Roxana

There is indeed a clock museum in the middle of Zürich. The building is rather unspectacular, and the watches, though beautiful, aren't stealing my eyes.  Still, this day will likely remain engraved in my memory forever.

The way it all feels and sounds, such a monotonous sub-tune... tick-tock, and the things that surface inside me, even against my will, give it the allure of a dream.

I am looking at the watches and clocks and Marco is looking at me, once in a while brushing the back of his hand against mine. Not my boyfriend. Kary was right, I sure as hell act as if we are dating. The feelings still haven't changed; I like it and hate myself for liking it.

He is so calm and composed, always. That's nice. I was of godly calm even when he made Vitali kneel and beg. He made him indeed beg for my forgiveness. What an interesting life turn.

That is how I would like to see Ivan too and then I will pull the trigger. And after that...? I could just turn the gun around and shoot once again, then everything would be over, the pain, the guilt, the hate and the... longing; longing for the life we could have had, Dani, Dad and... me and Marco.

I know that he wouldn't have broken up with me over text. He acts like a guy who would at least have had the decency to call.

Tick-tock.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asks brushing his face against mine and hugging me from behind looking at a grandfather clock, or pretending to look at it to not intimidate me. The guide is telling us stuff about it and I, I couldn't care less, even if I like these things.

"Nothing. Just life and how it could have been, had we been different people."

"Hmm, it's only frustrating thinking about it, but look at it like this, if I were someone else I couldn't help with your stuff right now, so there's a silver lining somewhere."

"But did you never wish to have been born a different person in a different, normal family? What would you have done if you would have?"

Even I can see the melancholy in his eyes.

"A lot of things, maybe travel more for pleasure, not business, have a better relationship with my family, finally graduate..."

"Graduate? You studied? What did you study? And why didn't you graduate?"

He rolls his eyes slightly.

"Amazingly to you apparently, yes I did study, but my father died shortly before I could graduate and I never got to do that. I suppose I was a bit demotivated too since I knew I would never use it."

"Sorry," I say and kind of mean it. I lean into him just a bit because I feel bad I have been mean.

"So, what did you study and what would you do for a living if you had a choice?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"I want to imagine how our life would be in a parallel universe."

"Ok fine," he answers taking my hand so we can move a bit because we were staring far too long at a clock without seeing it.

Tick-tock.

"When I was really young I wanted to be a dancer or a gymnast like my mother."

I chuckle a bit.

"That is... "

"Gay?"

"No! And gay should stop being a pejorative term. Just... Unexpected."

"Well I was spending a lot of time with my mother and she was a ballerina so obviously she danced a lot."

By the way his gaze lingers on a point on the wall, I can guess that she died too.

"When did she die?"

"When I was seven. Suicide."

"Oh... I am sorry."

Well, Roxi, that was a shitty move. He looks sad and it pains me even against my will. You see, gangsters have their drama too.

"Obviously not your fault."

"Neither is it yours," I say. I am blaming myself for my mother's death too, but I imagine with suicide it is probably worse.

"You think?" he asks with a bit of a bitter undertone.

"You were seven and I am sure she loved you so yes. So, a ballet dancer? Ok, I can live with that, unexpected but why not," I say smiling trying to talk about something less gloomy.

"Or a comic artist."

"Can you draw me like one of your French girls?" I ask smirking and watching him grinning. It's cute. I don't want him to be sad. Him, my friend, the murderer.

"I can try. But I suppose that would have remained a hobby and I would have had a career in finance and business administration like my dad would have wanted."

The museum is almost empty at this time and now the few tourists that were here are scattered all over the city.

"How boring," I say stretching out my tongue.

"It's not boring at all and it's nice to have a steady income, because well, most people are not born rich, surprise-surprise."

"No need to tell me about it."

"No mob would also mean no money and in a parallel universe I would have wanted kids."

"Kids? Wow, that is unexpected too. And you are so frightening normal and down to earth except for the obvious issues."

"Yes, they are cute, how they are all wobbly on their legs when they are little. I remember how funny it was when Anabella learned to walk. And how they love you in a non-judgemental way because they don't know better."

"Ah fuck you! Why isn't anything easy?" I pout and punch his shoulder again.

With an ambiguous expression, he turns around, and suddenly his face is really close to mine.

"Okay, fine, fuck me," he whispers in a way that makes me forget to breathe for an instant.

And we kiss and this kiss feels different and tastes like submission to the sound of the hundreds of ticking clocks.

Tick-tock.

I am still love-blind when strolling on the streets of Zürich later eating ice cream and talking about things that don't matter to avoid thinking about the things that do.

You are going to burn in hell, Roxi, and you are going to deserve it.

It's slowly getting dark and the street we are walking on is empty and very silent. It's a bit picturesque how the sun colours the houses of this noticeably good neighbourhood in bleeding orange.

"It's so beautiful here and smells like old money," I say.

"Yes, it's exactly that."

I let go of his hand that I have been holding the whole day after the clock museum and run up the street. That hand deserves to be severed. 

The houses are still beautiful and the light mesmerizing and the silence soothing. But something, something is wrong. When I look at his face I notice something is wrong.

What happens after, I live like in a trance.

The way he screams my name, the horror on his face, the sound of the bullets on that empty, quiet street.

He pulls me away and the bullet hits the asphalt echoing in the quiet surroundings.

But there is another, and several others and we are running or more like he is dragging me till we are somewhere sheltered between two narrow streets.

"Fucking shit!"

"Who is this?" I ask noticing that I am shaking.

"I don't know. But that is an assignment for after, now we have to try not to die. I was such an idiot. It seems there are only three. And they are not Stefano's men"

"Only!? And how do you know?"

"Yeah, the number is okay but I am unarmed which makes the situation quite shitty. My former guys shoot better, these are not really good snipers. I am such an idiot. Since when did I become so careless?" he huffs clenching his fist.

"What now? I don't want to die until Ivan does."

"And I don't want you to die as a whole."

He takes a look at his phone and nods.

"Can you not call for Grampa's men?"

"I can but we will be likely dead till they arrive from Rome. Do you see that street?" he says pointing to one. "We have to get there. And I think these are Ivan's men. Because nobody else would be so stupid, except someone who is more angry than smart."

"So he is after me. If I walk out hands up it will stop. He wants to torture me first, not kill," I conclude and I suppose I am still pretty suicidal when I run to the middle of the empty street.

For a few minutes, there is nothing, I continue running and then the bullets sound and I hear Marco scream my name angrily. I keep running and notice that it starts raining. My brain is sort of numb. In a way I don't care if I die; it would all be over and quiet. Then it hits me, the piercing pain.

The blood splatters from my left forearm on the dark paving. It hurts a bit and I stop for an instant until Marco grabs my other hand and pulls me away running into a park.

I think the problem is that the guys are indeed few and probably can't jump the roofs that fast. Now in the park, they have to climb down and it gives us some time.

I look at my arm. The whole arm is bloody, the drops brilliantly red against the white t-shirt.

"We need to take care of this, it's only a scratch but I bet it hurts like hell," he pants.

"Yes, it does. How do you know it is only a scratch."

"Because if it would have hit an artery you would bleed much faster. We would notice. Come and don't dare die on me, okay? We have to disappear in ten minutes," he says looking at me concerned.

We are running through the park and I can only imagine how it looks to the few people walking their dogs.

Marco stops in front of a beautiful Art Nouveau villa.

"What are we doing here?" I ask still drunk on adrenaline and slightly dizzy.

"Taking shelter," he answers taking his jacket off, wrapping it around his forearm and slamming it into the stained glass door window.

I look at him dumbfounded as he drags me inside and closes the door.

"Why don't we go to a hospital?" I ask naively.

"Because they will kill us till we get there and I... am a mob boss with a shot wound," he replies panting and sinking to the floor against a wall. Only then do I observe the blood on my other hand that is not mine.

In the silence of the room, I hear the drops on the floor.

Drop-drop, tick-tock.

If it's dropping it's damn bad... I scream in my mind and kneel down to lift his t-shirt. It's fucking black so I didn't notice the wound before.

"It doesn't have an exit. That's bad; I have seen that in movies."

"Well, yeah. It's a bit shitty," he answers with stagging breath and I notice how the colour is abruptly draining from his face.

"Marco."

"It's okay, Pebbles, don't worry. I am going to be fine. Alex's men are going to be here shortly. Though I owe him a big one now."

I notice how he gets paler and paler.

"Who the fuck is Alex? Marco, you are sitting in a puddle of blood, I am going to call an ambulance and the police."

"They are already here..."

"Who?"

Then I hear the sirens. The police.

"That's good, it will keep the shooters occupied."

I try to grab my phone and notice it's not in my pocket. I must have lost it while running.

"Where is your phone?"

He bites his teeth together and pulls it out of his pocket.

On the screen, I see the name Alexei Orlov shining.

"Answer..." I want to tell but notice his eyes are closed.

"Marco! Wake up!"

I look at the phone disturbed and press the answer button.

"What in the name of God are you doing?!" screams a voice from the other end of the line.

"Are you Alex? Marco is not good, really not good. Where are your damn men? We need a doctor like now."

"And who are you?" asks the voice undisturbed but curious.

"Roxana."

"What do you mean not good?"

"Shot. I am wasting time here; I need to call an ambulance."

Tick-tock. I hear the damn clocks in my head.

"Roxana, calm down. A doctor will be there any minute. Tell me what sort of wound it is, with as many details as possible."

"A shot wound, are you stupid?" I scream on the phone.

The guy on the other end is however surprisingly calm.

"Where is the shot? Is there an exit wound, Roxana? Calm down, okay? Breathe."

"Lower abdomen. No there isn't one. That's bad, right? Is he going to die?" I ask and feel like my own blood just drained from my body with the realization that I would give anything for that not to happen.

Tick-tock I still hear the damn clock.

Then the entrance door is ripped open.

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Drama and violence and all coming up and in a few chapters (5-6) probably to an end. Stay tuned :D and thank you for reading.