Signore Lyon

Chapter 08

Cont'd:

By the time Yamina finished perusing the house, she was beginning to second-guess whether the door had actually been open or not. 

No! She had only needed to push it open to get inside. It had most definitely been open. 

Unless...

Yamina left the door of Amaya's room slightly open as she exited. Luckily, both the infant and Yazari seemed to be exactly as she'd left them a mere 2 hours earlier. Carefree and snoozing.

 Meanwhile, a stark contrast was her. She was going absolutely crazy. 

Had the door been really open? Or had she imagined it?

Yani shuffled to her room. She still believed she recalled his number accurately. When she dialled the number, and it rang, her heart constricted. Damn, she thought it would've been out of service by now. 

There was a pause and just as she'd been about to speak, he did.

"I'm outside." He said, abruptly hanging up. 

Yamina's top lip curled in disgust. Who was he to be in her house when she wasn't there, leave her door open while her kids were inside and answer the phone like she was a bother?

Could the floor incinerate with each harsh stomp, her entire house would have crumbled to charred pieces. Yamina bolted downstairs and, in a split decision, she made her way to the backdoor. 

On the porch was where she found him, lounging in her porch chair like he had not a care in the world. 

"Why was my door open?" Yamina crossed her arms, stepping over the threshold out onto the porch. Had her neighbour's lights not been on, she wouldn't have been able to see him sitting in the corner. Despite this, his big silhouette was still too easy to detect, even in the dark. 

"Ask him," he retorted, his frame slowly hunching. Yamina could tell that he had leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and propping his jaw in a large hand. 

Who was this "him"? 

Yamina strained to see through the darkness but it didn't take too long to notice the other body slumped against the patio fencing right beside the chair in which he sat. 

Her heart dropped. 

"Who's that?" Yamina blanched. 

Lyon's shoulders made a lazy shrugging motion. "Don't know. His Russian was too fast to understand."

Yamina's silence was either too much for Lyon or he couldn't hold his tongue any longer but he was suddenly out of the chair and right in front of Yamina. 

At this distance, she could see the hard planes of his face and the thick but low beard that covered half of his face but revealed enough for her to see that his lips were pursed to paleness. 

He was fuming. The waves of anger rolled off of him, permeating the clothing she wore. And even though she should've felt the heat of this rage, she felt nothing but a chill that froze each of her limbs, one at a time.