A small shriek escaped me as Vissi bent low, shoving a shoulder into my midsection, and tossing me over his shoulder.
“You need to stay, do you hear me? This is not good,” he added, jaw tight. “Stay,” he said, dropping me down onto my feet. “And lock this door when I leave, got it?”
Not sure if I was more scared of being trapped in the room, or being shot outside of it, I just gave him a nod as he walked out of the freezer, then closed the door.
It wasn’t until he pounded on the door and said, “Lock it, Isabella,” that I moved forward to press the red lock button, sealing myself into what had always been my biggest fear. Small spaces.
Except, maybe, it wasn’t my biggest fear anymore.
Being claustrophobic paled in comparison to the idea of getting shot.
And that somehow paled in comparison to knowing these men that I knew and cared about—especially Primo—were out there in the street getting shot at.
What happened if something happened to them while I was trapped in the freezer?
No.
Nope.
I couldn’t let my mind go there.
My stomach twisted hard at even entertaining it for a second.
Because Primo and I had just finally come to a truce, had decided to both be adults about the situation, go into our marriage as partners, and see what we could make out of it.
I had a sneaking suspicion that it could be something truly great if I finally gave it a chance to be.
A good, loyal husband who provided and cared in his own way, a kid or two that we could dote all our love on.
It wasn’t exactly how I planned out my happily-ever-after, but I was starting to see that it could be a new version of that. An updated, mature version of it.
Shaking from my actual head to toe and not sure my legs would keep holding me, I moved back and dropped down on the chair, bringing my hands to my face, and taking slow, deep breaths.
I needed to stay calm.
It wasn’t going to do anyone any good for me to work myself into a complete panic attack.
Trying to keep my calm under such an over-the-top scenario, though, proved harder than I could have anticipated as what felt like hours passed. There was a time stamp on the little TV screen beside the door, but I was too shaken to get up and check it. And, quite frankly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know how much time had passed without Primo coming to look for me.
That couldn’t be good, right?
The freezer was completely insulated, the walls too thick to hear anything outside of, so I was stuck in there with nothing but my measured breaths to keep me company. And drive me, little by little, insane.
I almost breathed myself completely numb with all the extra oxygen when I saw a shadowy figure move into the camera feed.
My heart flew into my throat when it didn’t come right over toward the door, look at the camera, and show me the face of the man I’d married through force, but was actively choosing to start a real relationship with.
Was it someone else?
Vissi? Dawson? Dulles? Terzo?
No.
No, it didn’t fit this guy with his back to the camera.
It looked like Primo.
But if it was Primo, why wasn’t he coming over to tell me it was safe to come out? Why wasn’t he bringing me upstairs to make good on that promise he’d made earlier?
Why was I still in a box he knew I hated?
Taking another breath, I moved closer to the camera, watching it, wishing the room outside the freezer was just a little bit brighter.
But then the figured turned.
Turned.
And dropped to his knees.
And right before he brought his hands up to cover his face, I saw it was him.
Primo.
And something was really, really freaking wrong.
My hand slammed into the lock release.
I pushed hard against the door, then flew over toward Primo, dropping down in front of him. Both of my hands reached out, framing his neck.
“What’s the matter? What happened?” I asked, feeling the grief just pouring off of him. “Vissi?” I asked, stomach clenching at the idea that the man who’d risked himself to get me safe might not have made it. “Dawson? Dulles?” I went on, heart crushing at the idea of the men who’d been so nice to me from the beginning no longer being around. “Terzo,” I said, somehow knowing it even before the name left my lips. “Was it Terzo?” I asked, then watched as Primo’s body folded more inward on itself. “Oh, Primo,” I said, feeling the tears filling my eyes.
Did I have the same bond with Terzo as I had with Dawson and Dulles? No. But it was still Primo’s brother.
My arms reached for my husband, pulling him against me, holding him as he tried to come to terms with the loss.