Home > 365 Days (365 days # 1)(40)

365 Days (365 days # 1)(40)
Author: Blanka Lipinska

I could hear his words, but my eyes were fixed on Massimo. Nothing else mattered. He was here—alive and well!

 

* * *

 


“Can you hear me, Laura?” I felt someone raising my eyelids. “Don’t do this to me or he’ll kill me.”

I opened my eyes slowly. I was lying on the rug, with Domenico nervously looking down at me.

“Thank God,” he said as I started reacting.

“What happened?” I croaked, disoriented.

“You lost consciousness again. It’s good I had the pills in the drawer. Are you feeling well?”

“Where’s Massimo? I want to see him now!” I cried, trying to push myself up. “You said you’ll take me to him anytime I want. Well, I want it right now.”

Domenico studied me, as if searching for an answer to my question.

“I can’t,” he breathed. “I don’t know what happened, but something went terribly wrong. Remember, Laura—the media doesn’t tell the whole story. But you have to go back to Poland today. These are Massimo’s orders. It’s for your own safety. The car is already waiting. You have your apartment ready in Warsaw and an account in the Virgin Islands. Use the money however you want.”

I stared at him, terrified, unable to believe him. He went on.

“All the documents, credit cards, and keys have been packed. A driver will pick you up and drive you to your new place. You have a car in the garage, and all your things will be sent from Sicily to Warsaw, according to your guidelines—”

“Is he alive?” I cut in. “Tell me, Domenico, or I’ll lose it.”

The young Italian went silent then, thinking.

“He’s moving, that’s for sure. Mario, his consigliere, is with him. So there’s a chance he’s alive.”

“What do you mean moving?” I asked, frowning. “Can they both be…” I trailed off, afraid of voicing the word “dead.”

“Don Massimo has a transmitter implanted into the inside of his left hand. A small chip, just like yours,” he said, touching my left bicep. “We know where he is at all times.”

For a moment I got lost in thought, absently fingering the little tube in my arm.

“So what is this, really?” I asked, feeling the anger rising in me again. “A contraceptive implant or a transmitter?”

Domenico didn’t reply, as if he just realized I had no idea what I’d been implanted with. He only sighed heavily and pushed himself to his feet, pulling me with him.

“You’ll take a public plane. It’ll be safer this way. Now get moving. We have to go,” he said, lugging my suitcases from the closet. “The less you know, the better, Laura.”

Then he turned his back on me and disappeared behind the door.

For a long while I kept still, thinking about all the things I had heard. Despite the fury I was feeling, I was grateful to Massimo for taking care of everything. The thought that I might never see him again, that he might never touch me again, made my eyes tear up. The black thoughts soon lost the battle with hope, though, and I felt sure that he was alive. I knew I’d come back here one day. I packed my things, and an hour later, I was already on the plane. Domenico stayed in the mansion. He said he couldn’t go with me. I was alone again.

The flight was short, even with the transfer in Milan. I don’t know if it was the pills the young Italian had given me, or the apathy I descended into, but my fear of flying vanished. Leaving the terminal, I noticed a man holding a card with my name on it.

“I’m Laura Biel,” I said in English. The power of habit.

“Good day. My name is Sebastian,” the man said, and I grimaced, hearing Polish.

A couple of weeks ago I would have given everything to be able to talk in Polish with anyone, but now it only reminded me where I was and what had happened. My nightmare turned fairy tale had ended, and I was back at square one. There was a black Mercedes S-class parked by the entrance. Sebastian walked over to the car and opened the back door for me. We drove off.

It was September and the air was getting cold and smelled of the fall. I slid the window down and inhaled it. I don’t think I had ever felt this bad in my entire life. The sadness and despair made even the hair on my head ache, and any reason was good to drown in tears anew. I didn’t want to see anyone, talk to anyone, eat… or live.

We left the airport behind and the car headed toward the center of town. Oh God, not downtown… When we turned toward the district of Mokotów, I felt relieved. The car entered a closed-off residential estate and parked next to a low apartment building. The driver got out and opened the door for me, passing me my hand luggage. For a while I sat, rummaging through it, until I found an envelope labeled Home. There were keys there, as well as an address.

“I’ll bring your bags upstairs and the car with the rest should be here anytime now,” Sebastian said, offering me a hand.

I stepped out and headed to the door. When I reached it, another car stopped by the building. The driver exited and started to remove my things from the car.

I entered the hall and went to the reception, where a young man was waiting.

“Hello, I’m Laura Biel.”

“Welcome. I’m glad you’ve arrived. Your apartment is ready. It’s on the fourth floor, fifth door on the left. Would you like me to help you with the bags?”

“No, thanks. The driver will manage.”

“See you, then!” the boy called out as I left, sending me a wide grin.

A moment later, I was in the elevator, going up to the top floor. I pushed the key into the lock with the number I had found in the envelope and entered the apartment. The first thing I noticed was a beautiful living room with windows spanning all the way up to the next floor. Everything was dark and modern—I could feel Massimo’s hand in the decor.

The drivers brought me my things and disappeared, leaving me completely alone. The apartment was elegant and cozy. A large part of the living room was occupied by a black corner sofa made of soft Alcantara, with a white, fluffy rug laid out beneath it. There was a glass coffee table next to it, and the wall had a huge flat-screen TV on it. Next to that, there was the entrance to the bedroom, which housed a large fireplace surrounded with copper plates. As I entered deeper into the room, I saw a modern bed with LED lighting—it looked as if it was levitating. There was also a door to the closet and a bathroom with an enormous bathtub.

I went back to the living room and switched on the TV. The news channel. I opened my hand luggage and sat down on the rug, leafing through all the envelopes. Credit cards, documents, information. The last one contained a car key with three letters on it: BMW. To my surprise, I discovered that I was actually the owner of both the apartment and the car. After reading some more papers, I also found out that the seven-digit bank account was also mine. Why would I want all that if he wasn’t with me, though? Was this his way of making those few weeks up to me? The way I felt now, I should have paid him for all the wonderful moments.

When I was finished with unpacking my bags, it was already evening. I was in no mood to stay here on my own. I took my phone, the car documents, and key, and took the elevator to the garage. I found the parking spot with the same number as my new apartment and discovered it was occupied by a large white SUV. I slid the key into its slot, and the headlights flared. He couldn’t find anything safer and more ostentatious, I thought, clambering up to the bright leather interior. I pressed start and drove across the garage, looking for the exit.

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