm him down a little bit.
“Don’t put yourself out or anything,” he insists as I make a short walk to the galley kitchen. I open the cabinet closest to the refrigerator and find a quarter of a bottle of bourbon, some rum, and a little amaretto.
“Bourbon?” I call out to him.
“Sure. Rocks, if you have some.” I made a fresh tray of ice yesterday since there’s nothing grosser than ice that’s sat in a freezer for ages.
I return to the living room and hand him the glass, which he accepts with a brief grin. “Nothing for you?” he asks when he notices my other hand is empty.
“Oh, no. I’m fine.” I wander to the windows overlooking the street and look out the way I did earlier. The black car is gone. The space is empty. “That’s weird,” I murmur to myself.
“What is?” Craig asks behind me.
He can’t see my eyes rolling. “Oh, I was just thinking it’s weird that the guard left without somebody else replacing them right away. That’s how it usually is,” I explain, looking up and down the street. I don’t see any other familiar vehicles.
Why not?
I hear the ice rattling in the glass. “Oh, that’s the problem I was talking about when I came in.”
Now we’re finally getting somewhere. I turn away from the window. “Did something happen?”
“I was going to come up and say hello, check in on you,” he explains in an offhand sort of way that contradicts the uptight, nervous energy from earlier. “And whatever moron Santoro assigned down there didn’t know who I was and didn’t want to let me up here. We exchanged words, and he said he was going to call your boyfriend to straighten things out.”
Why did it take me so long to see what’s been wrong all the time? “How did you know I was here? What, is somebody at the house, keeping you posted on every move I make?” The idea stirs nausea in my gut. Why not take out an ad in the paper?
He flashes one of his trademark smirks before sipping his drink, sighing after he swallows. “In a way, yes. He wanted increased attention on your building and had to go through me. I have a small group of guys I know I can trust, so nothing has to run past the higher-ups. We sort of handle things quietly amongst ourselves.”
Maybe I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. “You mean there’s a bunch of you being paid off by the family?”
He snorts like it’s funny but won’t look at me now. He stares into his glass, swirling the ice around. “If that’s how you want to see it.”
“That’s how it is.”
“Are we going to go through this again?” Looking up at the ceiling, he groans. “That’s not why I came here. I’m not trying to fight with you or have a pissing contest over who is or was the better cop. Everybody has to make choices.” He leans over to place the glass on the coffee table. “Sometimes, those choices are very difficult to make. Sometimes, we feel cornered and end up doing things we never imagined being capable of.”
“You’re preaching to the choir,” I remind him, thinking of Luca and me. I chose to be with him, and I chose to leave him. I can’t remember making that first decision, but I sure as hell know leaving broke my heart, even if I knew it was the right thing to do.
He jumps a little when there’s a knock at the door. “Expecting someone?” he asks with suspicion in his voice.
“No. I wasn’t even expecting you.” I feel a little more secure, having him in the apartment as I approach the door. “Who is it?” I call out and hate the tremor of fear in the question.
“It’s Bruce. Let me in.”
I exchange a look with Craig before he gets on his feet, scowling like he’s got my back. I doubt Bruce would be a threat, but this is the first time any of my assigned guards have come up here. I’m trembling a little as I unlock and open the door.
Right away, he barges in, looking over the top of my head at Craig. “The boss wanted me to come up,” he mumbles without taking his eyes off my guest.
“How come?” I ask, looking at Craig over my shoulder before returning my attention to the stern Bruce.
“I thought I told you to leave,” Craig says.
Wait.That’s not right. That’s not how he described it to me. Then again, he didn’t have to tell me every word they exchanged. I guess he means he told Bruce it was not necessary for him to be here anymore. It doesn’t make sense.
“Yeah, and the boss told me to come back up here because it’s not up to you.” When Bruce folds his massive arms and lifts his chin, it’s a pretty damn intimidating sight. He’s a big guy, a wall of muscle.
“Okay, let’s not argue about this.” I give Bruce a pleading look. “I’m sure you can wait outside until shift change, right?”
He shakes his head ever so slightly, his gaze unwavering as he stares at Craig. “He said I should stay right here.”
Why would he say that? “None of you guys have stayed in here with me yet,” I point out, wrapping my arms around myself to contain a slight shiver that insists on running up my spine. Something is seriously off here. “Is there some kind of problem nobody wants to tell me about?”
Bruce looks like he’s about to speak, but his mouth snaps shut before anything comes out. “Well?” Craig prompts over my shoulder. “Is there something wrong? What else did your boss tell you?”
Dread is an icy finger tracing its way down the back of my neck and raising the fine hairs there. Never in my life have I felt so much like I’m only witnessing half of a conversation. Like there’s more going on underneath the words being spoken.
“That’s none of your business,” Bruce mutters. For a big guy, he’s very agile, deftly placing himself between Craig and me. “Unless the boss says it is when he gets here.”
“Luca’s coming here?” The thought of it makes my pulse race, though I don’t know if it’s anticipation or dread causing it.
“He’s on his way,” Bruce grunts out, still facing Craig, who stands in the middle of my living room. That funny sheen of sweat has his face glistening again.
Suddenly, he withdraws a pistol from his holster. I barely have time to register the sight of it before a muffled gunshot makes me shriek and fall back against the wall while the mountain of muscles in front of me collapses.
“Oh my God!” It’s pure reflex that makes me drop to my knees next to the wounded man as everything I ever learned about triage races through my skull. “Bruce, it’ll be okay. Just stay with me.”
It’s a lie. He’s coughing up blood thanks to the dark red stain rapidly growing across his chest. The sound of him choking on his own blood is horrible, but it’s the way his widened eyes dart around like he’s afraid that leaves me biting back a sob.
It’s not until he releases one final, gurgling breath that I realize Craig sidestepped us and put the chain lock in place on the door before turning the bolt. He now stands with his back against it, still holding his gun. “I didn’t want to have to do that,” he murmurs, and there’s almost regret in the statement.
The most incredible thing happens. In the time it takes my heart to beat, the horrible screaming in my head goes silent. The wild, racing thoughts go still. My awareness hardens, laser-focused.
“Why did you do that?” I question, kneeling next to Bruce, his blood coating my hands.
“He shouldn’t have been here. He wasn’t supposed to be,” he says with a slight shrug. Maybe it’s fear freezing me in place or disbelief. It doesn’t matter which. Either way, I can’t move as Craig slowly raises the gun, aiming it at my head.
“I don’t understand.” He doesn’t try to stop me as I rise, my legs shaking. I don’t take my eyes off him while options race through my head. I need a weapon. The kitchen is nearby, but he could easily put a bullet in me before I take a single step. I need to disarm him somehow if I’m going to get out of this.
“That asshole. That fucking asshole,” he snarls out, sweating worse than ever now, his skin almost gray, his breathing harsh. “He had to go and fucking say something to you about me. He told me he did. After we found out you were still alive in the hospital. They were supposed to kill you that night, but somebody dropped the fucking ball.” A high-pitched, almost crazy laugh bubbles out of him.
I don’t remember much of this man, yet the sense of betrayal is still sharp, stinging, and bitter. “You aren’t only working for the Santoro family, are you?” I whisper. “You were working for Vitali. That’s how they knew where to find us. You told him.”
“And he fucking told you about me!” he shrieks. “What, was I supposed to wait for you to remember? Where does that leave me? Floating face down in the fucking Hudson, that’s where… if your sweet Luca didn’t cut me to pieces,” he adds with a bitter chuckle. “Like I said. Sometimes, we face terrible choices. I didn’t want to have to do this.”
Luca is on the way. I only have to keep him from killing me until he gets here. When did he leave? How fast can he make it?
“I’m genuinely sorry for this.” He takes one step toward me, then another. I back away on trembling legs, my heart pounding so hard I can barely hear him over the thundering noise. “Really,” he insists as he steps over Bruce’s body.
His gaze lowers to the floor, trying to avoid stepping in the blood, I realize, and I use the chance to make a run for it. Instinct takes me to the bathroom, where I lock the door before prying the lid from the top of the toilet tank.
“You think this is going to stop me?” Craig’s voice rings out louder the closer he comes to the locked door. “You know I could shoot at this door until it’s nothing but sawdust and be out of here in seconds. Honestly, I’d rather it be that way. I don’t want to have to see you suffer.”
“Because you’re a spineless coward?” I creep back to the door, holding my breath. Slowly, I unlock the knob, praying he won’t notice. “You know Luca sent Bruce here for a reason, right? He’s on his way here. He knows what you did, and he’s going to flay you alive for it.”
Craig hesitates for a long, breathless moment before muttering, “He won’t have proof.” Then, a high-pitched whining sound fills my ears, and I only realize a second later that a bullet whizzed dangerously close to my head.
That’s all it takes for everything to go red, for something dangerous and primal to be unleashed in me. I pull the door open, long enough to recognize Craig’s slack-jawed surprise before I raise the porcelain lid to the side and swing for the fences.
“Fuck!” he shouts when I make contact with the hand holding the gun. The gun goes flying toward the living room before I swing again, but this time, he blocks the blow with an arm thrown in front of him. It’s still enough to knock him back a step. I take advantage, darting past him, racing to reach the gun lying partway under the sofa.
“You little bitch!” he howls out. I’m almost there when something heavy knocks me to the floor and forces the breath from my lungs. It’s Craig’s body, and he rolls me onto my back while I gasp for air.
All of my self-defense training comes flooding back. I use it, kicking and scratching, determined to capture his DNA, if nothing else. If I manage to claw an eye out, all the better.
“It didn’t… have to be… this way…” he growls out as we struggle, with him defending himself from my blows and me fighting to buck his much larger body off mine. I manage to drive a fist into his eye, which is almost enough to knock him off me, but when I stretch in a desperate attempt to reach the gun, he only closes his hands around my throat.
I remember reaching for a gun another time. In the bathroom. The gun was next to the toilet, just out of my reach the way it is now. The images overlap in my mind’s eye, one after the other. Luca killing my assassin. The cabin.
What difference does it make when I’m about to die?
I can’t die.
Not now.
Not like this.
The pressure against my throat increases, and I gasp, my eyes bulging, as Craig stares down at me. He’s wild, insane, shaking, growling, and babbling while spit hits my face. “Not my fault. Didn’t want to do this,” he insists, squeezing until everything starts to go gray, and I can’t fight anymore. I can’t breathe.
This is it. I’m going to die. I feel it. I hear the rattle in my throat.
Luca, I’m sorry.His image floats across my fading consciousness, and I grab onto it, holding it as my eyes close.
“What the fuck?” Craig’s sudden shout comes at the same moment the pressure miraculously lessens and allows me to take a breath. Then a sharp crack fills the air, and Craig falls to my side, eyes wide and sightless, thanks to the gruesome hole in his temple.
Someone is holding me, lifting me until I’m sitting up and gagging, choking, fighting for every sip of air. “Oh, fuck, Emilia,” someone gasps. “Oh my God.”
It’s Luca. Luca’s arms, Luca’s chest, Luca’s voice in my ear. Luca, who I love. Luca, who saved my life again. Who stood up against his father and his family to keep me alive. He was ready to turn his back on everything, all for me.
I take one huge lungful of air after another, clutching Luca’s shirt in my fists, soaking him in my tears. “I’ve got you,” he tells me repeatedly, rocking me like a baby. “I’ve got you, baby. You’re safe now. I love you. You’re safe.”
He needs to know. I have to tell him. Raising my head from his chest, I look into his dark eyes. “I remember.” It comes out as a croak, something ugly and painful. “Everything. I remember. I love you.”
He takes my face between his hands, laughing in disbelief. “You remember?”
My head bobs before I croak out three more words despite my raw throat. “Take me home?” Because now, I remember where I belong. I should have never left.
“We’ve got this,” Dante mutters. I didn’t realize until now that we aren’t alone. Cesco is already pulling on gloves ready to clean up. “Take her home. We’ll use Bruce’s car to get back.”
Luca helps me to my feet, and I lean against him, letting him lead me out. He could lead me anywhere.
I know who I am and where I belong for the first time in weeks.