In the span of three minutes, that man can turn me to mush and boil my blood.
I don’t even know how to deal with him, right now. Most couples get to move through the learning phase of their relationships by focusing on each other, their needs, and triggers. It’s hard enough to survive in the normal world and make it through. So much to overcome, and so many challenges cause couples to bail before they even reach phase two.
And then there’s us, who get to grow as a couple while simultaneously facing shit that’s only found in movies.
Am I paying for my father’s sins? Is this my punishment for being a Volante? I fall in love with a cop who has dedicated his career to eliminating the very people I come from? A cop who is tormented by his past, also because of my family? A cop who is tortured because he chose to love me?
The chilly air mixing with my chilled blood causes me to shiver. He should be here with me, warming me. Instead he’s down on the beach, sulking, slowly walking along the edge of the surf. The distance stretching between us physically is a cruel metaphor representing the distance between our objectives.
As if he feels my presence, he turns and looks up, zoning in on where I stand watching him. Even from four flights above, I can see his frown as he works through his thoughts. We’re suspended in time, each watching the other. After a full minute, he turns away to resume his walk.
He needs a few minutes to think. I get that. I appreciate it. It’s how I often deal with a crisis. I’m not at all worried that once he composes himself and comes back, we’ll be able to discuss it calmly. What I do worry about is how far he’ll go to get his way. He thinks he’s protecting me, but his overbearingness is stifling. When will it end? What else will he forbid me under the guise of my safety?
My request isn’t so outlandish. Farley himself said Razzo went to great lengths to protect my mother, to honor my father’s wishes. He wouldn’t hurt me, intentionally at least. Besides, it doesn’t have to be a face to face. I could speak to him over the phone. Maybe that’s why Ben freaked out. Once he returns, I’ll explain it’s not the meeting I need but rather the connection. I just need to speak to someone who is connected to me. Once I explain that better, maybe Ben will back off.
I chastise myself, knowing damn well that his response was warranted. Especially when you consider how close he’s been to the situation. I need to take into consideration how this affected his life. He’s been exposed to these kinds of detestable, poor excuses for human beings, a lot longer than I have. My experience is less than a day old in age and less than a folder full of papers in content.
I continue to watch him walk up the beach in the moonlight. His broad shoulders hunched, his posture one of defeat. This must be so difficult for him.
“He loves you, Ella,” I say out loud to myself. “He loves you.”
A muffled popping sound travels through the open window, drawing my attention to the apartment. My heart stops when a few seconds later, a man barrels through my door. My subconscious screams that those were gunshots I heard. He shot Chuck. That’s the only way he could have gotten in.
The open window causes the blinds to billow sometimes obstructing my view. I plaster myself to the side of the building to hide in the shadows. My gaze flicking between the intruder and Ben up the beach. To call out to him will result in being exposed. The element of surprise is the only thing I have going for me now. Full body tremors take hold, causing me to shake and making it impossible for me to breathe normally.
I need to focus, try to maintain my breathing and keep calm. My thoughts are disarrayed. I consciously need to remind myself that I’ve trained for this. If I immediately kick him in the balls, hopefully that will give me time to incapacitate him further or run.
He’s wearing a uniform of sorts, a black jacket with the company name, Ace Air, embroidered on the chest and a hat on his head. He scans the apartment quickly and immediately heads toward the bedroom. Just as I look through the blinds, he focuses on the sliding patio door. I slam a hand over my mouth to muffle my gasp.
It’s Politto.
The face matches the pictures Farley flipped before me just two days ago. The gun he holds in his hand is suddenly pointed my way.
My heartbeat cancels the sounds of the surf as it thrashes in my ears. Bordering on hysterical, I look around at my surroundings, trying to find a way to escape. My phone sits on the table at the other end of the patio. The neighboring patio is too far. I’m afraid to peer inside to see how close he is to the door.
Far up the beach, Ben turns and begins to walk back. I quietly slip off my sneakers, holding them tightly to my chest. Internally, I plead that he doesn’t come back. Not now, not while this animal is here. If he’s here to kill me, let it just be me and not Ben, too.
Seconds feel like hours before I hear the slider move along its track. Glancing at Ben, I mouth the words, “I love you, Ben.”
Politto turns his head to the right, seeing Ben on the beach. With all my force, I throw my shoe through the open patio door causing a distraction behind him. He turns just as I charge at him, slamming my body into his. When he stumbles back, I lift my knee with all my might to connect with his crotch.
“Fucking bitch,” he spews as he doubles over, howling in pain and giving me the opportunity to ram my elbow down with all my force at the back of his neck. His carnal grunt is the last thing I hear as I run through the apartment.
A blast causes me to freeze for a nanosecond before my brain takes over, propelling me to run faster. I’m able to reach the hall just as he fires another shot. The second one hits, and my leg buckles from the pain that sears through me instantly. I can feel warm wetness spread along the back of my leg. The third shot comes from the opposite direction. A uniformed cop in full SWAT gear stands at the end of the hall shooting toward me.
“Down!” he screams as I try desperately to get my legs to work.
On his command, I drop to the floor. The intense pain in my leg takes my breath away. I’m not sure if the next shot that I hear is what causes me to lose my focus or if it’s from the bullet that hit me earlier. Everything in my line of vision blurs. I’m too tired to try to make sense of it and welcome the blackness that comes. It’s comforting. It’s easy to give in to.