Chapter 17 Annie #2
“It’s not, and you know it.” Elio lets out a sharp breath.
“I can’t be here to protect you every moment, Annie.
I’ve left guards, but they’re men. They’re fallible, too.
You said you feel helpless. I can give you a way to combat that feeling.
To know you have a solution if Desmond comes for you again. ”
“He won’t,” I whisper. “You’re going to stop him.”
"I can't guarantee that." His voice is sharper now, edged with fear. "This isn't a fairy tale where everything works out perfectly because we want it to. This is real life, with real consequences and real dangers."
"I know it's real life," I snap, my own fear transmuting into anger. "I'm the one who lived through it, remember? I'm the one who has nightmares about what almost happened to me."
"Then why won't you do something about it?" The question comes out harsh, and Elio immediately reins in his tone. "Why won't you take steps to ensure it never happens again, if I can’t get to him before he finds you?"
"Because I'm not like you!" The words explode out of me with more force than I intended. "I’m not like my brother, or my father! I'm not comfortable with violence. I'm not okay with the idea of carrying a weapon. I don't want to become someone who solves problems by hurting people."
"And what's the alternative?" Elio demands. "Hide out here and hope you’re kept safe? Hope I get to him in time? Let him hurt you again if he gets past my men? Annie, you don’t have to use it. But at least you’d know how.”
I feel tears well in my eyes. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be forced to learn how to use a weapon I never wanted to have anything to do with. And I know Elio is right. But the thought of holding a gun, of learning to use it against another human being, makes my stomach turn.
"I can't," I whisper. "I just can't."
Elio's expression softens, and he stands up slowly, reaching for my hand. "Yes, you can. I'll be with you every step of the way. We'll go slow."
Slow like last night? I bite back the words, wishing for his hands on me again. For pleasure to wipe away the fear and anxiety and the memory of Desmond’s hands on me. "What if I freeze up?” I whisper. “What if when the moment comes, I can't pull the trigger?"
"Then at least you'll have the option. At least you won't be completely helpless."
I stare into his eyes, seeing the desperation there, the need to do something—anything—to protect me from the dangers he can't always shield me from. And despite every instinct that rebels against what he's suggesting, I find myself nodding.
"Okay," I say quietly. "Okay, I'll try."
Relief floods his features, and he pulls me into his arms, holding me tight against his chest. "Thank you. I know it's not easy for you, but I need to know you can protect yourself when I'm not there."
I swallow hard, nodding. “I’ll try,” I repeat.
We start after breakfast. Elio cooks us omelets, and I try not to think about what we’re going to be doing after, or else I wouldn’t be able to eat. Even so, I only manage a few mouthfuls despite how delicious it is.
“Maybe, if you ever decide to stop being a mafia boss, you could open a restaurant.” I spear a forkful of eggs coated in cheese, with chunks of ham and bell pepper and soft onion inside, and dip it in a pool of salsa at the edge of my plate. “Your grandmother would be so proud.”
“She would, wouldn’t she?” Elio smiles, polishing off his own omelet. “I’ll clean up, and then we can go outside.”
“I can help clean.” I need something to do with my hands, something to work off the nerves.
Elio tries to wave me away, but while he’s going to find a gun, I start washing the dishes.
It feels strangely domestic—the two of us here in this cabin, him cooking and me cleaning, and I like it more than I know I should.
It’s a million times more rustic than the life I’m used to living and the life he’s inherited, but I haven’t really missed all the small comforts that come with my life.
Not even the fancy food, given how good of a cook Elio is.
I could almost imagine us staying like this, here. Him and I. Sharing a bed, sharing meals, going about our days…
Doing what?
The question brings me up short, reminding me just how much of a fantasy that is. What would we do, in a place like this, day to day? Die of boredom once we’d fucked so many times that we needed to find something else to do with our time?
I’m an accountant that manages a mafia’s finances. Elio is a mafia don.
Neither of us is meant to hide away in a cabin in the woods forever.
Elio emerges just as I’m putting the last of the dishes in the rack with a fairly small, silver, and wood revolver in his hand. I follow him outside, and for the next hour, he walks me through the mechanics of loading, aiming, and firing.
The weapon feels alien in my hands, heavier than I expected, and cold in a way that has nothing to do with temperature. Every instinct I have rebels against holding it, against learning to use it, but I force myself to listen and follow his instructions.
"Keep both eyes open," he says, adjusting my grip for the dozenth time. "You lose peripheral vision when you close one eye, and that could get you killed."
"This feels wrong," I mutter, trying to steady my hands as I aim at the tree Elio designated as my target.
"Wrong how?" he asks patiently.
"Like I'm betraying everything I believe in. Like I'm becoming someone I don't want to be."
"You're becoming someone who can protect herself." His voice is patient but firm. "There's nothing wrong with that."
By the time the sun is high, my hands are steady and my grip is sure, and I’ve shot the gun a dozen times, hitting my mark a handful of them.
I'm nowhere near expert level—that would take months or years of practice—but I understand the basics.
I know how to load the weapon, how to aim it, how to fire it if my life depends on it.
"You did well," Elio says when he sees that I’ve had enough. "Better than I expected for your first time."
"Gee, thanks." I set the unloaded pistol down on a nearby stump with more force than necessary. "Your confidence in me is overwhelming."
He catches the sarcasm in my voice and turns to face me. "I didn't mean it like that."
I blow out a breath, suddenly wanting to fight. To get all of the tension inside of me out one way or another. Elio wants to keep physical distance between us, but he can’t keep me from arguing with him. "How did you mean it?"
His expression is more patient than I deserve, right now. "I meant that you pushed through your discomfort and focused on learning. That's admirable."
The praise should make me feel better, but it doesn't. If anything, it makes me feel worse—like I've crossed some invisible line and become someone I don't recognize.
"I need coffee," I say, turning back and striding toward the cabin to avoid his searching gaze.
He follows me, because of course he does. Elio is as bad at letting things go as I am, and that, combined with his worry for me, means he’s not going to let me go off alone. Even if there’s not enough space here for him to truly be far enough away that he couldn’t get to me if need be.
"Talk to me," he says calmly as I fumble with the coffee maker, leaning against the counter. "What are you thinking about?"
"I'm thinking that I hate this." The words come out sharper than I intended. "I hate that I have to learn to use a weapon. I hate that I can't feel safe without one. I hate that some bastard tried to rape me, and now I have to completely change who I am just to feel secure."
"You don't have to change who you are—"
"Don't I?" I whirl to face him, anger and frustration boiling over. "Because it feels like I have to become someone different to survive this. Like I can’t just be me. I have to pretend to be okay with learning to use a gun. I have to pretend to be okay with hiding when I’d rather go find him myself, but I know that would just mean getting hurt again. I have to be okay with—” Losing you again, I almost say, but I bite it back at the last moment.
"You are being you." He steps closer, his eyes intense.
"You’re the woman who fought off an attacker and escaped.
The woman who's dealing with what happened and figuring out how to live with it day by day until she can start to heal from it.
The woman who's brave enough to learn skills she finds morally questionable because she knows they might save her life. "
"I don't feel brave," I whisper. "I feel broken and scared and completely out of control. And I don’t want to fight with you, but I can’t—”
Elio looks at me, confusion on his face. “Can’t what, Annie?”
Something about the way he says my name snaps something inside of me. I take three steps forward, crossing the space between us, and wrap my hands around his upper arms as I lean in and press my mouth to his.
It isn’t the soft, gentle brush of lips that was the first time I kissed him here.
I lean into him, feeling every hard line of his body, the way his cock instantly stiffens against me when my mouth crashes into his.
He’s mine, I realize, even if he won’t admit it.
His body reacts instantly to my touch, his rigid length digging into my thigh as his arousal spikes faster than I could have thought possible, his hands dropping to my hips as he lets out a choked groan.
I trace my tongue over his lower lip, and his mouth opens, one hand rising to go to the back of my head and tangle in my hair as his tongue meets mine.
The moan that spills into his mouth is breathless, desperate.
I don’t want to stop, don’t want to slow down.
I want him. I want more. I arch into him, rolling my hips against that stiff length, nipping at his lower lip in a frantic urge to get him to touch me, to give me the pleasure I desperately need.