Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Enzo
By the fourth day of the storm, both Gianina and I were restless. We’d played all the board games and didn’t know what to do with ourselves. And when I had nothing to do, I became anxious.
The storm had ramped up, snow falling in thick, heavy flurries as the wind howled through the trees. Gianina was sitting by the fire, a book in her lap, but I could tell she wasn’t reading. Her eyes kept drifting to the window, then back to the flames.
I kept glancing at her, unable to keep my eyes off of her as I monitored the cameras on my tablet for the millionth time.
The firelight cast warm, flickering shadows on her face, making her look ethereal.
She had this quiet grace about her, even in the midst of the storm, even though the threat of danger hovered over us like a dark cloud.
I had no idea what she was thinking; I never did. Hell, I didn’t even think that she had had self-defense training before, but she put me on my ass more than once during our sparring sessions. Something shifted that night, a subtle crack in the armor we’d both been wearing since we’d met.
And when she’d pinned me beneath her, the attraction we’d both been fighting reached a peak.
I almost gave in when I flipped her over.
Having her under me, so close, yet so far, was the ultimate temptation.
I was less than an inch away from tasting her, but I stopped myself so I didn’t make a mistake we’d both regret.
Since that night, the tension between us was through the roof. We’d had other sparring sessions, but they weren’t the same. We were both on guard, at the top of our game, not wanting to let the other win.
Even if we avoided conflict with the Sorellos, I wasn’t sure we’d make it through everything unscathed.
And I knew neither of us would be the same.
Out of nowhere, Gianina sat up, her body tensing. Her eyes were wide, her expression panicked.
“What?” I asked as I got up and moved toward her.
“Something’s out there,” she whispered, pointing toward the treeline.
My stomach sank. I thought we had more time. Following her hand, I squinted through the frosty glass. At first, all I saw was snow. Then, movement. Subtle, but wrong. A figure breaking cover, crouching low, a flash of metal catching what little light was left as the sun set.
My pulse ramped up. I didn’t need binoculars to know what I was looking at.
“Get away from the window,” I instructed, voice low, pulling her out of the chair.
She hesitated. “What is it?”
“Probably a scout.”
I grabbed the tablet and checked the cameras. I only saw the one guy sneaking along the perimeter. I got my rifle from under the table and checked the chamber. Years of muscle memory took over — load, check, move.
“You can’t go out there alone,” Gianina said, her voice almost pleading.
“I can and I will.”
Her hand caught my sleeve, small but firm. “Enzo—”
I looked at her then, really looked. Her eyes were fierce, her pulse quick in her throat. She had no idea how much harder she made this.
“I need you safe,” I said quietly. “That’s the only thing that matters right now.”
Her fingers slipped away. I didn’t wait for her to argue.
The wind hit like a fist when I opened the door. The snow was knee-deep in places, the kind that muffled everything except your own breathing. I moved low, careful; the way you do when you don’t want to leave tracks that lead straight back home.
The scout was maybe forty yards out, half-hidden behind a birch. He hadn’t spotted me yet, which would be a fatal mistake for him.
I took position behind a drift in the snow and raised the rifle.
I could tell by the way he held his weapon — too high and loose — that he wasn’t expecting a confrontation. Maybe he thought he wouldn’t find us in the storm. Maybe he thought he would catch a glimpse of us then just run back to his boss to let him know he’d found us.
He was wrong.
The scout shifted, turning toward the cabin, and that was enough.
One shot to the head and he dropped, disappearing from sight.
The silence that followed felt heavier than the snow falling down all around.
I stayed low for a while, watching for movement, waiting for another person. Nothing. Just the wind, carrying the faint smell of gunpowder and pine.
When I was sure, I dragged the body into the treeline and searched him. Other than his wallet and phone, I found a picture of Gianina.
He was a scout, just like I thought.
I left the body there. There was no way I could deal with it during the storm. My hands were already numb and I could barely see shit in the fading light.
I’d take care of it once the storm let up.
By the time I reached the porch, my coat was stiff with frost. Gianina was waiting at the door; a look of relief filled her eyes when I walked in. “Are you …okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Her eyes darted to the blood on my glove.
“Not mine,” I stated, moving through the cabin to check all the windows and doors. The place felt smaller than it had an hour ago. Too many angles, too few exits.
“Just one scout,” I said, setting the rifle down.
“Are you sure?” she asked quietly.
I locked eyes with her and nodded. “He had your picture on him.”
Her face paled. The way she looked at me — worried, searching — it hit somewhere I didn’t like being hit.
“He won’t be reporting back.”
“So what happens now?”
“When he doesn’t come back, they’ll probably send another scouting party, but it will be a group of two to four this time.”
He throat bobbed as she wrapped her arms around herself. “So, they won’t be coming for me yet?”
My jaw tensed. “It’s a possibility, but not likely. They’ll want to confirm your location before coming all the way out here, especially in this storm.”
She nodded, her eyes filled with unease.
The storm filled the silence between us — wind howling, walls groaning. She didn’t look away. Neither did I. I should’ve walked off, cleaned the rifle, started keeping watch.
But I didn’t. Not right away.
Because for the first time since we got came up here, I realized something I hadn’t wanted to admit: I wasn’t just guarding her because I was being paid to.
I was guarding her because losing her wasn’t an option I could live with anymore.
I woke to silence.
But not the peaceful kind; the kind that meant the storm burned itself out temporarily but left the world buried. The power had been going in and out, but the generators were doing their job, keeping the lights on and the cabin warm for the most part.
The fire had burned low overnight, the last embers glowing a faint red.
I added a log, listening to the hiss and pop as it caught.
Now that morning had come, I was content that no one else had been with the first scout.
And if they sent another, it wouldn’t be for another day or so, once they were sure the first scout wasn’t coming back, so I relaxed a little.
But not much.
“Have you slept at all?” Gianina asked, drawing my attention from the window to her. She was standing in the doorway to her room, wearing her flannel pink pajamas she’d bought on the way here.
“I’ll sleep when this is over,” I replied gruffly.
She snorted as she went to the kitchen and started the coffee machine. She only drank the iced shit so I knew she was making the hot stuff for me.
A small smile curved my lips at the gesture.
“Any sign of more?” she asked as she grabbed her iced coffee and my creamer out of the fridge.
“No,” I answered flatly.
“You think they’ll come back?”
“Yes.” I watched her as she made my cup just how I liked it. She must have been watching me every time I made coffee over the last week. The warm feeling in my stomach intensified at her thoughtfulness.
She brought the steaming mug over to me, and I didn’t miss how her hands trembled when she handed it to me. “When?”
I shrugged as I took a sip. “Two days; maybe more if the storm ramps up again.”
She nodded, exhaling a breath. “Okay.”
A grin tugged at the corner of my lips. She was stronger than she let on; no breakdown, no wallowing, just simple acceptance of our situation.
It made me like her even more.
After breakfast, I was restless. I hated waiting. Waiting got people killed.
To keep from thinking too much, I fixed what I could: checked the doors and windows again, swept the snow that had blown in under the door, patched a draft near the window with duct tape and a torn flannel.
Gianina sat at the table with her sketchbook, watching me move around like a caged animal. “You always this restless?” she asked.
“Only when I’m stuck.”
She chuckled. “That makes two of us.”
I ignored that and went to stack the firewood. The ax leaned against the fireplace; I grabbed it, but before I could head out, she stood and crossed the room.
“You’re not going out there,” she said.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “We need more firewood.”
“You’ll freeze before you reach the trees.”
I scoffed. “You always this dramatic?”
“Only when people think they’re indestructible.”
That made me pause. She crossed her arms over her chest and arched a brow at me.
“Fine,” I conceded, setting down the ax. “You win.”
“Didn’t know we were competing.”
I smirked. “We always are.”
Her smile tugged at the corner of her mouth — small, victorious.
Instead of going out to chop more wood, I started fixing the leg on the table. It had been wobbling since we got there. A few screws, a steady grip, something simple that would keep my hands busy.
Gianina crouched beside me before I was finished. “You know, you don’t have to fix everything.”
“I don’t like things falling apart.”
“Even when they already have?”
I glanced at her. Her hair brushed her cheek; her voice was soft but sharper than it sounded.
“Especially then,” I replied.
She studied me for a moment, eyes searching my face. “Do you ever relax?”
I tightened the last screw, tested the leg, then stood. “Relaxing gets you soft.”
“Maybe soft isn’t so bad,” she stated softly.
I looked down at her, then away. “Soft gets you dead.”