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𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑅𝑇𝑌 𝐹𝐼𝑉𝐸 ☾
Anna laughed as she threw her card to the table, watching as Michael sulked, throwing his own stack to the side in disbelief. It was their fifth game, and it seemed the Gray siblings would do anything to keep boredom from seeping in- worrisome thoughts often followed, and they were good to no one. Her brother thanked the nurse as she placed their afternoon tea to the side, leaving a single plate of sandwiches in the middle too.
"What are you doing?"
Anna's head snapped back to the nurse as her hands clamped around the handle of Michael's overnight bag, her eyes widening at his harsh voice. She pulled spinning the bag with her wrist straight into Michael's pathway, sending him skidding to the floor. Anna launched herself around the table, sliding beside him as he groaned, hand reaching for his shoulder as the nurse disappeared through the door.
"Oh shit," Michael said quietly as he pushed himself up. Anna's brows furrowed. "The gun was in that bag, Anna."
As realisation sunk in, a gunshot burst through the room, seeming to shake the floor where the siblings squatted.
"Oh shit."
Blood was pooling through his striped shirt, staining the blue fabric red like the cherries they'd eaten that morning. Anna pushed her hand to the reopened wound, dabbing it with the ripped cloth. But Michael pushed her away, using one hand to balance against the bed, his eyes like steel, not moving from the door.
Her breath halted. The man in the doorway had a lazy stare, clouded beneath a deep brimmed hat as if he couldn't be bothered to be there; as if it was another chore in the day. His suit was pressed and dark, the colour of charcoal set against a clean, crisp shirt, a patterned tie lying under it all, clearly American.
"Uh, uh, uh," the man tutted, finger pointing behind them. "Where I'm from, a hat on the bed- unlucky. My family... say it brings death."
The man- a Changretta, she knew- stepped forward only slightly, head tilting as a smirk pressed against his thin lips. Michael's breath was ragged as the man stepped forward. Her brother's hand wrapped around her wrist, tugging her further behind him.
"Maybe that's what happened. Last time my men were sent for you, you got lucky."
Changretta smiled mockingly, his eyes shifting idly from Michael to his sister. He nodded his head toward her, silently ordering his henchman forward. Anna hadn't seen the man at the door. He was dressed identically as if it was a uniform, his hands covered by thick leather gloves that reached out to rip her arm from Michael's grasp.
Anna couldn't move. Her voice didn't want to let her shout out, to call for help, as Changretta's associate dragged her away from the two.
"Now..." Changretta began, hand reaching down to retrieve his gun, the greyish metal glinting in the dull lights of the obscured windows. He brought the nose to his head, placing it loosely in the centre, his arms bent and tired.
