Page 5 of Die for You (Kiss or Kill #2)

ONE MONTH LATER

I t’s amazing how quickly I’ve fallen into a routine.

I wake at dawn.

Go for a run.

Eat.

Train.

Sleep.

And repeat.

I’ve not ventured past the property line because I don’t feel the need to explore, and that’s because I’m happy.

Once a week, a box of groceries sits at my door.

I have everything I need.

A part of me does wonder, however, when Gianna will call on me because I sense this silence isn’t forever. Knowing Gianna, this is one of her tests.

So I simply wait for instructions.

She has conditioned me to think this way, which, being away from her, I now see is wrong. But I don’t know any different. And I have nowhere else to go.

I’ve run for miles and am completely famished.

As I walk toward my home and the familiar feel of gravel beneath my sneakers crunches in time with my steps, I realize that for weeks, I’ve not heard my father’s voice. The silence has been welcomed. Out here, there is nothing but me.

And the longer I stay, the more it feels like home.

I see the wooden box of groceries at my door like every Monday past. I wonder what produce Gianna has organized for me.

Picking up the box, I take it inside and set it on the kitchen counter.

I remove the perishable items and place them in the fridge.

I hum along to the Italian music playing softly from an old radio I found.

I never switch it off because the noise gives me comfort, perhaps tricking myself into thinking I’m not alone.

And just like that, I’m not.

“ Ciao .” Nico knocks on the back door. He waits for me to invite him in, seeing as the last time he turned up unannounced, I throat punched him.

I stand with a bunch of carrots in my hand, staring at him. “Hi,” I finally say.

Lupo comes charging in, jumping up on me and licking my face happily.

Nico smiles and enters.

I don’t know what it is about him, but I don’t feel he’s a threat. He just seems like a…normal young man. Nothing like Lenny.

My heart does a tiny flip-flop just thinking of his name.

Angrily, I toss the carrots into the fridge because thoughts like that will only get me hurt.

Or more hurt, if that’s even possible.

Once I turn, Nico slides an envelope across the white marble counter. My name is written on the front.

I swallow past the lump in my throat.

The day has come.

I eye him and the envelope.

Have I mistaken him for a friend when he is in fact a foe?

He reads my suspicion and quickly reaches for something in his brown leather satchel.

On instinct, I lunge for the knife block, but soon stop in my tracks when he retrieves a small book. He rifles through it and turns to a page, staring at it intently.

He licks his lips before saying with a thick accent, “Postman.”

I’m impressed that Nico went out and purchased a translation book. He could have used his phone, but perhaps he likes living off-grid too.

That one word puts my mind at ease because he isn’t the one who wrote the letter. He is simply the deliveryman.

I stare at the envelope like it will detonate at any moment because, without a doubt, this is from Gianna. It’s time to do what I came here for. But the thought turns my stomach.

And I don’t mean in the figurative sense.

I mean that literally as I run to the sink and throw up.

Nausea so brutal suddenly overcomes me, I waver on my feet and would have fallen if not for Nico catching me.

Usually, I would shrug any help away, but I literally cannot stand, so I allow Nico to lead me into the living room where I lie down on the velvet couch. Nico places a knitted blanket over me.

How fucking embarrassing.

I don’t need a man looking after me, but as Nico returns from the kitchen with a juice in hand, I push aside my pride and accept his help. I slowly gulp down the juice in fear it’ll come back up.

So far, so good.

Nico crouches by me and places a hand to my clammy forehead. “ Ospedale .”

But I frantically shake my head.

I understand that word, and that word is hospital. There’s no way I’m going there.

“No, I’m okay. Just tired.”

Nico looks at me confused, so I reach for the book he left on the coffee table and scan through it until I find the word for tired.

“ Stanca .”

He nods, and I realize this tiny book is our only way of communicating. How incredibly old-school. I love it.

Nausea and dizziness hit me once again, so I slump back down into the cushions, groaning as I place my forearm across my eyes to block the morning sun.

If this is my response to a single letter, then how am I expected to carry out what Gianna demands of me? Have I lost my nerve because this simple life has shown me that this is what I secretly crave?

I surrender to sleep because those questions are ones I don’t want to face.

Now, and perhaps ever.

I wake to the smell of something delicious, which surprises me, considering I was throwing up my guts not that long ago.

Opening my eyes slowly, I see that it’s dark out. I must have slept the day away.

Lupo sleeps on the floor beside me, which means Nico is still here.

This is so out of character for me to let my guard down this way.

I don’t like it.

Coming to a slow sitting position, I brush the hair from my face and am thankful the nausea has subsided. It troubles me that I reacted that way.

What’s happening to me?

Peering around the room, I see that the golden crucifix ornament I threw into a drawer sits on the mantel once again.

It’s the cue I needed to remind myself of who I am and what I have done.

Angered, I stand and charge into the kitchen to tell Nico to mind his business and to get out of my house. That religious relic has no place in my home because there is no God. But what I observe has the anger in me simmering because Nico has cooked me chicken soup.

He places a soup bowl onto the neatly set table.

A large ceramic bowl with oranges printed around the sides sits in the center of the table, filled with freshly baked bread. Olives, cured meats, cheese, and fruits complete this feast, and I suddenly feel undeserving, seeing as I was about to kick him out.

He smiles when he notices me.

Why does he do that?

I don’t understand.

Lenny never used to smile at me that way. Perhaps it’s because we never really had much to smile about. Both foreigners in a world that chewed us up and spat us out time and time again. All we did was merely attempt to survive, clinging onto the other in case we drowned.

But with Nico, those feelings aren’t present. I don’t know what I feel because I’ve never experienced it before.

Nico pulls out a seat for me.

Now is the time to tell him to get out and never return, but I find myself doing the complete opposite and sitting down. I peer at the food in front of me. It does look good. My empty stomach growls, demanding to be fed.

I run my fingers over the mismatched silverware and realize this is the first meal I’ve sat down for. Yes, I was fed and fed well at Gianna’s, but did we ever sit down at a setting such as this and have a “family” dinner?

No.

I usually ate my meal, standing at the kitchen counter, alone.

Everything in Gianna’s house was perfect and had a place, unlike Lenny and me.

I never had an issue with it because I didn’t know any better. But now, presented with this scenario, I see that under that perfection, things were so distorted.

What is wrong with me?

Why am I suddenly nostalgic, thinking of all the things I never had? Realizing all the things I was made to do because Gianna didn’t want us to be human. To be human, we were to feel, and to feel, she couldn’t…control us.

An epiphany hits, and I see Lenny in the corner of the kitchen, casually lighting a cigarette. “I told you so.”

So my father is now replaced with Lenny. I am going fucking crazy.

The imaginary Lenny is still able to evoke butterflies and make me feel things I shouldn’t.

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with this revelation. I don’t even know if it’s how I feel.

Everything is so muddled.

My head is a mess.

“This is the first time you’re away from her, away from her poison. You know the truth, tesoro mio .”

Imaginary Lenny is still a pain in my ass, I see.

Nico sits across from me, watching me closely. I feel incredibly rude, so I smile. Well, I try my best not to scowl as I reach for the spoon.

The soup is delicious.

With my hunger returning, I guzzle down the soup and wipe away any remaining liquid with pieces of crunchy bread. I don’t stop eating until my bowl is clean. And it’s then that I realize I still have company.

Sheepishly peering up at Nico, I feel my cheeks redden. This just confirms that I’m not accustomed to eating in the company of others. I expect him to excuse himself and run out the door, never to return.

Instead, he pushes the plate of meats and cheese to me. “ Mangiare .”

He just told me to eat. Not that I need the encouragement.

But I watch as he wraps a piece of prosciutto around a slice of melon and places it into his mouth. He licks away a droplet of juice from his bottom lip. The way he savors it, I assume it’s good. But I’ve never tasted such a strange combination before.

He does the same again, but this time, he offers it to me.

I accept without hesitation, and when I taste the sweet and salty combination, I understand what the fuss is about.

“Is good?” he asks.

“It’s very good,” I reply around a mouthful of food.

He laughs, appearing happy I have enjoyed his cooking.

My first meal with another wasn’t a complete disaster after all.

It’s after midnight by the time Nico leaves.

Once we clean the dishes, we sit in silence, listening to old Italian music on the back porch. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was…nice.

However, now that he’s gone, reality sets in, and I sit in my bed, staring at the envelope on my lap. This is why I’m here , I remind myself. This was never a “get out of jail free” card. I’m here to pay back my dues.

“You owe her nothing.”

“Shut up, Lenny,” I mumble, annoyed that even hundreds of miles apart, he’s still annoying me.