Celeste;
Struggling with a bandaged shoulder should be normal for me, considering I'm always on the warfront of risky situations.
But no.
My arm hangs comically, getting in my way whenever I try to grab anything.
Like now—I can't seem to grab my bag from the passenger seat of my car.
Did I mention the irritation I feel where the bandage is wound around my armpit?
This can't get any worse.
Matt had luckily prescribed and given me some painkillers when I left the medical unit…I wonder if he'd had to wait for Greg to tell him to do so.
My eyes roll skyward at the ridiculousness of it.
Nonetheless, I can't wait to chug the pills down and get this over with.
A bullet wound like this may take weeks to heal.
But this is my life. I'll be fine in a few days.
Rolling the zipper shut, I stride toward my mini apartment. It's been months since I last graced it with my presence.
The porch looks unkempt…dust coating the window base and rug.
Not like I expected it to be neat when I finally visited.
Sliding the passcode lid to the side, I insert my code. With a 'ping,' it grants me entrance.
Murky, musty scents infiltrate my nostrils at once, and I let out a cough.
I shouldn't have taken Greg's orders to go home and recover like some retired, washed-up civil servant.
Now who's going to do the cleaning?
My gaze drops to my injured left arm, and I huff a helpless breath.
The sound of floorboards creaking makes me alert. The hairs on my skin stand on edge as goosebumps dot it.
"Dammit." A curse slips past my lips as I realize I'm in jeans—I must have left my blade at the base.
Stupid. Stupid mistake.
'You want to die like your parents, huh?' that slithering voice reverberates in my head.
Adrenaline pumps through my blood.
"Fret not." A soothing, familiar voice calls out. My nearly rampaging pulse tones down a notch.
Still on alert, I slowly spin to face my intruder while muttering curses and blaming my useless keypad.
She does this a lot.
"If you'd just stayed out." Anger. I sense anger emanating from her form. Her aura can be terrifying when she wills it.
"—" I part my lips to utter something, but she stops me with a deadly look and a palm stretched out.
I seal my mouth.
Her booted footsteps thud dauntingly as she circles me. When she reaches my back, I go ramrod straight.
"Why didn't you obey simple orders?" Feminine but powerful, she questions.
"Angelo was right. You're out for my head."
"Answer the damn question, Celeste Vechi!" Damn. She's mad.
I turn to face her, anger bubbling beneath my skin at her mention of my full name. "You didn't have to go that far," I say through gritted jaws.
"Really?" She cocks one ginger brow. "So did you."
Pulling away from me, she leans back, striking that pose Greg loves so much—legs apart and arms folded below her chest, straining her black leather jacket.
I give in, sighing as I retreat to my dusty couch and plop onto it. "I'm sorry," I force out.
She doesn't say a word. I try not to look at her.
I hear the sound of her defeat, imagining how her shoulders usually slump when her hard surface cracks.
"You'd have gotten killed, Poppy." Her soft mumble stirs something inside me.
"I know," I admit sullenly.
"And still went ahead to do it?" Hurt laces her words. It's subtle, but I catch it. I always do.
"There was no choice in the matter. We were running out of time, and you knew that too," I defend.
She says nothing else, struts to my dining area, picks up her keys from the small glass table, and heads for the exit. She tells me,
"Try not to die." She pauses, fingers curling around the knob. "We haven't achieved what we planned. We're finally close to being free."
Her figure disappears.
And I slump against the upholstery, my mind in a daze.
"Free." I test the word on my lips—it used to brighten my mood and bloom a smile on my face—but not anymore.
Sadly, it sounds foreign now.
I suppose my own perspective of being free has changed along the way.
A heavy breath pours out of me, my muscles tense as I try to relax.
My mind is in shambles at the moment, and I can't risk a single disturbing thought plaguing it.
"Shit." Speak of disturbing thoughts, and one just showed up. I pale.
My fingers fly to my face, my chest beating erratically. Flashbacks from last night hit me, giving me whiplash.
H-he tore my mask off my face!
My blood spikes with terror. Could he have seen me?
I was careful. I made fucking sure of that.
I calm myself with that reminder.
There's no way he could have seen me. I ran just in time to avoid him finding out what I look like.
Angelo had informed me that Judy wiped their system records completely…the parts where I showed up. Thankfully.
At that, I calm instantly. Fury from earlier revisits and settles in the spot within my heart.
The memory and image of those green eyes haunt my every sleeping and waking moment.
Bone-cracking sounds pierce the silence, my anger reaching its peak.
I'll get my revenge. I must.
The big question still stands.
Which of the Giordano brothers was there that night?
Which of them am I to make bleed?
Just then, the ringing of my cell snaps me out of my daze. I wiggle it from my pants pocket to see the caller: null. No number.
My heart flutters with uncontrollable anticipation.
I answer on the third ring. "Hello, boss." A smile splits my cheeks.
"Do you have a plan?" His voice cuts in sharp from the speaker.
"I do."
A maelstrom they never expected is coming their way. And I plan to swallow anything—and anyone—in my path.