Page 92 of Revenge on the Mafia

ANNA

Aweight dropped, and my heart stumbled with it. Doom had visited my dreams. I sat up in bed, heart racing, a scream still echoing in the room. I reached for my chest as I eased the pain, blinking away the last remaining shroud of sleep. The room was dark. There was nothing but gloom crouched in all corners of it. Something was off.

His silk sheets slid off me like his personal touch. I slept in his bed, but he never slept next to me, except for that one time.

Dropping my feet to the floor, I stared at my painted toenails, but my galloping heartbeat wasn’t willing to come to a rest. When Papá was murdered, the cold weight of uneasiness had become my constant companion. Over the years, it had become a familiar visitor. Appearing at the most unexpected times and always uninvited. I should have been used to it, yet somehow, the weight seemed heavier.

With a sigh, I wiggled out of my dress and padded to the dressing room. Finding one of his shirts, I slipped it over my head. I didn’t even know why I bothered when I had my own clothes. Only wearing his shirt made me feel a little less hollow.

I walked out of the room, allowing my gut instinct to lead the way. I’d just peep into his office, make sure he was there, and go back to bed.

What if he isn’t there? My breath shallowed.

I quelled that thought in the darkness of my chest.

But it snuck right out when I noticed the empty sofa in his office. The sinking feeling I’d woken up to flared into a full-blown sinkhole under me.

“Nico?” I called out tentatively into the empty room. My hollow voice cracked on the walls. I turned, my feet racing through the house, heartbeat thundering, as I ran from room to room in search of him. When I didn’t find him downstairs, I ran upstairs and went through the guest rooms. Doors slammed open and bounced against the walls. Somewhere between his empty office and upstairs, I’d given up on the pretense. “Nico,” I screamed.

I heard nothing, but then I stilled. Something fell, followed by a swift curse. I was already moving toward one of the guest bathrooms before I’d given it any thought.

Another curse, and this time it sounded like he was in pain. My hand rushed to the handle and pushed. I burst through the door and froze.

He leaned against the counter with his shirt untucked and the buttons unaligned, as if he’d hurriedly put it on. A red first-aid box and its contents lay all over the floor. I followed the red drops around it all the way to his hand. The one that was in an awkward place near his hip. My sluggish mind took time to react, and when it did, I went entirely still. It was blood. Seeping out from the edges of his hand and dripping onto the floor. It. Was. Blood.

My vision seeped black.

“Anna.” His voice thundered. A command that ripped my gaze to his.

He gave a satisfied nod and demanded, “Eyes on me.”

I tried. But my gaze was chaotic. Sliding up and down.

“Up here,” he snapped. I tried again. He kept talking. “What do you do to calm down?”

I didn’t know. I squeezed my lips between my teeth and fought to clear my mind.

“How about your father? What did he do to calm you?”

My lips wobbled. “I don’t remember.” My panic built again.

“It’s okay,” his voice was oddly soft. Almost a whisper. “How about your mother?”

I shook my head. I looked after her, not the other way around.

He gripped the counter. “I can’t come near you, stella mia.”

Why not? Then I realized he meant with the blood. I swayed on my feet.

He sighed. “Turn around.” I stared at him. He explained himself. “I need to bandage something, and you don’t need to see it.”

I nodded but still stood staring.

“Anna,” he encouraged, and slowly I turned toward the doorway.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and I didn’t know why, but I wanted to be one for him.

Things clattered behind my back. He must have been picking everything up. The vision of him with blood oozing out made me wobble on my feet again. I reached out and gripped the doorway. He must have noticed because he let out a frustrated sigh. “How about the prick?”