Page 46 of The Crimson Lily

Giovanni sighs but hands me the headset. I place it on my ears, careful not to damage it, even though those thick pads can probably withstand an earthquake.

“Maksim?” I call.

I just hear footsteps. Of course, he can’t talk. I exhale deeply and make peace with myself to be able to say, “Be careful out there,” for the fifty-first time.

Maksim nods or acknowledges me or sighs in his mind.

It’s probably the latter. But I don’t trust him being out there, on his own, close to the Syndicate’s claws.

I still have this hunch that things aren’t the way they’re supposed to be.

I don’t want Maksim to get in trouble. I don’t want him to get hurt. I can’t bear losing him.

“I lo…” Am I just about to say it ? Nope. I chicken out. “Come back to me,” I muffle my own impulse.

Pause. “I will.”

My heart melts. I force myself to stifle the tear that desperately wants to roll down my cheek.

Hours later…

“What’s going on?” I ask Giovanni.

He’s relaxed, his elbow slouched against the door.

On the one hand, Chiara is calm and noiseless.

Her posture expresses patience. She does cast furtive glances out of the window from time to time, as if she’s waiting for something, but she’s doing it silently.

On the other hand, I have my buttocks in the air, gripping Giovanni’s headrest to balance myself over his seat so I can have my ear against one of the pads.

Footsteps, cracks of branches, then soft pawing thuds like someone is walking in gravel. Voices. A woman. English. Or is it French? Movements close to the microphone, then a greeting murmur and more thuds.

“I’m in.” Maksim’s voice, words he’s able to sneak out.

My heart skips a beat upon hearing him. I lean in closer to hear everything better.

More voices. People greeting each other. They all sound distant like they’re speaking behind their lips. It’s because of their masks, I conclude.

“Is he the man you’re dating?” Giovanni asks out of the blue, without looking at me.

I know Maksim can hear. “Yes,” I answer.

“That explains a lot,” he comments. “You don’t look at me like you look at him!”

I can’t help but chuckle. “No shit, Giovanni!” I exclaim. “You never had a chance with me.”

Giovanni imitates my chuckle. “Sadly, I did have hopes,” he cries with an exaggerated pout.

Chiara scoffs. She wants no part in this love triangle. “You know he can hear you, Gio!”

“I know, I know,” Giovanni assures, hands in the air like a guilty man. “Please take my apology, Russo ,” he says, addressing Maksim through the microphone.

Chiara gives him the condescending eye roll of exasperation.

My focus veers back to the headset’s pad.

The percussive sound of the gravel has changed to the muted crunches of crushed grass.

An unexpected melody slowly takes over the background noise of the forest. Chants, or maybe people talking in very low hums. Weird.

Strange. Dramatic . What kind of gathering did Maksim just enter?

It sounds like a goat is going to get sacrificed or something!

“Don’t let yourself be fooled, William,” a woman says. I recognize that voice. I can’t place it, but I don’t care either. Because that woman uttered William’s name.

William is here.

“She…?your liability.” The woman says words, but I can barely hear her through the microphone. Maksim needs to get closer. “The other lords think…?you should…?terminate.”

“What is she saying?” I ask.

No response from Maksim.

“Relax, Margaret.” William’s voice and nothing more, only distant mumbles.

“Who’s Margaret?” I urge Chiara.

Chiara stares into the abyss, her eyes wide. She frowns when she finally decides to look at me. “If you mean Margaret Rose, she’s a Syndicate lord.”

“Why are you frowning? What’s a Syndicate lord?”

“Something’s not right,” Chiara murmurs to herself. She switches to Giovanni. “Tell the Russo to come back.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask while Giovanni relays Chiara’s request.

“If there’s a Syndicate lord, then there are armed soldiers, and Maksim could be in danger,” Chiara explains.

“Oh, so now it’s dangerous!” I scoff. “Isn’t there a freaking Syndicate lord at every meeting?”

“No,” Chiara shakes her head repeatedly. “Barons like William, maybe, but never a lord.”

These ranks mean nothing and everything to me, but I have other things to ponder. I steal Giovanni’s headset from his head and make it mine.

“Maksim, please come back,” I plead.

Thumps. Grunts. More voices.

“The Bratva dog…” William’s voice.

Fuck. Shit. Maksim, no!

“Where is she?” William’s voice, again. “Where is Liliana?”

Fuck.

No.

Maksim!

I discard the headset and step out of the car, panic gripping my throat.

I run into the dark, into the woods, Giovanni screaming for me to come back.

Maksim.

I have but one idea in mind: Maksim.

Arms forcibly wrap themselves around me and hold me back. I am hurled to the side and crash-land on the ground.

“Liliana, there’s nothing we can do!” Giovanni yells. “We have to leave.”

I roll on my back to shoot arrows at him with my eyes. “What the fuck happened? How…” I can’t speak.

Giovanni picks me up from the ground and hauls me back toward the car. I struggle against his grip, kick and batter the air while I’m at it.

“I have to get to Maksim!” I cry. The worst has happened. The worst thing I imagined has fucking happened.

Giovanni spins me around and grips my face in his hand to make me look at him. “You go in there, they will kill you!”

Bang.

A gunshot.

“No!” I scream. I turn back, pace toward the woods, but Giovanni catches my wrist and pulls it with all his strength. “Maksim!” I shout, falling to my knees on the cold, hard ground, twisting my arm in Giovanni’s clutches, almost breaking it.

Bang. Bang. More gunshots, far in the distance.

I scream again, fearing worse than the worst. I picture Maksim’s lifeless body in the grass, blood dripping down his face, his dead eyes looking at me, accusing me. It’s my fault, I convince myself. I should have gone in there. William wants me , not Maksim!

“Maksim!” I call again, helpless.

Giovanni lifts me off the ground and drags me to the car. Chiara is pacing in circles outside like a panicked puma.

I let my instinct get the better of me.

Unaware of my moves, I anchor my feet, turn around, and cast a fierce punch at Giovanni’s face. This causes surprise. He lets me go, and I race to Chiara, like an enraged she-wolf, about to get her revenge.

“How could you not know this was a trap?” I shout at her, my voice breaking. Now I think it’s her fault.

I grab her by the shoulders and push her against the car. There’s fear in her brown eyes; I can see it in the darkness. Good. Because I am angry.

“I’m sorry,” she cries.

“Explain it to me!” I roar.

“I have no idea!” she roars back. “This was supposed to be a usual gathering! I don’t know why a Syndicate lord was here!”

“Fuck!” I yell, releasing her.

I need to punch something, so I go for the car’s window, but I am quickly stopped by the cocking of a gun to my head.

My blood freezes. Every bone in my body turns to stone.

“Get. In. The. Car,” Giovanni snarls, spitting blood and saliva.

I have no choice but to comply. Giovanni grips my shoulder and shoves me into the vehicle like a heavy piece of luggage. We drive off fast, like guilty robbers after a heist. I am silent, my face burning with rage or panic or extreme sadness.

Chiara turns to me, her eyes glazed with tears. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs.

I ignore her. She says something in Italian to Giovanni, who ignores her as well. He is darn angry too.

We rejoin the main road that leads to the capital.

The streetlights are pulsing to our right.

We are like a carousel of still frames rolling to create this furtive animation of a car fleeing into the night.

I only have eyes for the window. My heart is in my throat, and it pushes my tears out.

I burst into muffled cries in the backseat, hoping neither Chiara nor Giovanni will hear.

Eventually, the air loosens, and Giovanni holds out a hand that lands on my knee.

I am still sobbing. He says nothing. He just keeps his hand there.

A comforting gesture from a friend. Chiara’s sniffles match mine, and Giovanni keeps on driving.

We could almost enjoy the silence. My anger has dimmed and turned into a thick mist of distress.

I don’t believe Maksim is dead. Despite the gunshots I heard, I know he’s still alive.

Call me hopeless. Call me delusional, but I have to settle with that thought to survive.

I have to keep myself convinced that my Maksim still lives to keep on going.