Ana
Heavy rain pouring from the night sky is almost too thick to walk through. It makes the air muggy, and forces an unwelcome wave of warm liquid to cling to my skin. Earth-shaking thunder cracks from above, and lightning runs along the black horizon, shattering in sharp glowing streaks.
I can hardly hear anything over the sound of the storm, not even most of my own thoughts. Probably safer that way.
Headlights from a running car allow me to see where I’m going, my steps cautious but swift. I have to get out of the rain before I faint, or worse, before I start to cry. If I let the emotions take hold of me, I think I might drown myself in them.
Go numb, I remind myself, knowing full-well I don’t have the skills necessary to black out completely. Not after everything that I’ve just seen.
Still, I latch on to the concept and try as hard as I can.
Numb.
Numb.
Numb.
The familiar porch awning puts an abrupt stop to the rain pelting down on me, but it only muffles the sound of the storm raging on behind me. Without breathing, my fingers stretch out, reaching for the bell. It’s cold against my fingertip, the touch sending a zip of shivers down my neck.
Guards would typically have stopped me at the gate and asked for permission before waving me in. But I’ve been here so many times now that I’ve been put on the “wave through” list. I was able to pull up straight to the door, putting my vehicle in park without turning it off. I couldn’t turn it off. I couldn’t possibly bear the thought of walking in the complete dark.
Not now.
I start to chew on my lip, feeling so utterly alone. I’m not quite sure how I’m even still standing with my knees so weak—like they could give out at any second. I avoid looking at the small window in the door where my reflection lingers like a shadow I can’t bring myself to face.
It’s hard to say how many moments pass before I reach to ring the bell again, but before I can touch it, the door creaks open. I don’t know the man at the door well, but I know enough to feel significantly safer just looking at him.
“Ana?” Anatoly asks, giving me a surprised look. “I didn’t know you were coming.” His eyes scan the storm behind me and the state of my clothes. “Come inside, you look freezing.”
Anatoly Petrov is a huge man. Like, a building of a person. Even so, he has soft, kind eyes, and I know how protective he is of Jade. As one of her best friends, his protection extends to me. It’s not as fierce, of course. But it’s reassuring either way.
Wordlessly, I step over the threshold and physically tremble as my body adjusts to the warmth of the home.
It’s then that Anatoly sees the blood on my hands.
He stiffens and reaches for his watch, hitting a button I know is meant to notify Dmitri Morozov. His boss, and my best friend’s husband. He’s the future Pakhan of the Morozov Bratva. A lethal killer, but a marshmallow of a man for Jade. Just like Anatoly, he’ll help me because of her. No matter how new our relationship is.
I’d only just begun to develop my friendship with Jade Moretti eight months ago, and we’d only been able to hang out in person five months after that. It was an instant connection and grew quickly. We’ve had sleepovers, and we text or video call every day when we can’t see each other.
Even as a new mom of twins, Jade continuously makes time for me. She’s a good friend and someone I can truly trust. Which is good, because she’s the only person I have to turn to right now.
“Ana, are you all right?” Anatoly asks cautiously. I open my mouth to respond, but we’re interrupted before any words can come out.
“Hey you,” Jade calls out in greeting, jogging over to us with a bright smile. She’s wearing sweats but doesn’t look tired, which means her babies are likely already asleep and she’s enjoying her time relaxing. “You’re soaking wet girl, is it raining outside or are you just happy to see me?”
All of my composure cracks.
I’m safe, I’m safe, I’m safe.
Jade is here.
A hysterical laugh bubbles from my lips, and I cup a hand over my mouth. I can taste a tinge of blood through my lips at the contact, but I don’t pull it away. The urge to contain myself is strong, but it’s impossible.
My knees give out and my body shakes as I fall toward the floor. Anatoly’s arms wrap around my middle to catch me just before I crash. Jade’s eyes widen and she reaches for me too, her face becoming blurry through unshed tears. They fill my eyes with a thick sheen that no amount of blinking can seem to clear up.
“Ana,” she soothes, trying to comfort me. “What happened? Whose blood is this?” My stomach gives an awful churn at the question.
I don’t want to think about it.
I don’t want to believe it’s true.
“Cole,” I croak, breathing out his name.
Her small hands squeeze my wrists, and she lets out a noise of worry.
“Cole? Is Cole with you?”
I wish.
I’d give anything to say he was here with me.
My throat burns and I look at my crimson-stained hands.
“They killed Cole,” I wheeze, chest shaking.
Saying it out loud only makes the pain worse. It’s sharper, more direct, an invisible ice pick to the heart.
“Oh my god,” my friend whispers with a haunted tone.
“Fuck,” I hear muttered. Anatoly, I think.
“Dmitri!” Jade calls out, voice laced with worry. “Bring Apollo!”
She squeezes me again, and I shudder, the panic and grief slowly beginning to pull me under.
“It’s going to be okay,” she vows, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “We’ve got you now. Everything is going to be all right, Ana.”
It’s not going to be okay. How can it?
Cole is gone.
Voices surround me, questions fired back and forth, but I can’t seem to find any words. I’m losing myself in this wallowing, finding it harder and harder to breathe.
“She said they killed Cole—”
“Who’s they?”
“I don’t know! She’s clearly distraught, Apollo, I—”
Hands grip my shoulders and Jade makes a noise of protest.
“Be gentle with her—”
“Krasotka, let him.” That’s Dmitri’s voice, and his nickname for his wife, meaning he isn’t the one touching me.
I continue to cry through the discussion, feeling like I’ve lost the ability to stop. It’s like I’m suspended in time, frozen in despair.
“Ana!” Apollo snaps, shaking my shoulders hard.
The motion jars me so much that it sort of hurts, but I don’t hate it. It almost feels as though he’s rocking my brain back into place. Like maybe I can get a hold of myself if I try.
“Apollo!” Jade cries out in return, affronted by his treatment of me.
“Let him,” someone instructs again. Dmitri, I suppose.
Apollo Moretti is Jade’s scariest brother, which says a lot because she has nine of them. And from what I’ve gathered, Nico is literally a psychopath. But Apollo? He’s something else entirely. The firstborn of Dante Moretti, making him the future Capo of The Outfit—the Italian Mafia that dominates the East Coast of the United States with ease.
So yes, I find him quite frightening. Scary or not, I know he’ll never truly hurt me. Not only is The Outfit a friend to The Kings, the British Mafia my family controls, but he loves his little sister fiercely. Hurting one of her friends in any way would make his home life miserable.
What is he trying to say?
His large hands frame my face, lightly tapping my cheeks. He’s not slapping me hard enough to hurt, just clapping my nervous system into recognition.
I have to calm down.
Just push it away for a little longer.
Numb, Ana, the ghost of Cole’s voice instructs.
“There you are,” Apollo states, looking into my watery eyes like he knows I can hear him now. “Where did this happen, Ana? Where’s Killian?”
My chest aches. Killian.
“They s-shot him too,” I sob.
Apollo grips my chin, refusing to lose my focus again. His signature Moretti blue eyes bore into my face and I wince at the intensity.
“Where, Ana?” he asks, voice cold and hard. “Do you know where this happened?”
I try to search my racing mind for the location, yet I struggle. I can picture it, but I can’t for the life of me remember where it is.
My lips wobble as I scramble to answer.
“I’ve got an address,” a new voice reports and my shoulders drop with relief. “I reversed her car’s GPS, and I have the coordinates.”
Remo, Nico’s twin. He’s the techy one of the Moretti brothers.
“Is this the place?” Apollo demands, shoving his phone in front of my eyes.
I nod instantly, recognizing the words on the screen.
“Ana,” Apollo says, tapping my cheeks again to keep my attention. “This is the most important part, okay?”
It takes every ounce of effort in me to bob my head.
“Did you escape or were you let go?”
“Let go,” I rasp. It was the strangest thing. “They killed them, and let me go. W-why would they do that?”
My obvious grief doesn’t affect the eldest Moretti. “Did they leave as well?”
I swallow thickly because that was odd too. “Yes.”
Without another word, Apollo gets to his feet, and I realize my tears have nearly dried. He’s somehow pulled me into a trance-like state, somewhere between despair and numbness.
At least it’s better than hysterics.
“Dmitri and Nico, grab the spare guards, we need to go now.”
“Be careful,” Jade immediately says, becoming nervous.
Apollo doesn’t respond to her. “Armani can be our eyes in the sky. Tell him to get onto the nearest roof there.” I don’t know who he’s directing specifically, but everyone seems to be moving. “Let’s go, Ivan, you too.”
“Ivan needs to stay here,” Dmitri tells him immediately. Firmly.
The eldest Moretti son blinks at him. “We could use him.”
Jade looks at them. “Dmitri, it’s fine, we don’t have time—”
“I’m not leaving you without him, don’t try to convince me. Not now.”
Jade swallows, wincing.
Apollo glances between the two of them. “What do you mean not now?”
“She’s on new medication. It’s not important right now,” Dmitri explains sharply and Jade groans, burying her face in her cupped hand. “I won’t leave her without Ivan here.”
“Medication?” Matteo blurts out. “I thought I was the family dispensary, why haven’t I heard about this?”
I’m not surprised to hear the youngest Moretti brother trying to make a joke at a time like this. Matteo thrives on humor and chaos, especially when everything else seems bleak. He makes himself the light.
“Go,” Jade snaps at them. “Leave Ivan and Anatoly so Dmitri can focus and go. If they have any chance, their clocks are ticking!”
When the men surrounding us leave without another word—save for Dmitri who whispers something into Jade’s hair before kissing her head in goodbye—I silently thank my friend by reaching up and squeezing her arm.
“Come on, honey,” Jade whispers, threading my arm through the crook of her elbow to help me off the floor. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
I don’t have the words to tell her that I don’t want to clean up. It’s Cole’s blood I’m covered in, and I know it’s the last of him. Maybe there’s still a sliver of hope for Killian’s life, but Cole is gone.
I can still see the lifelessness in his eyes when I shut mine.
