Chapter 6 Cian
CIAN
She’s right. Somewhere in the process of our discussion, the lively bar across the street fell quiet and I didn’t even realize it. Glancing down at my phone, it’s still early. There’s no reason for a place to close now.
Our eyes meet, and Saoirse jerks her head toward the back of the apartment just as an explosion of gunfire hails from the balcony.
Bullets rain through the glass doors, shattering them to smithereens.
The crate Faina’s laptop is sitting on explodes into a cluster of wooden planks and splinters, and the chair barely survives.
Faina snatches up the laptop and sprints toward the back of the apartment with me hot on our heels.
How they found us is a mystery, but after what happened in the taxi, I’m not entirely surprised.
Faina leads me through a hole carved in the wall of the kitchen which connects to the loft of the apartment next to us, but the bullets follow.
They knock holes in the roof and small, pinpoint streaks of light track our position as we run as fast as we can.
Feet pounding, heart thundering and guns at the ready, we make it to a set of stairs that we fly down two at a time.
Faina struggles to get the laptop into a rucksack she snatches from the floor, nearly tripping on the lower landing.
I grab her arm to steady her as I pass and together, we make it down the rest of the staircase and out into the alley behind the building.
My feet skid on the cobblestones, scanning for an exit, but Faina clearly already has an escape route planned.
We race to the mouth of the alley, take a left, and sprint across the street into the next alley with the sounds of gunfire and thudding boots chasing us like ghosts.
I spin around on my heel and fire a few potshots toward the mouth of the alley to buy us a few extra seconds until Faina grabs me by the collar.
I choke briefly and stumble after her as she leads me through an open door into the blazing hot kitchen of a restaurant.
Angry chefs yell at us in Italian, and one even throws a spatula I have to duck while we weave through counters and trolleys and out into the main restaurant floor.
Several staff and guests stare at us, open-mouthed, until the assassins pursuing us light up the kitchen with their guns.
Around us, chaos breaks out as every guest abandons their meal to flee for the door and escape before they become the next victim.
Faina leaps up onto one of the tables and hops down the other side as gracefully as a swan. I try to follow, but I use my left leg to get myself onto the table and disaster strikes.
The physical issues with my injured leg aren’t exact. I have good days and bad days depending on sleep, the weather, and whether the muscles in my leg want to play ball after the trauma they’ve been through. Today is a bad day.
I’m halfway up onto the table when weakness throbs through my leg and I lose my balance.
I glimpse Faina glancing back at me then her eyes widening in horror as I overbalance and topple to the floor.
Hundreds of people stampede past me, leather shoes and fancy heels narrowly missing my head as not one person stops to help.
I’m collateral in their desperation to escape.
Bracing on the ground, I try to stand, but where the first handful of people had the decency to go around me, suddenly, I’m a stepping stone for everyone too impatient to wait.
A high-heeled shoe stabs into my back and sends me back to the ground, then the weight of several other people stamping in my ribs as they step on me rather than over.
Get up, Cian!
I try and I’m down again. Someone’s passing foot clips my jaw, and it takes all my strength just to hold onto my gun as a boot stamps down on my forearm.
Pain flares throughout my entire body but it drowns in alarm when several gunshots fire above my head.
People scream, the crowd surges, and then suddenly, hands are dragging me up by the back of my shirt.
“Cian!” Worry warps Faina’s face and her gaze locks down on my weakened leg. Somehow, that pisses me off more than anything, so I shove her away.
“I’m fine, let’s go!”
She hesitates for a split second until something explodes in the kitchen and she flinches.
“I said let’s go!”
It kicks her into gear but this time, she takes my hand and drags me out of the restaurant along with the swell of the crowd.
Sirens and neon lights scream in the street as the police arrive.
Faina and I blend with the crowd until we make it across the street, then we slip into another alleyway and disappear into the night, leaving those assassins to face the strength of the Italian law.
Several hours later, I rest against the railing of the ferry carrying us across the water toward the city of Nuro on the island of Sardinia. Deep blue ocean churns beneath the hull, and a scorching sun bakes down on me, burning my paper-thin pale skin to a crisp.
I like it, though.
The heat of the yellow sun, the crash of the waves, the sound of the gulls calling above, and the scents of salt and marine life in the air.
After last night’s chase through the city, it’s surreal to be here mingling with holiday goers in a white shirt and pants Faina swiped from God knows where.
I thought I’d been doing a good job sneaking about these past six months, but Faina’s on another level.
Must be because she’s Russian.
“How’s the leg?” She appears next to me with a fruity drink in each hand.
Both have their own colorful straw and vibrant little umbrella.
Her loose blue sundress flaps in the wind and yet, despite the breeze, her gigantic sunhat manages to stay locked onto her hair.
Even with sunglasses on, I can tell she’s staring at me.
“It’s fine,” I reply shortly, accepting the drink. “Is there alcohol in this?”
“What do you take me for?” Her plush, pink lips briefly wrap around her straw. “We don’t need to be caught unawares.”
“If we’re caught here, we’re dead. We’re on a ferry, for Christ’s sake.”
“Can’t you swim?” She smirks at me.
“Through water this deep? Where would I swim to?” There’s nothing but ocean surrounding us. The port we left is miles away, and while the island of Sardinia is in sight, it’s far too far away for any reasonable swimmer.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Somewhere back in the last pair of pants someone tried to kill me in.”
“Ooh, you’re sour,” she mutters, sipping her drink for a moment. Then she angles her body toward me and manages to drop her sunglasses an inch down her nose with a wiggle of her brows. “I’ll ask again, how is your leg?”
“It’s fine. Why?”
“You took a hard fall back there.”
“And?”
“You almost got trampled to death.”
“But I didn’t.”
“We’re in this together, and clearly, that’s an issue, so I think it’s reasonable for you to tell me what we’re dealing with.”
I keep my gaze fixed on the horizon. “It’s my leg. What more do you want me to say?”
“I heard you got hit by a car and your leg snapped in three places,” she says softly. “And then they took you and tied you up, forced you to balance on that leg so you’d hurt yourself.”
“You heard wrong.” Tightness sweeps across my chest and my throat closes as a chill steals down my spine.
I thought I knew torture.
It was something I prided myself on for my family. Between my sister and me, no secret was safe.
Until I ended up in the hands of the Triad and everything I knew was child’s play compared to them.
“You can talk about it, you know,” Faina says gently.
“Why does it even matter?” I refuse to look at her.
“I can make adjustments to my plan, but I need to know the extent, Cian. What if next time I don’t look back in time and realize too late that something’s happened?”
“I slipped, that’s all.”
“So it wasn’t your leg?”
“No, it was the tablecloth.”
“Cian—”
“Fucking hell, Faina. What’s with the interrogation?” Spinning to face her, where I expect to see twisted curiosity or even judgment in her eyes, there’s nothing but a warm concern that vanishes the moment I snap at her.
Her expression hardens and she slides her sunglasses back into place. “Then let’s hope we don’t have to deal with any more tablecloths.”
She’s worried about me.
Not in a performative way or even a manipulative way to get information out of me.
She looked at me the way she used to look at me when I’d fall into her arms after a rough mission.
She’d clean my wounds and tell me stories and we’d usually end up fucking until we passed out. So I know her concern is genuine.
But I can’t risk it. The second I start thinking about anything that makes me feel alive is the second my goal slips away from me. I need to hunt down the head of the snake and kill him. For my family. For the cavernous emptiness that exists deep inside me.
Nothing else matters. Not Faina, not the old feelings for her I’ve locked up deep down in my soul, and not the rising urge to apologize for snapping. Emotions won’t win here.
Faina remains quiet and on her laptop for the rest of the sail toward Sardinia which thankfully goes smoothly.
No men clad in black trying to kill us. After leaving the ferry, we walk along the pier while discussing our options.
I’d rather keep sailing all the way to Spain, but Faina feels that’s too obvious.
Running too far ahead can be as dangerous as moving too slowly.
We have to find the perfect balance that allows us to slip through unnoticed.
“So, for tonight,” Faina says as she balances her laptop on one leg, resting against a bench, “we’re Mr. and Mrs. Fairway on a small package holiday and we’ll be staying at…” She sucks on her teeth and points down the pier toward a small, unassuming brown building tucked against the cliff. “There.”
“I’m sorry, we’re married?”
She shoots me a narrow glare. “We’re hijacking a booking, genius, not signing papers.
The best way to be invisible is to be someone else.
Relax. Just pretend we’re dating and you don’t hate my guts, okay?
” Her laptop snaps shut and she strides away toward the hotel with her hair swaying and her sunhat tucked under one arm.
Wait… does Faina really think I hate her?