Xenia Butler
"Santal, Plasmon or Skipper?" I asked Jonny with a playful grin, gesturing at the trio of juice boxes arranged before us. The boy's gaze flitted between them, still as indecisive as a squirrel unsure which tree to scamper up for his next nutty adventure.
Across the pool, Renata observed him with a knowing smile, allowing Jonny the freedom to make his own decision, even as he urged her to choose for him. It was like a gentle nudge for her son to exercise his autonomy. Good teaching, I thought.
"What about this, mamma?" Jonny asked his mother, but his eyes were on me.
Renata and I both cracked a laugh.
"No, Jonny." I pulled the bottle of vodka and glass away from his reach. "That's not part of your options." That was my own option.
As Jonny deliberated again, I swam leisurely from one end of the rectangular pool to the other, the cool water providing a refreshing time out from the warm afternoon sun. With each stroke, I closed the distance between us, ready to offer guidance if needed.
"Now, let's give it another shot," I suggested cheerfully as I reached Jonny's side, nudging the juice boxes toward him with a playful flick of my hand. "Plasmon! Skipper! Santal!"
Closing his eyes after a face-palm, his childlike chuckle broke loose. He shook his head in mock disbelief, before extending his hand to select one almost at random. Fortunately, his fingertips landed on Skipper. Renata and I erupted into cheers, applauding his choice as I swiftly removed the other two options, leaving Skipper to stand victorious.
"Good choice!" I exclaimed, a genuine smile on my face as I encouraged him to enjoy his drink. "That's what I would have chosen myself."
With a nod and a grin, he eagerly took a sip, the taste of Skipper undoubtedly refreshing. Orange flavor over any other thing, of course.
Turning away from Jonny, I directed my attention toward the kitchen door. A fleeting moment passed before my thoughts were consumed by the image of Romano and Kate, their presence lingering like an unwelcome ghost from earlier in the day.
In a bid to banish the memory and any lingering thoughts of their rashness in his room before departing the house over an hour ago, I fully immersed myself in the water. It was both a self-imposed punishment for my perceived weaknesses and a personal challenge to test my endurance.
The water enveloped me comfortably, momentarily blocking out the noise and distractions of the world above. With each passing second, however, as my heart rate accelerated, pounding forcefully, I knew I had to resurface to catch my breath.
Emerging from the water with a flourish, I sucked in a deep breath, my chest heaving as I tried to regulate my breathing. Droplets of water glided down my skin, bringing a sense of calmness. My hair clung to my scalp, forming a damp curtain around my face.
Renata had abandoned swimming, and I couldn't blame her. We had been submerged for nearly an hour, and our bodies were starting to prune. Frankly, I preferred the discomfort of wrinkled skin to confronting the unsettling reality of Romano and Kate's whereabouts after being locked in his room for a while.
Perhaps his room was too common a place to fuck, so he had taken her somewhere more unorthodox. Who knew?
"Done with your drink, sweetheart?"
Renata's question to Jonny broke the tension inside my chest.
Jonny replied, licking his lips and patting his stomach. "Yes. It was delicious."
"Have you thanked Aunt Xenia for the drink?" Renata inquired. Jonny turned to me and politely said thank you, to which I responded with a warm smile. "Now, come inside. Let me make you lunch."
She ushered them both away.
With the coast clear, I swam to the edge and retrieved my drink. I hadn't wanted to consume it in front of Jonny.
The last time I indulged in alcohol, with the intention of finishing the entire bottle, was months ago—I couldn't even recall exactly when.
Since meeting April and becoming more productive, the feeling of intoxication had faded from my memory. Initially, when I first moved to the complex and struggled with writer's block while grieving for my sister's condition, I drowned my sorrows in alcohol until my liver begged for mercy.
Regardless of the fact that I'd experienced drunkenness numerous times in my life and hated the outcome, the sudden impulse to drink until I blacked out overwhelmed me. Recklessly, I filled my cup to the brim, causing it to splash over me as I lifted it.
I drank as if it were water, though it burned like hell, reminding me otherwise. Resentment, anger, and jealousy seethed somewhere in me, fueling my consumption. With each gulp, I tried to drone out the emotions that had taken root in my core.
Vera Lenci had made significant progress with the book, but part of me wished Bright Bird had breached the contract for "Snapping Point" so I could terminate it. But they hadn't. Vera had been diligently editing the manuscript to suit the preferences of readers, as was her job, yet, the more I reviewed each word, the more I wanted to tear myself apart for having started it.
Romano had turned out to be nothing more than a charlatan, a master of deception. I longed for him to swiftly execute his plan to quash the rumors about the book and deal with Jerry however he saw fit, so I could reclaim my former life. Collaborating with him on this mission had proven to be the gravest mistake I'd ever made—let's not mince words.
The anticipation of escaping this mess clawed at me like a relentless hunger. I wanted to turn my back on him, to sever all ties and never look back. I wanted it with every fiber of my being.
"Fuck!" I screamed, venting the pent-up anguish that simmered in me. But my outburst was abruptly cut short by the beep of my phone. My hands were still damp from the vodka and water, but I hastily reached for the device to see who was trying to reach me.
Angelo.
"What?" I muttered, swallowing a mouthful of alcoholic saliva, my mind reeling with questions about where he had suddenly resurfaced from after all these days.
The message that popped up on my phone was crystal clear, even through the haze of the approaching high: "Gotten so invested that our experience has been washed off your head? Romano is good at brainwashing, that I know. Don't let him fool you, though. It's always been about Kate, Kate, Kate. She's a bone that won't go away."
Frowning in anger, I began to type out a scathing response, ready to unleash my pent-up frustration on Angelo. How he wasn't even morally grounded enough to talk about Romano in that manner when he'd lied about his identity and slept with me with by seeking dubious consent. But before I could send it, his call came through, interrupting my tirade.
"Hello!" I snapped, my tone laced with irritation and disrespect. "And please don't tell me you called to talk about them. I have zero interest." I hissed and groaned, reaching for my bottle and taking a long swig straight from the source. "And as for you, you claimed to know nothing about Romano! Didn't you? But I'm not surprised, because the moment I laid eyes on you, I sensed there was some kind of connection. I just assumed you'd have the decency to be honest. So please, do me a favor and block my number. Bye—"
"Hold on, wait. Don't go," he interjected, and I begrudgingly kept the phone to my ear, listening to the sound of his breathing, feeling a surge of frustration at his persistence. "If I had told you, wouldn't you have run?"
Yes, I would have, because anything that had a Rossi tag was meant to be evaded, but I didn't express my assessment on that.
"Exactly what I'm saying," he echoed. "It was a simple white lie to protect myself from the shadows of my cousin's bad reputation. We're not even that close."
I didn't buy into that lie, but I could see where this conversation was heading. "And what do you want now?"
"An audience."
A shame, wasn't it? He could have had it all if he'd just been honest from the start.
"I'm talking to you now, aren't I?"
He groaned in protest. "No, no. I mean in person. Bella. In person." I hesitated. Romano wouldn't approve of the idea, but last I checked, he was off somewhere entertaining ideas I didn't like... and not just entertaining them, but acting on them. "We've got things to talk about."
Clearly, we had things to discuss. Why he had waited until I was intoxicated before asking for my consent was one of them. But deep down, I knew that wouldn't be addressed. Angelo wasn't one for lengthy conversations. Hell, he didn't like to explain his actions. He preferred to silence people with his hands trailing down their skin. I had been on three dates with him, enough to know that.
"Time and place," I demanded, holding my drink aloft. My hand trembled, nearly causing the bottle to tip over, but I managed to steady it while listening to him provide the details. "I'll be there tonight," I slurred.
"Good, Bella. Good."
Before he could hang up, I interjected, "And just so we're clear, I'll be bringing a kitchen knife. Don't get any ideas about me sleeping with you, because if you so much as lay a finger on my skin, I'll cut it off without a doubt in my mind."
Suddenly, time seemed to elongate indefinitely as I found myself clinging to the brick wall, continuously pouring drink after drink.
At some point, I lost track of the time spent by the pool's edge, consumed by the numbing effects of alcohol. Just as the alcohol dulled my senses, the water suddenly began to feel treacherous, threatening to swallow me whole if I wasn't careful. I realized I needed to get out before I drowned in my drunken stupor.
Springing out from the pool, I lingered at the edge, my movements unsteady and slippery as I traversed from one end to the other, my drink nearly drained to the bottom of the bottle. It wasn't a graceful walk; rather, it was a staggering, tipping motion, each step teetering on the brink of collapse. Only by some miraculous stroke of luck did I manage to regain my balance each time.
The sun had dipped low by now, pitching a golden glow on the earth that made me realize the day had slipped away unnoticed. It must have been late afternoon, perhaps even dusk, and I had spent most of it in oblivion.
With each sip, I had tried to numb the pain, but it only seemed to amplify with every swallow. I'd beat myself up mentally, fought back tears and screams. But nothing could alleviate the ache, let alone stop it.
Perching at the edge of a poolside lounger, I began to feel my balance wavering as I clumsily swayed. My vision blurred heavily, and the edges of my surroundings seemed to distort. Droplets of sweat formed on my forehead as my body temperature rose, and a sense of detachment settled in as my mind clouded.
It was in this moment I felt intoxication at its highest.
Paranoia gripped me tightly, twisting my perception of reality until I doubted everything I saw. Were those really my father and Joanna standing on the pool, their smiles beckoning me closer? I staggered forward, grasping onto the chair for support, a smile stretching across my face as I reached out to them.
But in an instant, they vanished, leaving behind only fading echoes of their laughter. Panic surged through me. I scanned the area, desperately searching for any trace of movement. "Joanna!" I called out, my voice cracking with fear and desperation. "Come back! Daddy?"
When I turned left, a sudden movement caught my eye, causing me to startle. The bottle slipped from my trembling grasp, shattering on the ground below, and pain shot through me as I inadvertently stepped on a shard, eliciting a string of curses.
"Fuck!" I cried out once more, the agony intensifying with each passing moment. "Joe? Daddy? Please, don't leave me alone again Come back. I'm so scared."
The riot in my stomach doubled, churning and twisting until I couldn't hold it back any longer. With a violent lurch, I doubled over, the contents of my stomach erupting in a torrent of vomit. It splattered onto the ground and splashed into the pool, mixing with the clear water in a nauseating swirl.
My knees buckled beneath me, my body trembling with exhaustion and sickness. I collapsed onto all fours, the world spinning around me. "Don't go..." I whispered hoarsely, my voice barely audible even to myself.
Kneeling there, the pool water lapping at the edges of my trembling hands, I realized with a sinking dread that I was losing control. My palms, already weakened, slipped on the slick surface of the pool's edge and my vomit made my movements even more slippery.
With a helpless cry, I felt myself tipping forward, hurtling towards the water below.
In that moment, I knew. I knew I was going to die, too weak to fight my way to safety, too drained to resist the inevitable pull of the water.
As I fell into the water, the word "Don't..." faded away. Panic surged, but my body wouldn't respond. I sank deeper, the water swallowing me unforgivingly. Pressure built in my chest, suffocating me. I struggled to breathe, but it was too late. Everything, everything went...utterly dark.
$$$
Romano De Rossi
I l arrived the villa much later than anticipated because Katie and I had unexpectedly spent two hours at the hospital. What began as a leisurely walk had turned into an extended conversation, culminating in the decision to redo the pregnancy test. The doctor had confirmed her pregnancy, though at six weeks, it was too early to discern much. She had shown us the small dot he called a...something sac protecting the baby.
During a private moment in the doctor's office, I had disclosed Katie's situation to her, who, unofficially, promptly contacted a colleague. They had advised putting her on a specialized addiction treatment program to safeguard the baby, emphasizing the urgency. I had mentioned her undocumented status, and with additional payment and a subtle display of my gun, she had been taken into custody. I couldn't bring her home, as the support she required had gone beyond mere sweet talk and bedroom antics.
She needed rehabilitation.
Entering the villa, feeling like I had finally regained some semblance of control, I headed straight for a drink in the kitchen. The one I had refrained from earlier when I caught Kate smoking. I rummaged through the pantry, debating whether to grab another or check the poolside for the same bottle, then leaned against the kitchen counter, tapping my trembling hand on the cold marble. Pouring myself a generous amount, I took a gulp, only to be startled by the unmistakable sound of glass shattering.
My first instinct was to reach for my gun, assuming that it was a gunshot. But before I could formulate my next move, a scream pierced the air.
It was Xenia, cursing.
Leaving my holster behind, I opted for my drink instead. It was probably just an accidental drop, I reasoned, and she was likely cursing herself for it. I talked myself out of checking on her, considering that I might be the last person she wanted to see, especially after last night's incident.
I resumed with my drink, but my thoughts were abruptly interrupted once more by the sound of splattering water and her coughing—or choking. Was she okay? She usually was.
I downed the drink in one gulp, feeling a surge of fiery control. After refilling my glass, I headed back, pausing at the doorway when I heard the unmistakable sound of someone diving into the pool.
She was swimming?
After the glass shattered, instead of cleaning it up to prevent an accident, she chose to swim? Why did it feel out of character for the usually considerate Xenia to make such a careless mistake?
Grabbing a dustpan and broom, I made my way outside, intending to drop them off for her. However, deep down, I knew I was mainly going because I was curious to see her swim. I had never witnessed her submerged, gracefully gliding from one end of the pool to the other.
My spine tingled with a chill as I approached the scene. Shattered glasses littered the area, surrounded by pools of vomit with an acrid stench that reeked of alcohol, enough to make me feel nauseated.
There she was in the water, not swimming gracefully as I had imagined, but sinking deeper, her movements anguished and panicked. Without a moment's hesitation, I discarded the dustpan and broom, rushing to the edge of the pool.
Muttering curses under my breath, adrenaline surged through my veins as I readied myself to dive in.
With every ounce of strength I possessed, I managed to grab hold of her and pull her towards the edge of the pool, her body feeling like deadweight in my arms. I hauled her onto solid ground, the urgency and panic sinking in.
"Xenia," I called gently, giving her cheek a light tap, in an attempt to rouse her.
My nerves were on edge as I called out to her again, my hand trembling as I reached for her pulse. It wasn't there, not even the faintest rhythm of life met my fingers. In most cases, when I felt for a pulse, I found none, and it pleased me greatly. But now, for the first time, my heart sank at the reality.
"Max! Umfredo! Orlando!" I yelled desperately, hoping someone would answer immediately but it seemed they were on the other side of the building and couldn't hear me beckon.
Instead of leaving her to find someone to prepare the car, I recalled the basic first aid lectures I had received as a teenager. Truth be told, I had never attempted to administer CPR before. It wasn't because accidents didn't occur around me on a daily basis, but rather because the lives of those around me weren't left to chance or trial and error by untrained hands.
I pressed my mouth against hers and began to blow air into it, but even the smell of alcohol that met my senses suggested that her unconscious state might not have been solely due to the near-drowning experience, but also the amount of liquor coursing through her veins.
"Xenia!" I grew increasingly frustrated, scared, and less hopeful as she failed to respond. Regardless, I continued pressing on her chest and blowing air into her mouth, keeping the cycle going until I heard a voice from behind me.
"My goodness! What happened?" Renata rushed to my side, her expression filled with concern. With urgency, she knelt down beside us, explaining how they had spent most of their time there and she had no idea Xenia had still been swimming, let alone drinking vodka.
"She's not breathing," I confessed, my attention consumed by the raw fear twisting my stomach into knots. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Renata, get emergency on the phone now."
The woman hurried into the house and back with a phone pressed to her ear, explaining and answering ceaseless questions while I continued to delude myself that any of my CPR skills were working.
Momentarily telling Renata what to do, they eventually ended the call with a small promise: we're on our way.
And really, that was by far the longest wait of my whole fucking existence.