Capitolo IV

The nurse was right about me needing to stay in bed. My head spun the moment my feet carried my weight. If it wasn't for the nurse helping me stand, I would've fallen. My bathroom break was liberating to say the least and when the blonde nurse helped me back up on my bed, she told me to call for assistance if I needed to use the restroom again.

I was lying in bed, alone, the sun visibly setting on the horizon from my window when Chase's head peeked from the door. He looked thinner than I remembered and his eyes were rimmed with dark circles. It was strange. Chase Clifford might just be one of the busiest men in the world but I've never seen him this tired before. My publicist and personal everything walked in the room, wearing slacks and a red designer sweater. His eyes instantly lifted when he saw me.

"Hey," he greets, sitting on the chair beside my bed. I almost jump off the worn out mattress and hug Chase. Everything was strange and weird when I woke up. Although I feel comfortable and safe with Lucas, I needed someone—like Chase—whom I know and remember.

"Chase," I called, reaching out my arms for us to embrace. And we did, not caring that my bones were hurting or that my oxygen was receding from the tightness of our hug. A tear escaped.

"Right now I'm bloody doubting if this is really you. You're never known for your hugs," he joked when we pulled away. I was glad that Chase was still capable of joking. "Lucas called," he continued. "He told me about your issue."

"Forgetting what went down last week is hardly an issue, Chase. It's a crisis."

"At least sassy Caty's still intact," he smirked, crossing his legs. "I'm sorry I hadn't visited earlier. A lot is happening without you. The business needs to roll despite your absence."

"My absence? Why, where's father?"

Chase hesitated for a moment. His joyful stare slowly went heavy with frustration and sorrow. "Gian has been unavailable recently."

"Unavailable how?" My brows furrow with concern. My brain was telling me—convincing me—that my father is fine. He's Gian Santelli, the greatest, most notorious man in the Mob if it wasn't for his mistake. But my guts were telling me otherwise.

"His vices caught up to him," Chase started and I buckled for the worse. "His lungs and liver are failing. Suffered two heart attacks and is still unconscious as we speak."

All I could do was gulp as I took everything in. My father, unconscious and alone and I'm healing from whatever disaster I've been through. Everything was falling apart, I can tell. If only I have my memories back, I know I can fix it. Chase tells me that my father's doctor, Cody, started treating him yesterday despite the risks. But it was worth the shot rather than waiting for him to wake up which might be crucial. Chase also tells me to prepare for the worst. I could prepare, yes. But he's my father and no matter what preparation I do, it will still be painful. And I'm used to pain, it's just that I'm not really a fan.

"And how are you?" Chase asked, dragging the conversation away from my father.

"Everything hurts like fuck," I admitted, sighing. "But it's bearable."

"Feel the pain until it pains no more," Chase said. My father's old mantra was making me a little homesick. Like I was begging for something I know. "And Lucas?"

"What about him?"

"Do you remember him? Or is your memory of him flushed down the drain as well?"

"Flushed." I pursed my lips together. "But he told me everything I needed to know. He's my fiancé, which is fucking crazy. He keeps on blaming himself as to why I'm here."

Chase wasn't paying attention. Instead, he seemed distracted, focused on something else.

"Chase," I called and he shook his head as his focus returned. "Where did you go just now?"

He drags his hand frustratingly towards his hair. "I'm sorry. It's just that everything is a mess. I can't balance the meetings and the transaction and the hundred damn mails from clients and their complaints. Your rehabilitation is—"

"Chase," I stopped him. "You're my secretary. You're not obliged to do this. Nelson however—"

"Nelson is on leave for two months," Chase pointed. "His granddaughter got into an accident and he needed to be with his family."

"So you've been doing this on your own for days?"

"Oh, I'm doing it alright," Chase said sarcastically. "Except I'm not exactly doing a spectacular job at it."

I almost beam with pride at my friend for shouldering everything if it wasn't for the stress painted all over his face. His loyalty is amazing that I could just marry him if he's staring and I'm not spoken for.

"I want you to take three days off, Chase," I ordered. His mouth opens to protest but I go on. "Just bring me a laptop and keep the distribution team ready for the deliveries."

"Caty," he complains. "You're not well enough—"

"I'm well enough to see the dark circles under your eyes and notice that you're dropping a lot of weight. And is that—" I pointed to his forehead with a very loud gasp. "—a wrinkle?"

"NO!" Chase cried, feeling his skin with his fingers. The look on his face was priceless. I laugh and instantly regret it as a sharp pain swipes in my abdomen. I wince. Chase eyes me worriedly. "Fine. I'll take three days off but promise you'll call me if you need anything."

"I promise," I lied. No, I will not be calling Chase on his three-day-vacation. It's the only chance he can swim up from the void that is the Mafia.

Chase left a few hours later. He told me that maybe he'll visit his mom down in Florida and spend the other two days in a spa and eat Ben and Jerry's until his stomach turns bloated. He promises to drop my laptop first thing tomorrow before flying out of Mexico. I thank him and the emptiness in my stomach makes me sad.

Lucas hasn't yet returned so I sleep with the lights on, like I prefer.

It was hazy and cold. I was sitting on the floor of what looked like a large metal box with a bed in the middle and a small cubicle in the far corner. The door was closed and the single light in the middle of the ceiling flickers. I stand, and I feel the pain in my thighs. Looking down at my legs, I saw the hole ripped from my cargo pants and blood was oozing out. I've been shot. I stand despite feeling groggy.

I limp towards the door. I hissed my wound protests from it taking the weight of my upper body. The long knob was cold to the touch meaning no one was here. I turn it and as my heart beats like a jackhammer, it bulges open with a faint click.

The hallway outside was dim and deserted, not a single soul to be seen. I step outside, slowly and quietly. This is too easy, I thought. The hall looked eerily familiar—the scent of blood and gunpowder. It's déjà vu.

"Well ain't this a pretty sight," a cold, latino voice called somewhere in the hall. I froze, gripping the side of the door tightly for support. That voice. I know who that belonged to. Then a silhouette appeared from the other end of the hallway; large, scary, deadly. Freddy Gonzales.

I peered at the other end, hoping to see refuge. From there I see stairs leading to another door. Gathering up my wits, I started to run, ignoring the pain in my legs.

As I ran, I noticed the door was fading. It's like water that starts to ripple and the image starts to distort. The door, gray and metallic, started to crystalline. And as odd as it sounds, glinting stars and city lights started to materialize behind it.

Now the walls around me started to trickle. Then at the far end of the distortion, I saw Lucas plumped down on a small couch, leaning towards a glowing laptop on a table.

I ran towards him.

Daring a glance behind me, I saw Freddy. Only he wasn't Freddy. He was just a shadow, eating up the barely-there lights as he took gigantic steps towards me.

Wake up, Caterina! I yelled at myself. I was well aware that I am dreaming. And well aware that I am having one of my frequent episodes of Sleep Paralysis.

Terrified, I will my sleeping self to move. Because it's the only way I'll wake up. But like any episode, my real body didn't bulge.

"You fucking run! Don't let me catch you or else I'll skin you alive!" I heard Freddy scream.

Move, Caterina. Move!

I tried to move my arm, but there was no use. They remain frozen and glued to the bed like my legs.

Move your toes. I will them again. And just like the rest of them, I failed.

Move a fucking finger.

One...

C'mon.

Two...

Move already!

Three!

I gasped the air that smelled so much of medical supplies and sanitizer. And from the corner of the barely-lit room, I saw Lucas looking at me with worry as I jolted awake.