Chapter 10 - Marella
Iwalked in lockstep with the Fratello, neither of us speaking for a long while as I tried desperately to calm the seething anger pooling in my blood.
I’d underestimated the amount of rage I was capable of holding for this stranger, and it was an exercise of extreme restraint not to stop and rip his throat out in front of all these people.
The Witch’s challenge echoed in my mind as we wound our way through the crowds. Perhaps it was not him who would need convincing as much as I.
Between us, the silence stretched on until it felt as though it would snap. Eventually, one of us would need to speak.
But despite the necessity, I refused to be the one to do so.
Beside me, the Fratello made a sudden left turn, leading me into a quieter, shaded alley, away from the crowds. It reminded me so much of the night before that I had to fight the urge to look over my shoulder for the loud American men.
But they were certainly not something to worry about anymore.
The Fratello pulled ahead of me, walking briskly down the alley until we turned a corner and were completely hidden from the bustling street behind us. Then, he turned suddenly, facing me directly, his hand resting openly on the dagger at his hip.
I stumbled back until I felt the cool stone on my back, a sharp breath escaping my lips.
We stared at each other for a long moment, his fingers twitching along the hilt of his knife, my chest rising and falling with the rhythm of my nervous breathing.
I was struck not by the ferocity in his gaze, but by its innocence.
He must have been in his early thirties, if I had to guess, but something beneath the surface of his face was fresh and open, almost childlike in his eagerness to prove something.
His blond hair fell haphazardly into blue eyes, and I had to fight the urge to push the strands away.
"Why?" I asked finally, forcing my voice to remain steady. "Why save me from the police just to kill me here?"
His lips twitched. "You’re one of them." The accusation fell from his mouth like a confession, like he was the one who was cursed.
I let the corner of my mouth rise in a sly smile. "One of what?"
His answering glare almost hid the edge of fear crawling across his face. "A jail cell wouldn’t contain you." The words came out like a question. "And it’s my job to ensure you don’t harm humans."
I sniffed once, rolling my eyes. "Oh please. I’m not invincible. Steel bars are enough to protect your precious police."
"You killed an entire group of men on your own." Again, the accusation was spoken with an edge, as if he wanted me to contradict the claim instead of confirming it.
But I couldn’t control the smile that sliced across my face. "I did indeed," I said slowly. "And I’d think you’d be grateful for that, considering they almost did the same to you."
His Adam’s apple dipped into the top of his collar.
"If it weren’t for me, Fratello," I continued, peeling my back away from the stone wall and taking a step towards him.
"You’d be dead." I half expected him to move backwards in retreat—most humans, after all, instinctively step away from predators. When he didn’t, when my advancing brought us closer together rather than forcing him to flee, I felt something warm and welcoming pool inside my lower belly.
He wasn’t much taller than me, and as I moved closer, our noses almost touched in the diminishing space between us.
"Did you want to thank me?" I whispered, close enough now that I could feel the sharp exhalations he was trying so hard to disguise. "I think you should thank me."
"I think you’re forgetting." His voice was choked, and I had to fight the urge to smile in triumph. "I saved you first."
I couldn’t stop the laugh as it tore through my throat. The harsh sound cut through the taut silence around us, echoing against the tall walls. "They were never a threat, as I’m sure you well know."
"I distracted them." His mouth set in a firm line, his hand never leaving the dagger between us.
I sighed and leveled my eyes to his. "If you say so, Fratello."
We stood like that for a long while, the shared promise of violence hanging between us like overripe fruit.
Finally, he let out a long exhale, releasing the knife and raising his hands as if in surrender. "I’m not going to kill you," he said quietly, taking a step away from me. In his absence, the air in front of me grew noticeably colder.
I snorted. "I don’t think you could even if you wanted to."
He glared back. "We can agree to disagree."
A long pause. "Fine."
We watched each other warily.
"My name is Garrett," he said, lowering his hands once more.
"Marella."
He nodded. "So, I’m assuming I was right, wasn’t I? You’re one of them."
I stared back at him. "And you’re one of them."
"I am," he answered plainly. "So the question remains: Why didn’t you also kill me in that alley? Surely the Fratelli have killed enough of you to justify the murder. Why save me?"
I thought back to that afternoon in the square, just a couple of days prior, but somehow also separated by a lifetime of decisions.
"It’s a long story." It was a simple answer, spoken quietly and hanging in the air, met by a long stretch of silence. I half expected him to accept the response and move on. But then—
"I have plenty of time."