Chapter 97: Chapter 97

ANGELIC...

I wake up, stretch my hand to the side and realize I'm alone in bed. My body protests, sore all over. And may God forgive me for all the blasphemies that I commit, but I cannot repent.

I'm getting up. I grab my clothes from the floor, but they turned into unusable rags last night. I see my suitcase is near the door, so I pick it up and open it on the bed. I choose jeans and a T-shirt so as not to show the reddish marks on my skin.

Once dressed, I decide to leave the room. Yolanda's house always has the windows and doors closed, which isn't surprising since she lives in the Bronx, but it's uncomfortable. The hallways seem dark.

I descend the stairs, scanning the room with my eyes. There's a man with a gun in the doorway, and he's waving at me, like he's not ready for war when I barely open my eyes. However, I answer.

This world is crazy.

I let myself be guided by the smell of coffee coming out of the kitchen. I immediately miss the whipped cream coffee that only one coffee shop in the whole country can pull off perfectly. But I know that's just a spoiled girl's whim, so I'm sticking to the traditional cafe.

I find Yolanda in the kitchen. She is sitting on one of the stools on the marble counters. In front of her are some papers, and Yolanda reads them while smoking a cigarette. She is the perfect demonstration of the Mexican woman, especially with the feline print dress she wears.

"Hello," I said.

- Hello - she answers looking at me over her glasses - This is for you - she nods towards the counter and then I notice a flower arrangement.

I reach out, gently touching the white roses. They remind me of the garden at home and the way Elliot loved to take care of plants. Maybe he'll teach the new baby something since he didn't have time to do it with me.

- He left it for me? I ask, but I might as well say.

When I look up at Yolanda, I find a half smile on her lips. A smirk, as if she was keeping a secret.

- Did you sleep well? she asks as she gets up and walks over to the coffee pot.

Immediately I feel the blood rush to my neck and cheeks, and I know I'm flushed. I go back to looking at the roses, because I know they won't ask me awkward questions.

- Yeah. Thanks for the hospitality - I say, anyway.

She refills her cup of coffee, and when she returns to the counter, there is no more dialogue. Maybe it's because of situations like this that LeBlanc asked me to shut up.

I also head for the coffee maker. A cup is already placed next to it, as if waiting for me, and I fill it. I take the first sip of coffee, knowing that I can't throw it away if I don't like it. And to my relief, it's delicious.

As I savor the hot, strong coffee, I hear a noise coming from outside, like someone knocking on the iron door, which of course is already very loud. Part of me knows it's nothing to worry about, but still, I watch Yolanda. She stares at me, just as focused.

The cup stops in the air, between the counter and his lips when we hear the living room door open, then hasty footsteps cross the house.

- Boss – the voice comes even before the man. Yolanda stands, waiting for the person to enter the kitchen. And when he arrives, he's a little out of breath, and armed, for a change – They're trying to break into the house – the man informs.

- Trying?

- They haven't attacked yet, but they are unlikely to be disarmed.

"Let's go out the back," she said, pointing at me. As if they have a secret code of conduct, the man takes off the sweatshirt he's wearing and throws it at Yolanda. She catches it in the air and hands it to me – Cover your hair.

I don't question it, because I don't think I have enough votes to do it. I pass the sweatshirt over my hair. Yolanda heads for the kitchen exit and I follow her. Meanwhile, the man who warned us remains at the kitchen door.

First, we go through a hallway that leads to the laundry room. We come across an iron door and I wonder how reinforced this house is. Yolanda opens the door, which leads to a narrow staircase, and gestures for me to go first. I start down the stairs, and Yolanda turns around one last time before following me. It's almost impossible to see in the dark, so we grope the walls for guidance.

We heard a bang, followed by another. My heart pounds against my throat and my hands shake as I try to place the sound. Yolanda's footsteps stop, and that makes me sure there were two knocks.

- Shit ! – she swears.

I almost trip over my feet as my legs go limp. Yolanda pats me on the shoulder, urging me to keep going down. Right now, I'm driven only by the adrenaline flowing through my blood. I finish the steps, finding what I assume is another door. I fumble around until I find the handle, and when I find it, I turn and push.

I blink a few times to get used to the recent light. The exit from Yolanda's house gives access to the old factory. For a brief moment, I feel relieved that we made it through.

If we take one more minute...

- The car is over there – Yolanda points across the street to where the SUV is parked. The black car, probably armored, has tinted windows that do not open the view of the interior.

We run to the car, and proximity lets me know it's already on. Meanwhile, I wonder how prepared Yolanda was for this moment. Just yesterday, that car was in your driveway. Today it is outside, as if prepared for a sudden escape.

Yolanda opens the back door, and then I can see the driver. His size and the way his body looks too big, even in an SUV, looks familiar to me. I get in, and as I sit in the back seat, I look at the man in the rear view mirror. I search my mind, now troubled, and remember Dionísio, the man from the workshop. Yolanda comes in and sits next to me. As she closes the door, Dionísio starts the car.

- It would happen, sooner or later – said Dionísio. His hard expression and pursed lips tell me he is very upset. And if I could guess, I'd say he's already warned about it and he hasn't been heard - There's been someone playing with the Bronx for a few days now, and we don't know why.

"I think I know what the reason is," Yolanda says.

A cell phone starts vibrating, and I feel like I'm in my pockets until I remember that I left absolutely everything at Yolanda's. For the third time in my life, I leave with only the clothes on my back. It's Yolanda's cell phone vibrating, and she answers it after verifying the caller ID.

- What happened? – I hear the person on the other side asking, without joking.

The White.

- They broke into my house. Where do you want me to take her?

This sentence makes me feel like a commodity. Like I was something LeBlanc that Yolanda promised to take care of and deliver. But I'm so relieved to have walked out of his house without a scratch that I almost don't care. Almost.

- At the airport - I hear him answer, then hang up.

- At the airport – said Yolanda, now in Dionísio.

And again, I find myself surprised by the secret code. They didn't even say the name of the airport, and since New York is far from having a single airport, it's surprising.

And if it wasn't for LeBlanc, I could say we were going to buy a plane ticket and fly to another country. But that being him, I'm sure the plan involves something more far-fetched.

I lay my head against the back of the seat, pulling off the sweatshirt covering my hair. My body is still tense though, and I force myself to look out at the city that never sleeps and pay attention to something other than the adrenaline. The streets are always busy, the sun is shining on top of the skyscrapers, people are walking on the sidewalks. All is well. I'm doing well.

Dionísio accelerates, engages in streets that, until then, were unknown to me. Not that I've braved the city in my boring life. It flies to John F. Kennedy International Airport - or JFK for short. Dionísio does not go to the conventional parking lot. He takes us to the side doors where the private planes are.

The entrance doors are opened as soon as the car is identified. We pass them and Dionísio heads for the only jet on the runway. The plane is black and shiny, however, the trim details are white around the door and windows. The staircase is already decided, proof that the takeoff will not be long.

When the car stops a few feet from the jet, I see LeBlanc get off the jet. He wears a tailored gray suit with a black shirt and no tie. My heart beats faster, this time with the anticipation and anticipation of smelling his scent, the firmness of his chest as he holds me, his voice...

I just want to feel safe again.

LeBlanc approaches the car, then opens my door. I rush over, practically throwing myself into his arms before my feet even hit the ground. His arms hold me, pressing me to his chest, and his scent does not disappoint my expectations. LeBlanc smells of bath, refinement and finesse. His cologne is not overdone, but, at the same time, striking. And in addition to the smell of your own body, your clothes also have their own characteristics. All its scents inspire wealth.

- Are you OK? he asks, kissing the top of my head. This gesture, perhaps more than the question itself, almost makes me think he cares about someone other than himself.

"I'm almost getting used to it", I joke.

I'm far from getting used to it.

Yolanda also gets out of the car, walking until she catches up with us.

"Thank you, Yolanda," LeBlanc said.

I know I could drop it. It would be appropriate. However, as his arms remain around me, I dare not move away.

"You know you're going to pay me for this," Yolanda replies.

I don't see it, but I think LeBlanc answered with his hand.

- See you soon - he says, and it's his subtle way of saying goodbye.

He changes position, wrapping an arm around my waist, guiding me towards the jet. I turn around, nodding to Yolanda and Dionysus. I really don't know when I will see them again. Under these circumstances, I hope never again.

- Thank you for the flowers - I said regretting that I left behind all the flowers I had in my entire life.

- Not so.

We climb the steps of the plane. The interior, as expected for a good Aaron, is as wacky as the exterior. The lightweight leather seats, plush carpeting and over-the-top space are enough to make a home.

He puts a hand on the base of my waist, guiding us to the benches furthest from the command cabin. Elliot once said that the pilot and co-pilot can hear everything that is said in the seats closest to the hanger. I never knew if he was lying, but at this point I never knew Elliot's many lies.

We sat on opposite chairs, facing each other. In this position, I would like to look my best, not just wake up and get dressed in the most comfortable outfit I can find.

- You're going to leave me flowers every day, just because you stole my virginity? I ask.

LeBlanc smiled.

- When someone gives you something, it does not characterize theft.

The stewardess leaves the cabin, heading for the closing door. I'm almost grateful that LeBlanc has her back to her, because the woman is perfectly groomed and made up. However, I force myself to toss that thought into the nearest trash can.

It's not mine.

And talk about what's not mine...

- I can ask a question ? – I lean forward – I heard that the Mares Hotel had been bombed. What happened to Vicenzo?

God knows I don't care about the Mares family. I didn't mind before, when Elliot insisted on joining the family. And after the college episode, I doubt I'll be able to hear that last name without throwing up. However, I can't help but remember LeBlanc's promise – that Vicenzo would never hurt me again.

- Your curiosity piques me.

- He wasn't looking for me anymore - I shrug my shoulders - It's a relief, of course, but...

I want to know if you have something to do with it.

- Don't wait for him to look for you. He won't,” LeBlanc said, making a point of looking me in the eye. I stare at my feet, because making eye contact isn't my strong point, at least not when my head is full of recent doubts and fears.

- He is alive? - My question comes out lower than expected.

- Yes - his tone of voice demonstrates a feeling similar to offense.

- And he... - I start, but I don't finish. I don't want to know anything about Vicenzo's life. That does not bother me. And if LeBlanc was responsible for taking it away from me, I'm glad. I look at him again – Where are we going?