Chapter 13
TERINA
Present
Exercise classes have a culture. Anyone who has regularly attended a step class, Zumba, or any group fitness class knows they function like mini families.
Sure, there are always a few stragglers who come and go, but the regulars get to know one another.
It’s understood that Shannon from Vermont always works out in the front corner, and Jessi with the red hair keeps to the back because she has two small kids and is always late.
If you go to the morning class, the instructor is super chill and always has chakra candles burning, while the lunch-hour instructor’s energy levels rival that of a toddler on a sugar binge.
So many considerations, and I’d bet good money DiAngelo has zero clue.
I understand his reasoning, though, behind asking me to randomize my schedule.
And as much as changing my routine normally bugs me, I’m happy to do it if it means less chance of putting him in harm’s way.
And despite what he may think, I’m not about to roll over and let the Russians get either one of us.
Are you a coward or a fighter?
His challenge took me back to a place I didn’t want to be, a time when I had to face a very similar question, so I avoided answering him.
I’ve been avoiding him altogether, if I’m honest. My reactions to DiAngelo are too unpredictable.
Too raw. I don’t trust myself around him.
It’s best to keep things professional and respectful.
After all, this situation won’t last forever.
Once the danger dissipates, life can go back to normal.
I wish that sounded more appealing than it does.
Don’t be silly, Rina. You’ll be much happier that way.
I hope so. It’s worked for me these past five years. Why change?
The buzz of my phone relieves me from having to answer the question. Thank goodness.
“Hello,” I answer politely after seeing it’s the front desk calling.
“Miss Donati?” asks a man’s voice, rugged with age.
“Yes.”
“You have a delivery. We were going to send it up, but wanted to make sure you were home to receive it.”
“Yes, that works. Thank you.”
“Our pleasure. Have a lovely day.”
“You, too.”
It takes a good ten minutes before there’s a knock on my door.
I spend the entire time racking my brain over what the delivery might be.
A look through the peephole confirms that building staff have arrived with a white box in hand.
I give the young runner a tip and take my elegant Neiman Marcus box inside.
It’s wrapped in a beautiful black satin ribbon, and the notecard on top simply reads R.
Did Renzo send me a gift?
That’s not exactly his norm, but he’s been extra accommodating since sticking me with a bodyguard. Plus, I think Shae’s pregnancy has softened him, though I’d never tell him that.
Maybe this is a thank-you gift for dealing with his brute friend for the past week. It makes sense.
I untie the bow, a smile blooming on my face as I remove the lid. I start to pull apart the white tissue paper inside when I catch a glimpse of black-and-yellow stripes … and scales.
I shoot backward so quickly that the chair I had rested my knee on crashes to the floor.
A black glistening snout peeks from the box, its forked tongue flicking the air.
I scream and scramble for my phone while keeping a frantic eye on the creature at the same time. My hands are so damn shaky that I struggle to hit a few simple buttons. Eventually, the line rings.
“Yeah?” The strong tenor of DiAngelo’s voice envelops me with relief.
“D, you need to come over here fast! Please, hurry,” I say in a rush.
“What’s going on?”
I can hear the strain in his voice. He’s already in motion, confirmed by the sound of a door slamming in the background.
“I think it’s a snake in a box. I thought it was from Renzo. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have opened it. I didn’t think. I—” My flood of frenzied words is cut short.
“Slow down, Rina,” he says calmly. “I need to know if you’re hurt. Did it bite you?”
“N-n-no.” I shudder at the thought.
“Where is the snake now?”
“It’s still in the box on my kitchen counter. Its head is poking out, but it hasn’t tried to go anywhere.”
“Good, you stay the fuck away from it. I’ll be there in five.”
It doesn’t even take him that long. The man must have flown to get here so quickly.
When he arrives, he lets himself in with a key I didn’t know he had and finds me clutching my phone in the living room—the farthest I can be from the snake while still keeping sight of the midnight scales on its head.
“It’s still in the box. I’ve been watching. I made sure.” The staccato words sound distant to my own ears, and my eyes refuse to disengage from their focus.
DiAngelo crosses my line of sight and forces my wide gaze to his. The instant our eyes meet, my lungs empty with a relieved breath, and my entire body begins to shake like a Chihuahua left out in the cold.
It’s the strangest thing.
The snake is still alive and well. I could have been killed. Neither of those things has changed, but something about having DiAngelo nearby gives my body permission to come apart.
He places his hands on either side of my face. “Breathe, Rina. I’ll handle the snake. You just breathe, okay?”
I nod shakily.
“Good girl.”
Then he does something that I never expected. Something that pulls the rug right out from under me. DiAngelo Farina places a tender kiss on the top of my head, infusing my body with a steadying warmth.
“Scared the shit outta me,” he murmurs with his lips still pressed to my hair before pulling back.
“Me, too,” I whisper.
The tiniest of smirks teases the corners of his lips. “Go pack a bag while I deal with this.” He gives me an authoritative lift of his brows, then turns toward the kitchen.
“A bag?”
He peers back at me. “You’re not safe here. I’m moving you in with me, where I can protect you better. If you want to take anything with you, I suggest you get moving.” His brows rise again as his gaze shifts toward the bedroom, an unmistakable order for me to make myself scarce, but I can’t.
“What if you get bitten? I’ll be in there sorting cosmetics while you’re out here dying. I don’t think so.”
D sighs. “Fine, but don’t come a single inch closer.”
“I won’t. Promise.” I raise my hands in surrender.
“You have a broom?”
My brain glitches for a second with the subject change before I nod, then hurry to the coat closet where I keep my vacuum and broom. I grab it and take it to him, then swiftly retreat to a safe distance.
DiAngelo prowls toward the snake. He positions himself to the side of it, the peninsula portion of the counter giving him a range of approach options.
Once in place, he pokes the snake.
I shit you not. The man pokes the snake until it slithers farther outside the box and rears up protectively.
My heart is lodged in my throat, terrified the snake will dart off the counter and disappear into my apartment. But before that can happen, DiAngelo presses the wooden broom handle down over the snake right behind his head. The second the snake is secure, he picks it up with one hand.
PICKS. IT. UP.
With ONE hand.
He dangles the snake in front of him, exposing the full length of the black-and-yellow-striped creature—about four feet in total. The tongue flicks faster, and the body writhes and sways agitatedly, but without the leverage to accomplish anything.
In my head, I’m yelling at DiAngelo, demanding to know what the hell he’s doing. All my body manages to do is gape at the scene with my jaw hinged wide open.
“Now what?” I finally squeak.
D brings his eyes to mine, hazel bleeding into a stone-cold gray that sends a chill down my spine.
His free hand clamps around the snake next to his other hand before he swiftly snaps its spine.
Bent at an unnatural angle, the snake goes limp.
Not skipping a beat, DiAngelo carefully coils the dead creature back into the box.
When he puts the lid on top, he notices the card and picks it up to examine it.
“I thought it was from Renzo,” I try to explain.
“Looks kind of like an ‘R,’ but I’d be willing to bet it’s a ‘P.’”
“Why’s that?”
“Pasha Mikhailov. He’s chosen to target you.” His gaze returns to mine, the stony stare now razor sharp. “Pack that bag. It’s time to get out of here.”