by Lush, Tamara
"Annalisa," Luca said softly, lowering his gun.
"What?" I yelped. "Do you know her?"
The woman said something in Italian. I noticed she smelled good, almost too good, like an expensive department store. Her blade was practically exfoliating my arm now, making a soft scraping noise. My eyes flashed down in horror.
Luca responded, also in Italian. I just gaped, terrified by the cold blade of the knife on my arm.
"What is going on?" I demanded in a louder voice.
"I'm his girlfriend," the woman said in accented English, tightening her grip on the underside of my bicep. Surely those nails would draw blood. "He didn't tell you?"
Luca's voice was velvety soft, and he now spoke in English. "Annalisa. Please stop. Don't hurt Skylar. Let her go and we can talk. I haven't seen you in so long."
Annalisa rested the flat part of her knife blade on my neck.
My knees felt watery. I'd never known such fear.
"I could do to this girl what I did to Gianni."
I gasped, and Luca blanched. Annalisa had killed Gianni?
"Please tell me what's going on," I whispered. I glanced in the mirror and saw the underside of one of Annalisa's arms in the reflection. They were covered in dozens of neat red lines. As if someone had intentionally cut her.
Annalisa turned her head toward me and grinned. "I see you looking at the stories on my arm. Yes, I'm a cutter. They're my marks. Each represents a story. You're such an observant reporter, and asking questions until the end. Good job. For you, I'll explain everything. I mean, we're all journalists here, right?"
"Annalisa," Luca said, his voice stern. "Let her go. Whatever you have to say, you can say it to me in private. This is between us."
"Sorry. You need to hear this too, Luca. After all, I'm the reason you're in this situation. I'm the reason your parents are dead."
"What?" His fingers holding the gun twitched. Some words in Italian followed, and I hadn't thought Luca could sound so menacing.
"Don't do it, Luca. Don't pull the trigger. In the time it takes for you to shoot me, I can slice your friend's neck nice and deep."
I whimpered again, and felt a trickle of sweat running down my arm and probably onto Annalisa's fingers. Or was that blood from her captor's nails? How were the woman's fingers so cold?
"Skylar." Annalisa's voice was shaky. "Do you speak Italian?"
"No."
"I didn't think so. Americans don't speak other languages, do they? In that case, I'll talk in English so you both understand. Luca, you did a great job on your book. Bravo. Very well written, but I wouldn't expect anything less. You were always the star at the newspaper. The only thing you didn't uncover was Bruno Castiglione is my second cousin. You trusted me and didn't do your homework."
Luca swore in Italian, his face getting red. He inhaled and took a step toward Annalisa.
"I told you. Don't do it, Luca. I'll cut her. Anyway, after you broke my heart, I hacked into your computer. You thought I was stupid." Annalisa turned her head to address me. "Luca thinks women are stupid. I don't know if you've discovered that. Anyway, Luca, I found all the notes on your book. Then, when you published, I told my cousin you were the author. I didn't think he would take it out on your parents, though. I'm truly sorry about that."
Luca's expression turned from anguish to rage. "I'm going to fucking kill you," he growled.
"Wait. There's more. Because of my issues, you know, my cutting, my self-destructive behavior as the doctors call it, my cousin sent me away to a very nice luxurious institution for a year. They thought I was all cured, and when I went to thank Bruno for his help, he told me you were in Florida. Apparently they got into your Skype or something."
"You're lying. You're fucking insane. I got a letter from the Camorra that said you disappeared."
Annalisa sniffled. "That must have been Bruno, playing with your head. I've never lied to you, Luca."
He gulped in a few breaths, and I wondered if he was about to shoot Annalisa. I squeezed my eyes shut, then Luca spoke, and I couldn't look away.
"Did Bruno send you here?"
Annalisa shook her head. "No. He's under house arrest, as you're probably aware. He's trying to find you, though. I kind of screwed up, I guess. He knew if he told me where you were, I would be obsessed enough to find you. So I did. I want to be with you. I love you. But some things got in the way. Gianni got in the way."
I raised my eyebrows. This was like some bad soap opera. "What the fuck?"
Annalisa started to cry. She even looked delicate and pretty while crying.
"It does sound insane when it's told aloud, doesn't it?" She shook my arm, as if to demand a response. I nodded weakly.
"Gianni wanted to force Luca back to Italy to testify his book is a lie in court. But I knew Gianni and Bruno would kill Luca afterward. So I eliminated Gianni. Luca, do you see how much I love you? I killed for you. I murdered a hitman for you. For us."
This woman was obsessed with Luca, and I gasped. For a half-second I wondered if I'd ever love Luca as much as this woman did; then I realized the thought was almost as insane as the situation we were all in.
"You slit his throat. With this knife," I said, incredulous. And Annalisa was about to do the same thing to me.
I took a deep breath and tried to conjure the mental calm and clarity I allegedly possessed in spades, but nope. That Zen-like aura was nowhere to be found, and tears rolled down my cheeks.
"Correct, Skylar. I did slit his throat. Don't cry, bambina. I saw your story online about Gianni. Very nice, and on deadline too. I used to be a journalist, so I know a good story. Yours is a perfect final article. I'm sure the paper will write a nice obit about you. I've been at your house all night and all day waiting, so I had lots of time to read your Twitter feed and look through your books and photos."
My mind went blank, unable to process this awful person had poked around my condo. Probably looked at the pictures of my mother. I was crying so hard now, my nose was snotty and clogged. Annalisa was crying too, and shaking. The knife tickled my throat.
Again, Luca spoke in a soothing tone. "Annalisa. Let Skylar live, and we'll go away together. I promise."
Chapter Sixty-One
This Is How You’ll Die
SKYLAR
"Please. I'm not that stupid, Luca. Skylar upset me by spilling coffee on me. Did she tell you that? No? I don't want her around. She's going to call the cops if we let her go, so we're going to have to kill her."
"Okay, Annalisa. Just hand her over to me. I'll do what you want. I'll take you anywhere you want. Tell me. Tell me what you want to hear so you trust me."
His voice was seductive, and a sob wrenched from Annalisa's mouth. "Tell me what you remember about the last time we made love. Details. Or do you even remember?"
Luca swallowed hard, then said something in Italian. I squeezed my eyes shut, unable to look at him. What was he going to reveal?
"No, say it in English," Annalisa said. "So your friend understands. Open your eyes, bambina, and look at your boyfriend. Tell her, Luca."
"We were at my parents' house," he said in a low voice.
"And?" Annalisa demanded. "What did you have me do?"
"You got on your knees."
"And?" The triumph and fury in Annalisa's eyes was terrifying. "Tell her."
"And then I fucked you from behind."
"Then he texted me a week later to break up. Skylar, can you believe that? He broke up with me by text."
I panted and shook my head. The entire room took on a hyper-real state, the fluorescents of the bathroom suddenly harsh. I stopped weeping, and my eyes went to the bathroom mirror to study the twisted scene. What the fuck was going on? Was I disassociating because of the insanity and trauma of it all?
As Luca and Annalisa stared at each other, I realized I was bigger than Annalisa. Probably stronger. Definitely more muscular. The Italian woman was tiny and frail-looking.
Still, she had killed Giann
i.
"Fine," Luca said. "I'll kill her. Just give her to me."
My eyes went to Luca, wide and incredulous.
Annalisa shook her head. "No. Not going to fall for that. We'll have to kill her together, I suppose. I want to see her blood. She's a sacrifice. She represents all the women you've screwed, Luca, when you should have been with me. How many were there?"
He shook his head, and Annalisa pressed the flat side of her knife blade harder into my neck.
"How many? Tell us both. Let your little American whore know the truth about you."
Luca said something in Italian, and Annalisa laughed. "I'll translate. Skylar, he's fucked about ten or so women since me. What, in two years? But he's probably lost track of a few. How many of those women have you loved, Luca? I want you to include me and Skylar. Tell us."
He swallowed hard. I bowed my head and sobbed. This was too much.
"One," he whispered, his eyes terrified.
Annalisa shook my arm. "Sorry, bambina. You're just one of many. This is who you're going to die for. How does that feel?"
Searing rivulets of sweat streaked down the backs of my legs, and my chest felt heavy, as if I couldn't get enough air in my lungs. Trying to calm myself with breathing and the memory of my mother, I inhaled long and pleaded silently for my heart to stop beating so fast.
This woman was seriously going to kill me.
Do something, or else you'll die.
"Amore mio," Luca said in a buttery voice, and both Annalisa and I looked to him. "Annalisa. Come here. Per favore. Vieni qui, amore mio." Luca said more words in Italian, softer than I'd ever heard him speak. He stretched out his free arm, looking at Annalisa with the biggest, kindest, most puppy-dog loving eyes.
Annalisa faltered in that moment, sniffling loudly, and I felt the woman's petite body melt a little. The knife shifted downward, hovering just above my left breast.
This was my chance.
I clamped down on Annalisa's forearm. Wrenching with all my strength, I twisted my body, launching myself both from my captor and the knife. Panted for air. Writhed as Annalisa tried to recapture me.
I'd never screamed so loud. It was a primitive sound that surprised something in my soul. I pushed Annalisa back toward the toilet, putting the full weight of my body into the shove.
Annalisa staggered and reached for me. A searing heat blossomed on my chest, but I ignored the sensation. All I wanted was to get out. Annalisa's knife, covered in someone's blood, hit the tile.
I felt Luca grab me from behind. The next few seconds went by in a blur.
His arm wrapped around my chest and pulled me toward him as he simultaneously stepped forward. I steeled myself for the shot.
It didn't come, but I was equally horrified to hear the sound of metal crunching against Annalisa's head. The woman crumpled to the floor between the toilet and the tub.
Luca had struck her with the pistol. Hard.
Luca released me. Gasping, I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror. There was blood. Everywhere. Staining my white cotton dress. All over Luca's bare arm and gray T-shirt. Dripping onto the floor. Coming from my skin. From my chest. Somewhere.
A dull throb surfaced, and it quickly grew intense.
"Luca," I whispered. My fingers went to my collarbone, which felt aflame. That's where the cut was. Just above the right collarbone, stretching from almost my windpipe to my shoulder.
It was big. Deep. Hot.
Bloody.
"I'm going to fucking kill her," Luca shouted, standing over the unconscious Annalisa. He pointed his gun at her head, which lay near the base of the toilet. His eyes were crazy, and I shook uncontrollably. I pawed in my purse, which I'd left on the bathroom counter when Annalisa first ambushed me.
There. My phone. One thing at a time.
I stood in the doorway and quaked. I barely remembered the password to unlock the phone and tried twice, unsuccessfully, hitting the wrong numbers each time and leaving streaks of blood on the screen. I grasped for a towel on a nearby rack, pressing it to my throbbing, gushing wound. Then I remembered the phone. I let the towel fall, and on a third try, I unlocked it.
Luca screamed something in Italian, and I looked up.
"Luca," I said sharply, watching him tremble and glare at Annalisa. "I'm calling the police."
"Do what you want."
"Luca," I screamed. "Stop. Look at me. Don't. Don't kill her."
Luca's back was to me, and despite wincing in pain, I could see his hard profile in the mirror. He shook as he aimed the gun. "Why? She's the reason my parents are dead. She's turned you against me with my own words. She ruined my life."
Tears welled in my eyes. My voice took on a pleading tone, and I felt a little floaty, as if I were watching everything unfold from the corner of the bathroom, somewhere near the ceiling. "Luca, no. You'll have so many problems if you shoot her. Please don't. Let the police deal with her. Please? You'll be in a world of shit if you kill her. You want justice for your parents. Not death. Choose life."
"I have no life, Skylar."
He moved a half step back, but didn't lower the gun, so I continued to plead. "She didn't turn me against you. I love you. Choose the future, Luca. Choose me. Choose us."
I was shaking now, and an odd, cool feeling washed over me. Why was my mind foggy? I moved my head back and forth as if to clear it, and for the first time in many long seconds, Luca looked up, glancing into the mirror. Upon seeing me, he gasped.
"Oh fuck," he whispered.
He quickly grabbed the bloody knife. With his eye on Annalisa's crumpled body, he led me out of the doorway and into the hall. He shut the door tight, leaving the unconscious woman inside.
Something was wrong with my balance.
"It hurts," I groaned.
"I'm here, amore mio. Just hang on for me, okay?"
Luca put the gun in his waistband and took the phone from me, tapping on the screen, then wiping it on his shorts. He tapped again and tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder and held the towel to my torso. He let out a long string of Italian words.
"Hello," he said a moment later. "My name is Luca Rossi, and I need help right now. Now. Someone broke into my girlfriend's home and attacked her with a knife. She's really hurt and bleeding bad. Address? Skylar? What's the address?"
I leaned against the wall and recited the words robotically. As I slid downward, Luca followed me to the floor, kneeling in front of me as I sat. He kissed my forehead.
"Skylar. Stay with me, okay? Please, amore? Please? I love you." He kissed my forehead again, talked into the phone, pressed the towel into my shoulder. I saw the bottom lids of his eyes well with moisture as he pleaded.
"Please, we need an ambulance right away. As fast as you can. Now. She's in shock, I think. She's bleeding badly. Yes, we need police too."
Luca stammered more words loudly into the phone as tears streamed down his cheeks.
"Did you just say, 'I love you'?" I asked Luca. I looked at his handsome face, and it was the last thing I remembered.
Chapter Sixty-Two
All Apologies
LUCA
I sat in the too-small room, elbows propped on the table, head in my hands.
If Skylar lived, if she still wanted me after this whole fucking mess, I'd stay with her until my last breath. Just thinking about her alone and in the hospital made me almost hyperventilate with regret. She knew everything. About my book, my parents, and my morally questionable past with women.
And my ex-girlfriend tried to kill her. Don't forget that detail.
She'd never want me now.
It was bad enough the paramedics and cops didn't let me go to the ER with her, but now I felt like a criminal here in the police station. And helpless, because I couldn't just leave and be at her side. I had to wait until Federico arrived, and then however long it would take to spring me. Would I have to spend the night in jail?
I ran my hands through my hair for the millionth time.
>
Was Skylar okay? She'd been unconscious when the paramedics took her away, and no one at the police station would tell me how she was, regardless of how many times I demanded and pleaded. Instead, a detective had endless questions about why I'd struck Annalisa with the gun. How I knew her. Whose gun it was. Why she was in Skylar’s house.
She deserved to die, is what I wanted to say. But I didn't. Instead, I insisted on calling my uncle. Or father. Or whatever Federico was.
I rolled my eyes and sighed into the empty room. I wasn't about to tell the cops Federico Rossi, the well-known attorney on the TV commercials, was my father and the person who had given me the gun. Probably illegally, I realized now. Thankfully, Federico had returned from his afternoon on the yacht and answered my call.
"Don't say a word to that detective," he'd growled, hours ago, and I'd stayed silent since. But being alone with my thoughts and guilt in a sparse interview room at a police station was my personal hell.
The door swung open. Federico stepped in, looking fresh and jaunty in a white polo shirt, khaki pants, and tan boat shoes, followed by a man in a police uniform. Federico had a hand on the cop's shoulder.
"Luca, I want you to meet someone. This is Chief Judson. We just had a nice talk, and you're free to go. Come on."
I stood, incredulous. Federico seemed to act as though this was a social call. I shook the chief's hand.
"It turns out that girl you knocked unconscious with your gun was our suspect in that Palmira Preserve homicide," the chief said. "We found the victim's prints in her rental car, and we have video surveillance of them in the parking lot of the preserve. The two of them went into the preserve, but she was the only one who came out. Perfectly matches his time of death too."
I swallowed. It was still difficult to believe little Annalisa would slash the throat of a Mafia hitman. "She's crazier than I thought," I muttered.
