Bullets

Inside the car, Riccardo kept to himself mostly. His features sat straight on his face and no matter how much Elma looked at him, he just wouldn't budge.

"I think I forgot to take my phone with me," Elma said suddenly, cutting into the sharp silence in that place.

"Well did you leave it or not?" Riccardo, rolling his head to the side, looked into her eyes and said. "When you say think, you can't expect me to act based on something you are not sure of. Do you?"

Elma began shaking her head. "I did leave my cell back in that place," she said. "My family may try to reach me and if they can't after ringing a few times, they will start to panic. Especially my aunt."

Riccardo sat quietly for a bit after that. Due to how stoic his face appeared, Elma did not know what to make of his thoughts.

"Are you not going to — " Elma swallowed at best. "Sir?"

Lifting just two fingers, Riccardo shut her up from speaking any further. He took out his phone to dial a certain number, then tapped onto his AirPod and made a quick call.

"There," Riccardo said eventually. "Marcos is headed back to get your phone."

"Thank you," Elma said, happily.

"Don't thank me," he replied with a clip to his voice. "Try not to act so sloppy another time. Buckle up!" he said. "We'll reach the helipad in no time. If Marcos and the others can't make it in time, they will have to leave after us."

Though he had sounded the most relaxed in his talk, Elma could sense there was something out of place. There was a certain tension looming

in the air of the Rolls-Royce. Elma could no longer deal with the kick in her stomach to ask him about it.

Leaning in, she began to say, "You never said why we needed to leave so early, Mr. Di Mauro. Did something happen after you left me? A situation with Mr. Marseillemo, perhaps?"

"Miss Gray!" Riccardo shot her a warning stare. "Try to mind the questions, can you? When I am this quiet, it's only because I am trying to think. Do you ever do that for yourself? Do you know when to shut up and just think?"

"I am sorry." Elma's eyes turned soft when she said that. She started feeling too embarrassed for wanting to cry. She dropped her head instead.

"Would you like to eat?" Riccardo spoke hurriedly. "There is my favorite bistro down this drive. We should make a stop and see if we can wait for Marcos a little. You look like you could eat a thing or two."

"Yes," Elma sighed in exhaustion. "I am truly famished."

******

Riccardo wasn't kidding about that being his favorite restaurant. They had barely walked inside the bistro; he with Elma, when two young men in clean uniforms walked over to their side.

"Good morning, Mr. Di Mauro," they said together and smiled. "This way, please."

Elma thought they behaved like robots because even their steps away as they led them up a couple of tables seemed pretty automated as well. The men got them as far as the upper end of the bistro. Then they ushered them into the rather sleek cushions on that part.

Elma could not help winding her head about even after they left. Not even after her menu had been served did she quit her manner of looking too much.

"This is a pretty dope restaurant," she admitted in the middle of chewing her spaghetti. "I have never been in such a place before."

"Like you've never been in Escades before." Riccardo locked glances with her. He was looking more pissed than sharing her excitement. "You know what would do us a lot of good?" he asked.

"No," she said. "What?" she asked.

He folded his arms across his chest. He deepened his stare. "If you ate your meal with refined etiquette, I should like that very much, Miss Gray. You are doing too much right now by eating like that. Your cheeks are all messy and I am almost tempted to puke in my own throat from simply watching."

"Oh," Elma blurted and quickly reached across the table for a serviette. "I didn't know I was making quite a mess of myself. Thank you."

"Again with the thank you?" Riccardo scoffed absurdly. "Answer me honestly, are you always this way?"

"What way?" Elma asked him with curious eyes.

"This — this out of order? I lack a better way to qualify your excesses."

"Oh, no!" Elma said innocently. "This only happens when I am fascinated by something, it could be a good thing or a very bad thing."

"So, in other words, you tense up and walk over yourself when you're extremely happy or really afraid."

"Yes, exactly that," Elma said, nodding her head. "Sir," she added.

"It doesn't matter. Just finish up quickly. We've wasted a good ten minutes here already. I wonder why Marcos isn't here yet, I texted him where we would be," Riccardo mumbled his last words to himself.

"Er... I will be done with my food in a minute," Elma told him. "Just give me a few more minutes to—"

Elma got spared from finishing her line due to the news that came up on the television.

Mr. Marseillemo was on the news report.

Elma did not know what to feel about that.

Her fork stick instantly slipped out of her fingers and crashed into her plate.

"How can he be the one?" Elma said through her mouth that was fidgeting, her hands also. "He can't... He can't be dead just now..."

"Shit!" Riccardo cursed then slapped his tongue against the inside of his jaw. "Look at me. Elma," he said pulling out of his chair and cupping her cheeks in his palms, "we have to leave now okay? Do you understand me?"

"Uh-huh," Elma managed to say. She didn't sound too sure now which was safer, right there inside the bistro or out there.

"Forget all of what you saw," Riccardo emphasized.

"But that was him, was it not? Our investor; it was him. Mr. Marseille..."

"Don't mind all of that," Riccardo got to holding her hands that were shaking instead. "I promise to bring you back to Kansas. Safely. Now, come with me, alright?"

"Alright."

It was a tough straw walking out of there with the image of a dead man dancing around her head. Yet, Elma knew she had to. She just could not believe what that reporter had said.

Seven gunshots to his heart?

Why for ever the fucks sake would anyone want to hurt him?

"Elma, watch out!" Riccardo's shout was the factor that caused her heart to pump blood faster than the dozen bullets she could see flying toward her face.

"Fuck, no..." Elma muttered as her eyes grew rounder.