EIGHT.

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I was sat on the couch, staring out of the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. The sun was seeing, warm orange and blue hues decorated the sky and shone down upon the green, neatly trimmed grass.

The blue swimming pool water made tiny ruffles of water thanks to the breeze that rocked through the surrounding trees.

I hadn't felt this alone in a while.

It was so quiet all around me, so quiet and so empty.

I missed Lucifer now. I missed when it was this quiet, but I knew he'd be there—somewhere around his house.

Either in his study, or in his bedroom or the living room. Working non stop, staring out of the same sliding glass door that I was staring out now.

He was late today. Usually, he comes at five, but it was almost eight now. It danwed on me that I hadn't eaten all day.

Because I was waiting for him.

Anxiety chipped away at my conscious. Had something happened to him? Was he okay? Was he safe?

Was he alive?

I jumped up from the couch and started pacing. Down the hall, around the kitchen, around the living room, everywhere. I called and called but he never picked up.

Tears blurred my vision as I paced. If something happened to him, what would I do? Where would I go? Would I go back home, to Ronald? Would I have to bother Jane for a place to stay? Would I have to go to Maria?

God, what would Maria do if something happened to her son?

I whimpered, new tears threatening to roll down my cheeks. I pulled of dmy sweat and waved myself, trying to cool down from the oncoming anxiety attack.

My heart galloped in my chest like a feral horse. I clutched my hand over my heart, staring at the front door as I stood in the middle of the house.

And finally, I heard the key in the door.

Before he could fully open the door, I was on him in seconds.

I couldn't help the tears, anxiety fluttered away from me like a new butterfly.

"Hey," his deep voice droaned above me, and his hand held my head to his chest, the other hand dropped his keys and sunglasses on the floor.

I sniffed, and his fingers dug into my hair deeper, clutching me to him, "Hey, sweetheart. What's wrong, hm?"

I whimpered softly. He smelled like cologne and smoke and danger and those were becoming my new favourite smells. I squeezed him tighter, and he shut the door behind him with one hand, and walked me backwards, further into the house.

"Daisy," he said quietly, "darling, why are you crying? What's wrong? What happened, bunny?"

With my chin wobbling, and my voice hoarse, "I-I was worried," I whispered.

CAPITANO | BOOK ONE.Where stories live. Discover now