Swinging my legs off the bed, I grab a robe from the back of the doorand wrap it around my body.
I swipe my phone up from where it’s charging and hit Eli’s number.
“Angel?”
“Are you home?”
“No, I just finished. The traffickers are officially all gone. I’ll be home in an hour.”
“Okay.” I can’t stop the wobble to my voice.
“Why did you think I was home, Em?”
I hesitate, then sigh. “I heard something.”
“Something?”
“I think someone is in the house,” I tell him, whimpering slightly.
“Angel.” His voice wavers, fear clearly gripping him. “I want you to lock the bedroom door, barricade it if you have to, and wait for me to get home. Let me check the cameras.”
I don’t want to investigate for myself. But if it’s not Eli, Graham is somewhere unprotected in the house. That knowledge forces me to slowly open the bedroom door and poke my head out, looking left and right.
“Angel, why did it sound like you just opened the door?”
I don’t answer, but I know he can hear the labouring of my breath.
"Angel." His tone is biting. "You need to stay put.Please." A whispered plea.
I should listen. But instead, I slip the phone into my pocket, leaving the call on.
The noises grow louder downstairs.
My throat dries.
Each step down—closer—has my pulse spiking to a dangerous level. Shivers run up and down my spine.
Whoever is here is clearly in the kitchen. The sound of the footsteps and clattering, as if they're searching for something, grows louder the closer I get.
In the hall, I grab an umbrella to use as a weapon—just in case. I wish I had time to get to Eli’s interrogation room and grab something that would actually help me, but I don’t want to give them time to realise I’m awake.
Just as I get inside the kitchen doorway, the intruder speaks.
“Gatto stupido,1” they hiss. I recognise the voice at the same moment I see her.
Gia.
She looks exactly as I remember her—dark, cropped hair, frown lines on either side of her mouth and eyes. Eyes that have always been so dark they’re almost black. She’s dressed in a black hoodie and joggers, hiding the bulky muscles I know are underneath. Gia was never dainty.
She’s standing on the other side of the table, a knife waving in one hand, while Graham faces her, snarling. I know cats don’t snarl. But that’s the only way I can explain the venomous noise coming from his tiny throat.
The floorboard beneath me creaks, which snaps Gia’s attention to me.
“Emily,” she grouses. “Tell your cat to stand down.”
I cross my arms in front of me, narrowing my eyes. “I think he’s doing a good job. Why are you breaking into my house?” Now is not the time to address that I just admitted to Eli’s house being mine too.
Gia scowls, her fingers tightening around the hilt of the blade. One that comes from our knife stand.“Sono qui per riportarti a casa.2”