Page 46 of Redemption

I nod, staring at the hardwood floor, at his bare feet.

“How did you—” I sit back on my heels and rub my cheeks that are still wet from a night of weeping, “know to come?”

“I always wake early. I heard you, little one. And you borrowed my gun. I knew something was very wrong. My old instincts are still intact apparently. I didn’t even think.”

I stand on wobbly legs and glance out the still open door, at the empty street. My head spins. Christian is alive. He’s alive. A part of me is paradoxically overjoyed, and another part of me more terrified than ever. He’s alive, and he came for me. That can only mean one thing.

He’s planning to kill me.

“Do— do you want some coffee?”

I very much don’t want to be alone right now. Dad. Christian. I can’t think straight.

“I am always happy for coffee. Black. No sugar. Sugar isn’t good for my diabetes.”

I close the door behind him and lock it, staring at the safety chain that was ripped off the wood. It was never meant to stand against the forces of a furious hitman. Shuddering, I motion for my neighbor to follow me to the kitchen.

We drink in silence, both a little too shook up for casual conversation. When I fall over the table, hiding my face in my arms, he speaks, making me twitch and look back up again.

“What will you do, miss? You can’t stay here. I normally wouldn’t encourage anyone to take the coward’s route and flee, but your life is clearly in immediate danger. You’re not safe.”

I’m so surprised. My neighbor hasn’t been this lucid for as long as I’ve known him. Maybe the edge the adrenaline gave him has kicked some synapses back to life?

“I know.” My voice is dull, void of all life. I glance around my cozy kitchen, warm colors, dark wood, a tall window to a cute little garden. The bridge in the distance. “I just don’t know where to go.”

“I wish I could help you.”

I reach over the table and take his wrinkly old hand, blue veins ridging the back, brown specks from a life of sun exposure.

“You have helped me so, so much. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you.”

He nods. “Yes.”

I fall over the table again with a groan. How can I think when my thoughts run a thousand miles per hour? My feelings about seeing Christian are beyond fucked up. Standing a few inches from him, his tall, broad shape, dark piercing eyes, that tousled hair I loved to run my fingers through… Fright wasn’t the only feeling coursing through me. My mind tells me to run. My heavily thumping heart, the ache in my chest, makes me remember how much I’ve missed what I thought we had, the pull, the need, how he listened to me, and how I thought it meant something.

Rationally, I know I was wrong, but my feelings still haven’t caught up.

“I… I think I need to be alone.”

“Of course. Try to sleep. Don’t worry. I shall be vigilant.”

I smile, but it probably comes off as a grimace. “Thank you.”

When he has left, I make myself a second cup of coffee. My hands are still shaking. I look at the gun next to me on the counter. I can’t live like this.

A jolt shoots through me as I think of the only thing that’s left for me to do. I decide to take the bull by the horns. It could be the worst decision of my life, or the best, but I decide to go directly to the source of my troubles.

I shower, get dressed and wait for the clock to strike seven so I can get to work. My mind is not where my body is. I see dark eyes, a handsome face, strong features. Christian morphs into Salvatore, and back. These men with my fate in their hands. These fucking men who think they can decide who lives and who dies. I don’t want to die. I put my hands on my still flat belly. I have reasons to live. My heart may be full of sorrow, but there is hope for life. I refuse to have that taken away.

I need an address. I hope we still have it in our files.

The menin front of the barred iron gates stare at me with hard gazes as I drive up on my Vespa and park it by a tree. I’ve waited for as long as I can. It’s ten a.m. Friday. The day when my fate will be decided once and for all after two months of darkness. I pull off the helmet and shake out my long red hair, knowing the impact it tends to have on the male population. I don’t look to charm any of these brutes, but a tiny amount of female trickery probably won’t hurt.

Hands rest on what I assume must be concealed weapons. What do they think I am? A walking bomb? Well, to be honest, I feel like one. I’m angry as hell, and terrified, and fucking scorned.

I walk up to the one who looks like the leader of the pack. “I want to speak with Luciano Salvatore.”

“And why would you wanna do that?”