Page 24 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
MyAndrew.
A hotel guest who probably has no idea what he’s walked into.
I’m willing him to look my way, so I can somehow urge him to leave while also reassuring him that this isnot me. None of this is me. I want nothing to do with this blood bath of a life.
He said he wasn’t sure when he’d be back.
He must have returned to the hotel sooner than planned.
To see me?
The answer to that question falls from the dizzy heights of hopeful to the dark pit of my stomach where it languishes morbidly.
Andrew isn’t looking at me.
He isn’t even lookingforme.
He’s addressing Cristiano and Benito, as though…
As though he knows who they are.
My gaze drops to the metal in his hand and I sway on my feet. He has a gun. Agun. And not just any gun—he has what looks like a sawn-off shotgun.
Benito’s low, bitten-out command fills the room. “Who are you?”
And I can’t help the puff of air escape my lips. “Andrew?”
Many pair of eyes swivel in my direction, but his don’t.
Am I seeing things? Is this real?
Tense words are spoken but I can hear nothing but his name on the tip of my tongue, floating into the air, unheard.
There’s some talk of brotherhood, the Marchesi’s and Boston but it all swirls about me like a tornado, nothing making any sense.
His voice rises above all others. “I’m taking Boston whether you like it or not. Wouldn’t you prefer to keep it in the family?”
His impatient sigh gives me something familiar to latch on to, even though his words make no sense at all.
Benito is suddenly impatient too, his tone as tight as the arm he’s wrapped around my sister. “Whatexactlydo you want?”
The room falls silent, awaiting Andrew’s reply. His gaze is locked on Bernadi and I wonder vaguely how they know each other. I haven’t registered much of what’s been said because I’m so stunned to see Andrew here, in this room, negotiating with a bunch of mobsters and holding agunfor Christ’s sake.
When he passes his gun to the other hand and raises his right arm, chills cover my entire body. In this moment, he doesn’t look like handsome, chivalrous Andrew, the man who has won me over in just two weeks with his warmth, thoughtfulness, and generosity. Instead, his eyes glitter black, his jaw jutting forward like a sharp rock, his torso solid and somehow amplified in this testosterone-filled room. He looks like the darkest of devils.
I feel his pointed finger like a laser beam aimed at my heart, and when he opens his mouth, I may as well be dead, because suddenly everything becomes clear.
As clear as blood.
“I wanther.”
Serafina
The entire room takes a breath.
Andrew’s finger holds steady. Pointing directly at me.
He wantsme?
