𝗔𝗰𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀

Seven.

Rebecca Caruso

"No cops," Marco declared, cautiously approaching and casting a wary glance at the motionless figure sprawled on the concrete.

I peered around, wishing somebody else took the initiative; the pedestrians that once stood near us succumbed to typical bystander fallout... No one cared if it wasn't their problem. People merely faded back into the city's profound siren calling, dismissing the helpless; with echoes of blissful ignorance and drunken laughter taunting the vulnerable.

"What do you mean, no cops?" I said, peering down at Frank's lifeless body.

The pooled blood slowly seeped into his clothes, staining the once pristine white collar of his Hawaiian shirt a vivid red.

Damn it.

"Let me at least call an ambulance!" I protested, my words tumbling out in a state of disarray, as I hastily retrieved my phone. "He needs a doctor. I can't just leave him like this." Throughout my time on call, I had witnessed far too many deaths due to excessive bleeding, a significant portion of them caused by bullets—deaths that could have been prevented if someone had just dialed 9-1-1 in time.

"He'll be fine," Marco asserted firmly, nudging the unconscious body with his right foot. There was no response, no movement, not even the faintest twitch.

"Are you a doctor?" I retorted, frustration and a bitter awareness of the carnage and death I had encountered far too often coursing through my words. In Chicago, whether people liked to acknowledge it or not, we were in the midst of a kamikaze warzone, with Mr. Hyde on steroids, and most were blissfully unaware. "Clearly, he's not fine."

I doubted someone like Marco had ever laid eyes upon lifeless corpses before.

"I've never heard of anyone being 'knee-murdered' before; he's fine," Marco quipped, stepping gingerly over Frank's unconscious body, his eyes locking on mine as he moved closer. He placed a hand under my chin, gently but firmly, steering my gaze to meet his. "Hey, look at me, Rebecca," he said softly, his voice calm yet commanding. "Trust me. He's fine."

I shook my head, pulling back from his touch, the weight of the situation still pressing on me. "You can't possibly know that," I muttered, feeling a rush of doubt and guilt creep in. My pulse was still racing, the edges of reality blurred with the remnants of adrenaline.

Marco didn't argue. Instead, he took a step back, his expression growing more serious as he paced, eyes drifting downward, as if searching for answers in the ground. His silence only made the uncertainty worse, an unsettling calm before something darker.

"Marco...?" I called out, trying to gauge his thoughts, but deep down, the warning signs were flashing bright. I should have trusted my gut from the beginning. Something wasn't adding up.

"The club's security team will come up any minute to handle this." His expression was deadpan as he grabbed Frank's gun from the ground.  "I can't have you..." he added while flipping the switch for the safety mechanism. 

I watched as he concealed the weapon between his jeans, behind himself.

Jesus, this guy knew what he was doing.

What in the hell did I get myself into?

"I need you to listen very carefully, Rebecca." Marco's voice was steady, his hands gripping my shoulders firmly, anchoring me in place. "Tonight, you and I never met. You were never out here, and all this with Frank never happened. Understand?"

I stared at him, the gravity of his words sinking in. The intensity in his eyes was unmistakable, a blend of urgency and something else I couldn't quite place. The adrenaline from the fight still buzzed through me, but now it was mingled with a sharp, uncomfortable clarity.