Breathless | David Rossi

Chapter One

"Good night piccolo."

Little one.

Upon hearing that ridiculous name, you instinctually roll your eyes. "Bye Rossi." You can hear him chuckling as you slide into the driver's seat of your car, eager to get home and sleep.

It had been a rough case, one that ended with you pulling the trigger. Taking a life is never easy, though you've since learnt how to deal with it afterwards, you try to leave that option for Morgan or Rossi. But as you drive home, you can't help but wonder if there was another way out, that maybe if you had of arrived at the house earlier, the victim would be alive and the unsub sent to prison, not buried with a bullet between his eyes.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you push the last few days to the back of your mind, reminding yourself that it's over, so there's no point in dwelling. Pulling into the driveway of your home, you notice another car parked in your spot, one your not familiar with. Frowning, you stop parallel with the gutter, leaving enough space for other cars to drive past.

You didn't have enough time to message your husband to let him know you were on your way home, having fallen asleep on the plane, so maybe he has a friend over. Unlocking the front door, your blood runs cold at the feminine squeals that echo from your room.

That son of a bitch.

Marching down the hall with your body burning with rage, you reach the closed door, slamming it open. "What the fuck!"

"Honey, what are you doing home?" Your husband panics, removing himself from the girl and covering them with the bed cover.

You raise your eyebrows in surprise, the murderous glint in your eyes alerting your husband of his poor choice of words. "What am I doing home? Are you fucking serious!"

"I can explain."

You shake your head, letting out a laugh at his pathetic attempt to try and cover his ass. "You can shove your explanation up your ass, we're done."

Slipping the ring off your ringer, you let it drop to the floor, before spinning on your heels and striding out of your home and into your car. It's not until you start driving, that the first tear slides down your cheek.

As much as your heartaches and the betrayal gnaws at you, this was bound to happen sooner or later. You love your husband, but for the past year, your relationship has changed. Constant fights, always about your work and this sudden delusion that your husband conjured, that made every man a threat to him because you glanced at them for too long, distant nights and lies, it was only a matter of time before one of you snapped.

Suddenly you find yourself parked out the front of a bar. Somewhere during your aimless driving, you've ended up across town. Brushing the tears away, you attempt to make yourself presentable, releasing a deep breath before exiting your car and making your way inside.

Drinking's never been your solution for problems, but tonight, it's going to help pass the time. With it being a weekday, there's barely anyone inside, allowing you to secure a booth. A waiter approaches, taking your order and promising to return with your drink. Flashing a thankful smile, you slump against the seat, listening to jazz music.

You don't notice the familiar brown eyes watching you intently from across the room. He's curious as to why you're here, especially with the crestfallen look on your face. Excusing himself from his company, Rossi walks over to you.

"Piccolo, what are you doing here?" Hearing his voice surprises you, as you were hoping you wouldn't run into anyone.

"Drowning my sorrows, what does it look like." You mutter, bringing the glass to your lips and downing the liquid. You don't mean to come off harsh, but you really wanted to be left alone.