𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄 ━━ 𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐳𝐳𝐨

THIRTY NINE | entirely braless

He walks to the opposite side of the container towards the back. "Evaline Giudice. . .does this space seem different to you?"

"Depends on your definition of different." I simply shrug.

"Does it seem. . ." Tony approaches me slowly, "smaller than the outside dimension? Because usually, containers are 40 feet long."

He walks to my end. "This one's only 34 feet on the inside."

I furrow my brows and come to stand on his right. My knuckles knock against the outer wall and then the one in front of me.

"Hollow. . .solid."

Tony kicks his foot through the wall, causing the wood to splinter on impact. A short doorway swings open, although it's too dark to see what's on the other side.

"Remind me to show you my appreciation when we get out of this box."

I step through the opening first, standing up in the tight space between boxes. My eyes widen at the Arabic words written on the boxes.

"Looks like we're dealing with explosives." A shaky breath falls off my lips.

"Great." Tony clambers in beside me. "Anything else you can translate?"

I look over at him. "It doesn't take a translator to know the only way this is going to end is in a painfully horrific death." The inside of my cheek is trapped between my teeth.

"I was afraid you were gonna say that."

We carefully open the top of one of the crates, only to find it filled to the top with American bills, counterfeit to be exact. With a sigh of relief, we return to the main part of the container.

Hugging my knees to my chest, my eyes shift to meet Tony's. "If I had to be stuck in a container with any person, I'm glad it's you."

"I can't think of another person I'd want to be with anywhere." His hand intertwines with my own, and his lips press against the top of my knuckles.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Knowing very well our "friends" may come back to reclaim the counterfeit money, Tony and I shift the heavy crates around to form a defensive perimeter. When we finish assembling the structure, we find ourselves sitting next to each other, huddling close for minimal warmth.

"Tell me about your family." Tony questions abruptly. "I've known you for two and a half years, yet I still know nothing about your parents."

I nudge his shoulder gently. "You're the one to talk. All I've heard about is your mother decorating your bedroom at the age of five." He lightly chuckles under his breath.

"What do you want to hear?"

There's a chance — small, but still existent — that we don't make it out of here alive. So why not reveal our deepest secrets to each other?

"Your life story, Ms Giudice."

"How vague, Mr. DiNozzo."

"Give me something, Ev. I'll take anything at this point."

Before I can give him an answer, I feel the container shift as if it was being picked up.

"Forklift."

I stand up on one of the crates by the holes in the wall, and Tony's hands on my ass keep me stabilized as I attempt to scan our surroundings.

"You must be. . ." The force of the crate moving knocks me back, right into Tony's arms. "You must be having fun."