Chapter 6
6
EMILIA
Dark voices overlap in hushed, rapid Italian. I’m too busy trying to force air through my nose to decipher their words, but their malevolent intent is crystal clear. My heart’s a wild animal, thrashing against my ribcage as I claw desperately towards a freedom I know is just a cruel mirage. I’m trapped, and in too much pain to run.
Help me!
The plea echoes deafeningly in my skull, but what comes out is only a weak, pitiful whimper. Behind me, someone chuckles, and I whimper again, digging my nails into the cold, unyielding floor, desperate for any semblance of grip.
Another chuckle, closer this time.
No. No. Please, no.
Then an icy, meaty hand clamps around my ankle. I shriek and ? —
I jolt upright with a scream tearing from my throat.
My face is on fire, my heart pounding viciously, and my body won’t stop shaking. Drenched in sweat, I sit in bed, gasping for breath.
It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare.
It wasn’t real.
No. It was real. Once.
Six years ago, that nightmare was my reality.
And still, it refuses to let me go.
Hugging my knees to my chest, I start rocking side to side, my eyes flying around the room as I try to ground myself in the present.
Christmas lights. Fireplace. Green curtains. My purse on the dresser. The vanity. The closet. Sneakers by the door. The wall mirror.
I breathe. In, out.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, my breath evens out, and the shaking eases as I catalog the things I can see.
I’m not back there anymore. I’m in my room. Safe.
This nightmarish ritual has tormented me every single night since It happened. And it got so bad that that Stacey insisted I see a shrink—Lana. Sweet, well-meaning, utterly clueless Lana. As if talk therapy and pills could exorcise these demons. But she did give me one useful tool. This grounding technique. Because sometimes, in those first disorienting moments of waking up, it’s damn near impossible to convince myself that I’m not still there . To remind myself that Rafael showed up when he did, pissed as hell, ready to tear the place apart when he saw what was going on. That he cared enough to save me when everyone else was just getting their sick kicks.
And I owe him for that.
I blow out a long, shaky breath as my skin finally begins to cool and my heart rate normalizes. Shit, I slept so well last night, wrapped in the afterglow of what happened between Rafael and me, despite my self-loathing, that falling right back into my nightmare makes me a little bitter. One night of peace, then bam—straight back to the horror show.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand, and the sudden noise makes me jump. Jesus Christ.
Frowning, I scoot to the side and pick it up. My eyes narrow at the screen. 6 AM, and a message from an unknown number. What the hell? This isn’t my secured line for contacting Stacey, but I haven’t given this number out to anyone. So who could be texting me at this ungodly hour?
Curiosity piqued, I unlock the phone to read the message.
Unknown
Meet me at the address below. 8PM. Don’t be late, amorina, or else…
An address follows the cryptic line, and despite the ominous “or else,” I’m already smiling, warmth spreading through me like sunshine after a storm. It’s Rafael. I quickly save his number and text him back.
I don’t remember giving you my number. Stalker much?
My smile fades as realization hits me. If anyone’s the stalker here, it’s me. Sure, I didn’t have to track him down or anything, but my entire mission is to monitor his every move. My heart squeezes when I remember my call with Stacey.
It’s only been a few days, but she’s getting impatient with my lack of intel. Another girl was taken last night. I pointed out that Rafael was with me, so there’s no way it could have been him. Her response? Look up the term ‘accomplices’, sweetheart.
My phone vibrates with another message.
Rafael
Is it stalking if I’m simply taking what’s mine? Don’t be late tonight Emilia.
My heart does a little stutter-step as I remember his proposal. “He’s lost his damn mind,” I murmur to myself. Who proposes after just two days of reconnecting? I’m no longer the Emilia he once knew.
I bite my lip slightly at that bitter truth and scroll up our chat to study the address he sent. My blood turns to ice, lips parting as recognition slams into me. No . No fucking way. It’s that place. The place of my nightmares. Why would he want to meet me there? What sick game is he playing?
I blink hard, sure I’ve misread. But no, the same cursed address is staring back at me.
What is he thinking? What’s he thinking?
There’s absolutely no way in hell I’m setting foot in that place again.
No chance.
Not for anyone—not even Rafael.
My fingers dig into the steering wheel, knuckles white as I peer at the dark road ahead of me with trepidation. No streetlights. Not since two blocks back. Yep. Even they were too scared to venture further…
“This is insane,” I mutter.
When I went to the car rental service to rent this Corolla, I told myself it was just more practical having my own wheels while I’m in the city. No point wasting money on taxis, right? But it was a lie.
Deep down, I knew. Knew exactly where this Corolla would end up taking me.
I swallow hard, fighting the urge to turn tail and flee. Eyes fixed on the stretch of pitch-black road, pierced only by my headlights, my mind goes into a frenzy. Seriously, what am I doing here?
I swore I’d never come back to this godforsaken place. We all did, six years ago when it happened, didn’t we? I’m terrified, of not just what I’ll find, but of how I’ll react. Of the memories that threaten to drown me.
What am I doing? What am I doing? What am I doing?
Lana, in all her infinite wisdom, had once suggested revisiting the scene might be ‘cathartic’, and I’d nearly thrown my coffee in her face. So, why the hell am I heading there right now?
Because Rafael asked you to. No, commanded.
Because even though he might be a criminal now, even though he might now be one of the monsters that nearly destroyed me years ago, some stupid, na?ve part of me still trusts him. I trust him .
“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,” I chant, pressing down on the gas. Then some kind of weird miracle happens. As I round the corner onto that fateful street, the lights suddenly flicker to life, almost blinding me. I squint until my eyes adjust to the new flood of light, and damn it, at least now I can see where the hell I’m going beyond my windscreen. Doesn’t make me feel much better, though.
I’m almost there. Almost. Just a few more seconds, and I’ll let Rafael have it, give him a piece of my mind and?—
“What the actual fuck?”
My jaw drops as I drive up to my destination. Did I take a wrong turn? I glance around the street in confusion, but no, I’m at the right place. Even if I hadn’t been reliving this hellscape in my dreams the past few years, I’d remember it. That’s the curse and blessing of having a brain that’s wired like mine—I rarely forget anything.
But what is this ?
Where there should be a crumbling warehouse, a hub of nightmares and criminal activity, there’s a… supermarket? A massive, gleaming supermarket. Huh? But when my gaze locks onto the name blazoned across the front, my heart does a complicated little dance, and I know it was all Rafael’s doing.
AZALEA’S .
My middle name. He built a goddamn supermarket with my name on it. Right where my world shattered into a million pieces. I pinch myself, hard, because this has to be some kind of twisted dream. But nope, I’m awake.
And I’m out. I’m not doing this. I can’t do this . I’m about to throw the car into reverse, sanity finally kicking in, when my phone chimes.
Rafael: Three minutes to eight. The door is unlocked, piccola . I’m waiting.
In that very instant, I understand just how worried I should be about the hold Rafael has on me. Because despite my reservations, my better judgment, and okay, fear , I’m parking and out of the car.
I need answers.
My brain starts buzzing with agitation as I approach the supermarket, but I try to drown out the panic by admiring the strong, modern structure. Maybe it’s not so bad , a small voice whispers, to have something named after you. A middle finger to the demons of the past.
I pause in front of the thick, double glass doors, taking a bracing breath before pushing them open.
Inside, darkness greets me, broken only by the faint glow of street lights filtering through the windows. A shiver of unease snakes down my spine. I stand stock-still, forcing air into my lungs as I squint at the signs hovering above the shelves. Each aisle is meticulously labeled, but it’s the mistletoe dangling from the ceiling that makes me frown.
On my right, the checkout registers sit in eerie silence, and next to them an enormous Christmas tree looms ominously in the empty space. It should feel festive, but in the deserted supermarket, it just feels… wrong. My skin prickles. Through the dim lighting, I can make out bright, cheerful cherry walls, and beneath my feet the once grime-covered concrete floor is now gleaming tile, polished to a shine that reflects the faint light.
It’s all wrong. Nothing at all like the gloomy warehouse that once served as a criminal hotbed. Now, it’s been cleaned, dressed up in a false mask of normalcy. But I can feel it. Underneath the fresh paint and shiny surfaces, the memories are still here… buried but not forgotten.
A dark chill settles at the base of my spine as I walk deeper inside, eyes darting around with every sense on high alert. Suddenly, a huge, monstrous shadow appears in front of me, and my heart jumps to my throat. Fear skitters through my body like phantom nails racking down my skin as the monster approaches me.
I don’t think—there’s no time. Training kicks in, overriding terror. My hand flies to my holster as I plant my feet, refusing to give ground. In one fluid motion, I pull out my gun, flick off the safety, and aim directly at the monster’s heart.
“Stop right there!” I command, proud that my voice comes out strong.
But the shadow keeps advancing until the tip of my gun is pressed against solid flesh. Then… it chuckles.
“Very brave, amorina. ”
Rafael .
A dizzying wave of relief hits me, and I sway a little as I take a step back from him, lowering my weapon and flipping the safety back on. “You’re sick,” I hiss, willing my heart to crawl out of my throat and back into my chest where it belongs.
What the hell is wrong with him? Luring me here, to the source of my deepest traumas, only to try and scare the living crap out of me? And what the hell is wrong with me that now, with the fear receding, a familiar heat begins to simmer low in my belly?
“We’ll talk about how quickly and efficiently you pulled that gun out later,” he comments, sending alarm bells off in my brain. Shit. Shit. Shit. The Emilia he used to know didn’t even know how to hold a gun. I just slipped up. Big time.
Before I can spiral into all-out panic about potentially blowing my cover, he continues. “But right now, we have more important things to discuss. Have you thought about my offer?”
I roll my eyes, trying to mask my relief as I re-holster my gun. “Is that why you dragged me back to this cursed place?”
“It’s not cursed anymore. I cleared up the ashes of your nightmare and made it into something new—a place where people can find happiness.”
My heart stutters, swelling in my chest as I watch him in the half-light. I already knew he did it for me, but hearing him confirm it… “Why would you do that?”
“Because I couldn’t stand to have the ground remain the same after what happened. That’s not why we’re here, though. I want to add to my offer. I know you still have nightmares about that night. I want to make them stop. What if I told you I could do that for you?”
I stare at him, caught between disbelief and a desperate, aching hope. “Unless you’re planning to slice my head open and reorganize my brain, I don’t see how, Rafael.” God knows I’ve tried everything else. Before Stacey settled on Lana, she’d paraded me in front of every top-tier shrink in the city. None of them could exorcise my demons.
His lips twitch, but he says nothing. So I cross my arms, impatience building, and with a bite of sarcasm, I push, “Well? How?”
No reply—Just his gaze traveling up and a sly smile stretching wider. My nerves instantly start buzzing.
What now?
He gestures above me, silent as ever, and I tilt my head back with a frown. I’m standing directly beneath one of the aisle signs. It reads: ‘A1:A2--cold beer, soft drinks, sports drinks, bottled water.’
But that’s not what he’s pointing at.
Oh.
Oh God.