WANTED: Love of my Life

48. Shots in the Dark

Giacomo stiffened in my arms.

“Do you hear that?” He asked.

I nodded.

“Who do you think it could be?”

“A maintenance-crew?” I suggested.

“In the middle of the night?” He shook his head. “No. It has to be somebody else.”

The way he said the words 'somebody else' made a shiver run down my back. I looked up into his face. His jaw was tight. His eyes had that light in them, that same, fierce, burning light I had seen only once before – on that night in the park.

The sound of the motor died down. Then came the voice.

“We know you're in there!” Gruff, male and drooling self-satisfaction. “We've got a perfect shot at the door. So are you gonna come out, or do you want us to fire a few rounds in there and see if anything hits you?”

Shots? Gun shots? The guys out there were armed with guns and were threatening to use them on us? What was this? I threw a look at Giacomo. And when I saw the expression on his face, I understood that he knew exactly what it was.

With a quick leap, he was at the metal door and had slammed it shut. The light of the moon was cut off, and only the dim torchlight remained. For a second, it was strangely silent, the noises of the ocean suddenly cut off. Then the thunder started. One shot. And another. And another. I screamed, stumbling back and cowering down against the wall. Those men out there were shooting! Really shooting! By the light of the torch I could see little dents appear in the reddish metal of the door. It seemed to hold, but what did I know? It might give way any moment!

“The door's going to hold,” Giacomo said in a tight, controlled voice.

“Is there another way out of here?” I managed to get out. Strange. Was that really my own voice? I hardly recognized it.

He nodded. “There is. The Elevator, over there,” he said, and pointed farther down the narrow space we were trapped in. “But it's slow, and only big enough for one person at a time.”

“Oh.”

I didn't move.

“I'm sorry about this, Angela. I'll hold them as long as I can.”

Still, I didn't move. After a few seconds, his head turned away from the door and towards me.

“Well?” He hissed. “What are you waiting for?”

“W-what do you mean?”

“Run! Go to the elevator!”

“I'm not leaving you here!”

“Angela...” He turned and knelt in front of me, grasping my hand. His hand seemed to be shaking. Why was his hand shaking? He appeared so calm. Then I realized that it was my hand that was shaking, and he was trying to stop it, trying to calm me.

“Angela”, he said. “Those men out there... they are after me.”

I laughed a dry laugh. “I sort of figured that out all by myself.”

“They... probably want to kill me.”

“I figured that out, too. Gosh, I've become really smart. You did a good job with your tutoring.”

“Angela, you're rambling.” Now there was more than fire in his eyes. There was concern.

“Of course I am. We are locked in, and there are men out there trying to kill us, and I'm just freaking out! Do you hear me Giacomo? I'm FREAKING OUT!!”

“They don't want to kill us. If they've come here to kill tonight, they're only after me.”

I rolled my eyes. As if that made any difference, from my point of view. I, live without Giacomo? Yeah, right.

That thought made me realize something. Something I had known for a while now, but not admitted to myself. A something that began with the letter 'L'. Not now. Later. Later, if we survived this.

When I resurfaced from my revery, I found Giacomo staring at me curiously. “You aren't asking me why,” he stated. “Why they're after me.”

“Would you tell me if I did?”

He hesitated for just a moment. “No.”

I nodded, trying not to let the pain show I felt at the fact that he still didn't trust me. Not even now.

“I didn't think so.”

“Angela, you must get to the elevator.”

“And leave you here alone? In your dreams!”

“No,” he said, his voice rough. “Not there. Never there. In my dreams, you're never in mortal danger. In my dreams, we dance until dawn.”

Faster than I could look he snatched me up, literally snatched me up, and carried me along the narrow corridor to an old wire basket in the back, that hung from some kind of metal rope. The rope disappeared into a dark hole in the ceiling. With a great stretch of the imagination, all this could have been called an elevator – about fifty years ago.

“Let me go,” I yelled.

“I've got to get you out of here.”

“Giacomo, let go of me! I'm not leaving you! I'm not leaving you,” I cried over the thunder of the guns outside.

“I'm so sorry.” His voice was calm and cracking, angry and sad, all at the same time. “So sorry I ever interfered with your life Angela. So sorry I've put you through this. I should never have done that. I should have stayed away from you from the first.”

“Don't say that!”

He attempted to put me into the wire basket, but I wouldn't let go of his jacket. I wouldn't!

“These weeks with you have been the happiest time of my life, Giacomo! Don't say things like that! Never! Ever!”

“Let go,” he commanded softly.

“No!!”

“Angela, you have to.”

“No! I can't Giacomo! I lo-”

Suddenly I cut off. Because in that moment, the gunfire had cut off.

“If you're trying to send your girlfriend up in the elevator, dude,” the rough voice called, “go ahead! There's one of us up there, and he'll have a good time with her.” There was laughter. They were enjoying this, whoever 'they' were.

Giacomo stopped trying to pry my hands off his jacket.

“Diamine!” he cursed.

“Or is she your hooker for the night, and you're trying to go up yourself?” The voice called. “I wouldn't if I were in your shoes. Our friend's straight. He might not take to your company!” Laughter, again. “And anyways, we're not here to kill you. We want you alive.”

At that, I felt myself relax. Then I thought of all the reasons why they might want him alive, and started shivering again. Giacomo pulled me to his chest.

“Ssh. Ssh, it's all right, Angela. Everything's all right. Tutto va bene la mia ragazza. Tutto sarà a posto. Io da questo e tutto sarà tutto nuovamente a destra.”

He continued to whisper things to me in Italian. I didn't understand a word he said, but his voice alone was enough to quiet my fears. And how he pronounced the words, how he infused every syllable with so much feeling that I thought my heart would burst... I so wished we were far, far away from this place, safe, alone, so that he could whisper to me all night like this.

“Well?” the gruff voice shouted. “Are you gonna come out or what?”

I felt Giacomo stiffen. Then he let go of me and turned to the door.