Page 13 of His to Destroy

For me, it happens on a Tuesday.

A normal Tuesday.

Until it isn’t.

The shop smells like lavender and mint. The bell above the door chimes as the last customer leaves, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Luca is in his regular spot, reading on the couch, a plate of cookies beside him, crumbs sprinkled across his knees. He’s reading out loud, tapping his fingers against the pages as he tries to get the pronunciations correctly. I help out when I can, my heart giddy that his reading has improved.

Wiping down the counter, I check the time on my wristwatch. Almost ten. Too late for comfort.

I should have closed earlier. But my customer was running late and I couldn’t disappoint her by not having her pick up her floral order tonight for her wedding tomorrow.

I glance toward the windows. Darkness presses against the glass, the street outside nearly deserted. But something feels... off.

A shiver slides down my spine.

I head to the door and turn the lock. Flip the sign.

Everything goes downhill as soon as that sign is flipped.

Glass shattering.

Luca starts to scream hysterically.

I race to the couch, heart slamming against my ribs.

Two men. Masks. Black clothes. One of them has Luca. The other turns toward me, lifting something heavy—a bat?

I don’t think.

I act.

I grab the closest thing—a ceramic vase—and smash it against the man’s arm. He yells, staggers back. The other man jerks Luca behind him.

"Let him go!"

I scream it. Beg it. Demand it.

He doesn’t listen.

I lunge.

My hands claw at his arms. I bite. I kick. I fight like a woman with nothing left to lose.

But I’m not strong enough.

He shoves me hard. I hit the ground. Pain explodes in my shoulder.

"Mom!" Luca cries, struggling against his captor.

They start toward the back door.

I crawl, dragging myself after them, blood in my mouth, terror in my chest.

Then—

Gunfire.

Shouting.

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