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“Who is?”
“Us. The people. Angel.”
My heart wants to push itself free from the oppressive boulder that weighs it down, but I can’t bring myself to hope too hard. “How?”
“Together.”
The word sends a crack rumbling through the stone that holds down my heart, but still that stone doesn’t crack, not yet.
“He’s starting a revolution for you,” Anna whispers. “We’re going to overthrow the government, vanquish evil, start a new era... all in your name.”
Suddenly, a loud thump comes from the ceiling above. We both jump in surprise and Anna drops her needle.
“What was that?” I ask, staring up, not daring to move. Anna’s already unfrozen. She picks up her needle and has it held between her fingers like a switchblade.
“Probably nothing...” she says, unconvincingly. Just as quickly as her needle became a knife, it becomes a needle again. “Let’s get your dress finished... hopefully, you won’t have to use it—at least, not with Dante.”
I silently agree and our conversatio
n of revolution and love fades away. Time starts to drag on again before a knock comes at the door.
“Are you decent?” It sounds like one of Dante’s men.
“No!” Anna shouts back.
“How much longer!?” the body guard growls.
Anna looks up at me, like she’s gauging how much longer I need away from Dante. “As long as it takes to get right!” she responds.
“You have ten minutes.”
“Fuck,” Anna grumbles.
A heavy sigh escapes my lips. “It’s alright, I’ll be fine,” I try to assure her, though I don’t quite believe it myself.
Anna gets back to work, her hands moving at light speed. She must have been lollygagging before, because it feels like it hardly takes her two minutes to do what needs to be done. “There, finished,” she states, taking a step back to admire her handywork.
“Yippy,” I sulk.
The young seamstress takes another one of her furtive glances around the fitting room before stepping up to my ear. “Don’t worry,” she whispers, hope coating her quiet words. “I’ve been told the location of the wedding. I’ll pass on the news.”
13
Angel
His tiny hand can barely wrap all the way around my ring finger.
“It’s almost his bedtime,” Lady’s voice cuts through the little moment I’m having with my son. Juan has left us to go deal with Dante, and for a moment there, I could have sworn we were alone; a family.
No, not yet. There is no family without Cat, not without my son’s mother.
“He doesn’t look tired,” I grumble, trying to disguise my own exhaustion. The last thing I want to do is sleep. There’s so much on my plate, so much to catch up on, and none of it seems as important as the little chubby-cheeked chipmunk who’s playing with my bare ring finger like it’s a tree branch.
“Boo-boo,” Oscar giggles as his tiny stumps crawl along my callous skin. My eyelids are heavy, but I’m not about to let him out of sight.
“What’s a boo-boo?” I ask him, immediately feeling ridiculous for even having said the word, much less to a baby.
“It’s his bottle. He’s hungry.” Lady responds from the kitchen, obviously eavesdropping.