But he has to survive this first. We both do.
Bruno kisses me one more time and then slips out of the apartment, leaving me here with Rafaela and Giovanni, the two most unlikely companions for this situation. Rafaela comes up behind me and takes my arm, giving it an encouraging squeeze.
“Come on, chica. Let’s have some of that cocoa and try to just relax,” she suggests, holding up the box of fancy dark chocolate cocoa I brought as a sort of weak apology for getting Rafaela tangled up in this mess. Though, to be honest, her involvement with Nico probably would have made her a target at one point or another anyway. For such a big metropolitan city, New York is starting to feel like a claustrophobic little town. And we’re all snagged in the same dangerous web.
“Giovanni, you want some?” Rafaela asks. He looks stoically amused for a moment, and then gives a shrug.
“Sure,” he answers flatly.
“Claro,” she replies, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as we go into the kitchen. She heats up some milk on the stove while I stare blankly at the tile floor, trying to remain as calm as possible despite the nervous energy bubbling in my veins.
“Ugh, I wish I could just turn my brain off for a while,” I murmur, closing my eyes.
“I know what you mean,” she says. “It’s hard not to think of the worst-case scenario. But jumping to conclusions when you don’t know anything for sure only adds unnecessary stress.”
“Are you counseling me right now?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
She smiles. “If that’s what you need. But if I were your real therapist, I wouldn’t do this.”
She reaches up to take down a bottle of whiskey from a cabinet, pouring about half a shot into the cocoa mug before mixing in the hot milk and cocoa mix. Then she hands it to me.
“Wow, if I could get boozy cocoa at the therapist I might actually go,” I tease, blowing gently on the mug to cool it down.
“Well, whatever it takes, I guess,” Rafaela says. Then she calls out, “Giovanni, do you want some super special deluxe cocoa?”
Giovanni walks into the kitchen with a curious look on his face, having to tilt his head slightly walking through the doorway because he’s so tall. When he sees the bottle of whiskey on the counter his face breaks into a surprisingly pleasant smile. He nods. “Si, a little bit.”
“You got it,” she answers, pouring his concoction and handing it over. She turns to me and says, “Okay. So, let’s play therapist. Tell me what you’re feeling right now.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, I don’t know, Raf. I don’t think I want to talk right now.”
She shakes her head and puts a hand on her hip. “Dale, ahora. It’ll help, I promise.”
“Fine,” I sigh, gently swirling the contents of my mug. “Well, first of all, I’m terrified that something bad is going to happen to Bruno. I know this is some deep shit we’re all in, and I’m afraid that it’s at least partly my fault.”
“Mhm, and why is that?”
“Well, because of the stuff with my dad. And the shop. And now Bruno is back and we found each other but once again I’m in trouble and he has to save me and— ugh, I really hate this,” I confess.
“And you’re feeling worried about him, why?”
“Geez, you’re relentless, you know that?” I groan. Rafaela shrugs, waiting patiently for me to keep going. “Okay. I’m upset because I care about him. A lot. In fact, I think I might be falling in love with him all over again. And you know me—that’s totally not normal for me. I don’t just fall head over heels and lose my mind like this. I’m ambitious. I have a lot of responsibilities to take care of and I don’t usually let my feelings get in the way. But with Bruno, it’s impossible. I can’t just ignore how I feel. It’s too real and at the same time it feels like a dream, and now with everything going on, I’m just so afraid that I’ll lose it all.”
“I feel the same way about Nico,” Rafaela agrees, taking a sip of her cocoa. “Here I was, fresh out of Harlem and ready to make something of myself. I’m gonna be a doctor. I’m gonna help people. I have to get perfect grades and work so hard and I can’t lose focus but there he is: the man I can’t help but fall in love with. And he’s a distraction. He takes up all the space in my mind where I should be keeping information for my exams and my dissertation and stuff. Instead of just dreaming about having my own clinic and my own fancy office with a skyscraper view, I’m thinking about how cool it’ll be to grow old with him. I’m thinking about marriage and babies and seeing the world together. I want all of it, my career and my love, and it looked like I was gonna make it happen. But now… I don’t know anything. I’m scared, too, Serena.”
“It is impossible to turn away from love when it burns so brightly and beautifully that it nearly hurts to look with your own eyes upon it. We are eternally trying to get as close to the fire as we can in the hopes of warming our hearts, but the closer we step, the more dangerous the flames become. Love will always be a dance between too close and not close enough, but it is a dance that makes life worth living. ‘If good, why this effect: bitter, mortal? If bad, then why is every suffering sweet?’” Giovanni says suddenly, his deep voice thick with emotion.
Rafaela and I stare at him wide-eyed, surprised at such a lyrical outburst from the most unsuspecting of speakers. “Whoa,” she murmurs.
Giovanni shrugs and downs the rest of his spiked cocoa in one go. “I read a lot of Petrarch. These security jobs get very boring sometimes. The mind needs stimulation.”
“You’re going to make some girl very happy someday,” I comment, shaking my head in awe.
Giovanni grins, almost looking bashful for a moment. “Someday maybe, but for now my heart belongs to the most beautiful one of all: Italia.”
“Speaking of Italy, I could really go for some pasta right now,” Rafaela says, patting her stomach with a pitiful expression. “Serena, you want to help me get some dinner started? We may be on lockdown here but we still gotta eat.”
“Sure,” I answer, and the two of us start taking out ingredients for spaghetti while Giovanni pulls a small book from his jacket pocket and sits on a bar stool reading silently. “Raf, do you have a pasta strainer anywhere?” I ask.
“Oh yeah, we got a new one the other day. It’s still in the foyer in a shopping bag if you want to go grab it,” she says, chopping tomatoes at the counter.
I walk into the entranceway of the apartment to look for the bag, glancing at the door to make triple-sure it’s locked and deadbolted while I’m at it. Just as I look over at the door, something dark passes by the peephole and my blood runs cold.
Surely it’s just one of Raf’s neighbors coming home from work or something. Or just a trick of the eye. Nothing to worry about. But just in case, I step closer and look through the peephole. There’s another flash of black and then the door rattles with a loud thump from the other side. I fall backward with a cry, and Giovanni comes running.