COLD (Ruthless Player)

LONDON 1987

“Cosa dicono le autorità?” (What are the authorities saying?) The older man asked in quick Italian, it wasn't phrased as a question, more like an order. He was a man who was used to giving orders and expecting nothing less than obedience.

He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, his age somewhere between early forties and late fifties. His suit and long coat were all black. His equally dark fedora shrouded half his face in shadows.

The other man had just come back from checking the accident scene, where the cops were busy conducting their investigation.

Was the opposite of his boss, two decades or so younger, his height not more than 5 feet 9, maybe 5'10", he answered the question in English.

“They are saying the accident was caused by brake failure, Sofia and one of the kids are dead. The other child has been taken to the hospital by the paramedics.”

The older man nodded with satisfaction; it was for the best that she died before he could do the deed himself. She had gotten what she deserved in the end.

The child who died with her could have made a good capo; nowadays, there aren't good enforcers. He could have taught him everything and made him into a fearsome man.

But no worries, he had his heir. The surviving child who would inherit everything, including his rightful place as Don when his time came, and he was dead, his legacy would live on.

“Santorini, make preparations and get the baby from the hospital, call the pilot and order him to refuel tonight. We leave in the morning.”

“Sì, Don, mi occuperò di tutto.” (Yes, Don, I'll take care of everything.)

ANDREA

Present Day

I walked out of the subway with a pep in my step, the cold wind of early February stinging my cheeks. I didn't mind the cold or the wind as I usually do. I felt free, unburdened from the stress that had been weighing down on me for months.

As exhausted as I was, I didn't feel tired. There was something freeing about paying off your debt. My real estate agent finally came through for me last week. The sale of the house I inherited from my late parents went better than I expected.

I was able to pay off all of my debts. My student loans—and most importantly—I have paid off my parents' debt. I don't even feel bad that I don't have much money left over from selling my house.

Only sadness that I couldn't keep it. It was the house I grew up in, where I had lived up until my college years. I had beautiful memories in that house. But I had to give it up. I couldn't keep it, not when I had debts to pay for. In the end, I put it up for sale.

Now I'm back in New York, ready for the weekdays ahead. The neon sign from the neighborhood grocery store reminded me that I needed to pick up a couple of things.

Five minutes later, I walked down the aisle, picking up a few things: milk, bread, fruit, some eggs, a bottle of wine, and some instant noodles before I decided to check out.

“Card or cash?” the cashier, a man in his late forties, asked, after scanning the contents of my basket.

“Card,” I said as I slid it into the reader, my eyes flicking up to the name tag pinned to his shirt that read “Peter.”

“Receipt?” he asked.

“Yes. Please.” He handed me both my card and the receipt. I took it, picked up the grocery bag, and offered a polite smile I'd perfected over the years, and turned to leave.

My phone vibrated inside my bag. I pushed through the glass doors and stepped outside before I slipped my hands and grabbed the phone, still ringing.

My screen lights up with the caller's name, Juliet. It's a video call. A knot deep inside me loosened with relief when I realized it wasn't that dreadful number.

“Hello, Jules.” Her face flashed on the screen of my phone. Was she still working on weekends?

“Andrea.” Juliet's voice came through hurried and urgent. “Can you please resend the files with the details of the magazine shoot this week. I need to send it for an editorial, but I can't seem to find it.”

“Of course, but I don't have my laptop. I'm at the grocery store, just give me fifteen…ten minutes, and I'll send it to you,” I said as I glanced down the street. Feet scuffed somewhere behind me, and I tensed, my grip tightened on my phone.

“Alright, I'll wait. Please send them as soon as you get home.”

“I will, I'm on my way there,” I replied.

“Thank you, Andrea.” The screen went blank as the call ended before I could reply. I dropped the phone inside my bag and hastened my pace.

The street was mostly empty, and the sidewalk stretched ahead of me, slightly wet and slippery from the snow. I was almost halfway down the block when I felt it.

A prickling sensation at the back of my neck that made goosebumps spread over my arms and sent my heart skipping.

My stomach knotted in on itself. I let my bag slip from my hand and quickly dropped down to pick it up. Turning slightly, pretending to carry the bag, when in reality I was just checking to see if I would see him.

An older man was walking his dog. Two women walk closely together, chatting, their voices low. A couple holding hands. There was nothing unusual. Just normal people going about their regular days.

And yet, the feeling didn’t go away. My pulse hammered harder as I resumed walking. Every sound sharpened: the distant sound of a dog barking, the scrape of shoes on concrete, the soft giggles of the women behind me.

I tightened my hold on the bag, nails digging into the paper. He's not here; he doesn't know my new address. Besides, he has no reason to look for me anymore.

With that, though I inhaled and then exhaled, my breathing evened out, and just then I heard footsteps behind me.

I tensed, my spine stiffened, my heart hammering, loud enough it was deafening.

Don’t run, don't run, Andrea, I repeated. A silent mantra.

The footsteps were getting louder. My breath hitched. But I kept moving, resisting the urge to look over my shoulder again. I opened my bag and grabbed my phone.

Dialing 911, my thumb hovering over the call button. A sense of relief hit me as my building finally came into view.

A two-storey apartment building with peeling paint and thin, cracked walls that stretched like a web, and yet I've never been happier to see it than at this moment.

Feeling a bit brave now that I'm within reach of my home. I took a leap and stopped walking, turning around to check who it was.

There was no one. Just a couple of people going about their night, none of them were heading my way.

I blinked, confused. Where did they go? I couldn't have imagined the last couple of minutes, right? I stayed like that, watching the way I'd come back and wondering what the hell just happened.

Confused, my guard still up, I finally hurried towards my apartment, my keys already clutched between clammy fingers.

I unlocked the door, slipped inside, and locked it behind me. I added the bolt. I leaned against the door as relief flooded my insides.

I stood there for several seconds, legs weak, heart beating steadily back to its normal rhythm. When I finally moved again, my body had stopped trembling, and my legs were strong.

I dropped the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and headed straight to my room.

My place was cozy and cute, a two-bedroom apartment with an open-plan kitchen.

The place is perfect for me, also with my job at Mont's bridal's I can afford it. I'm thinking of getting a roommate so we can share expenses.

“Get it together, Andrea,” I whispered to myself. I grabbed my laptop, fingers still a bit clammy as I typed in my password.

I quickly selected the files, attached them to an email to Jules, and hit send.

Done. I sighed and flopped back on my bed. I hated days like this. I hated how easily the past could reach out and grab me; I especially hated how any little sound could rattle me.

I should probably unpack my groceries, but that's the last thing I want to do. What I need is a hot shower to reset myself. After a quick hot shower, I dressed up in my shorts and an oversized shirt.

I padded into my kitchen, my hair up in a messy bun. I first unpacked the groceries, putting everything in its rightful place, and then I quickly threw together a cheese sandwich and poured myself a full glass of wine before finally settling into the couch.

I picked at my sandwich; it's obvious I don't have an appetite. I pushed the plate away, gulped down my wine, feeling it warmed my insides.

I refilled my glass and sat back with a glass of wine in one hand and the remote control in the other. I turned on the TV. However, my mind wasn't on the show.

For some reason, I couldn't shake off what happened earlier. I could have sworn someone was directly behind me. How did they suddenly disappear? Unless I imagined the whole thing.

I threw my head back and gulped down the rest of my wine. Just for the sake of my sanity, I double-checked the locks on my door and windows before I settled back on the couch.

A loud crashing sound and the voices of several people were what startled me awake. I must have drifted off while I was watching earlier.

My heart beat a staccato when I saw him and his men. I was shocked into momentary immobility; there's no way I'm seeing things right.

He's not here, he's not here.

But as my brain finally kicks into gear, everything from earlier finally makes perfect sense. I jerked up from my lying position and scrambled away from the crazy man who had robbed me of my peace of mind and dared to invade my home.

Wondering how he found out about my place, and also found his way into my apartment without warning.

“Hello Baby!”