“Where is he? Did they kill him?” I screamed, violently thrashing against the unfamiliar silk sheets as the strange woman across the room didn’t even look up from her glowing tablet. She simply turned a page on her screen and whispered, “He’s not here.”
Chapter 5: The Deafening Silence Of The White Room
When I finally wake up, the world is entirely too still, too bright, and far too quiet.
For one long, terrifying second, staring at a ceiling I don’t recognize, I genuinely wonder if I am dead. I wonder if the deafening automatic gunfire finally swallowed me whole. I wonder if the absolute last thing my brain ever processed was the desperate, raw sound of Luca’s voice telling me to stay down.
But then, the pain violently blooms.
It starts mostly in my ribs, a hot, sharp ache that aggressively reminds me I am still here. I am still breathing. I am still stupidly, miraculously alive in a body that feels entirely broken.
“Luca!” The word scrapes out of my dry mouth like a rusted blade.
“He’s not here.”
I violently flinch, throwing my bruised arms up over my face in a defensive shield.
A woman sits casually in an expensive leather armchair near the foot of my massive bed. She is in her mid-thirties, impossibly calm, and pretty in that effortless, intimidating way people who possess absolute control tend to be.
She is casually scrolling through her silver tablet like this is just a regular Tuesday afternoon, not the horrific aftermath of a bloodbath.
“Where am I?” I whisper, clutching the thick duvet to my chest. “Who are you?”
“You’re in a secure safe house,” she says smoothly, her dark eyes briefly flicking up to meet mine. “One of Luca’s private properties. My name is Maria.”
Luca’s. Those two syllables hit me first with a massive, crushing wave of relief, followed instantly by a suffocating wave of pure terror.
“He… he’s okay?” I gasp out, barely remembering how to breathe. “The men in the alley… they had rifles. They blew the door off!”
Maria hesitates.
It is only a half-second pause. Her fingers simply stop scrolling on the glass screen for one microscopic moment. But it is more than enough to send my fragile heart into a catastrophic freefall.
“Is he alive?!” my voice totally cracks, tears hot and fast spilling over my cheeks. “Please, God, just tell me if he is alive!”
She sets her expensive tablet down slowly on the glass nightstand, her sharp face softening just a fraction.
“Yes, Amara. He is absolutely alive.”
I exhale so violently that my damaged ribs scream. My entire body shakes as the adrenaline abruptly crashes, leaving me hollow.
“But,” Maria adds, her tone dropping into a serious, clinical register. “He’s not here right now. He determined it was infinitely safer if you two were kept completely separate for the next couple of days.”
“Separate?” I choke out, frantically pushing myself up against the plush headboard. “Why? What the hell happened after I passed out?”
Maria crosses her legs, smoothing her perfectly pressed slacks. “You passed out from total adrenaline collapse. You weren’t shot, thankfully. Just heavily bruised, dehydrated, and completely exhausted.”
“I don’t care about my bruises,” I snap, my voice rising in panic. “Where is he?”
“Luca stayed right here with you in this room until the medical team confirmed you were stable,” she replies steadily. “After that, he had to leave to handle your pursuer directly.”
My entire body violently twists at the horrific word handle.
Have you ever had to wait blindly in the dark, knowing someone else was fighting a horrific battle just to keep you safe? What would go through your mind?
