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Cuts

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TW: Blood and gore

Chapter 23: Cuts (Anastasia's POV)

When I woke up the next morning, everything felt like a dream. Not one object was out of place in my bedroom, not one thing that belonged to Dante was left behind, and he himself was gone. 

A small frown settled between my brows as I began to roll over, growing still almost immediately when a hint of pain shot up my side. "Goddamn it," I mumbled, easing myself onto my elbows and then slowly upright, kicking the covers to the side and rising to my feet. 

I paused in confusion, taming my hair, and took another look around for some sign of his presence. Nothing. A light scoff escaped me as I moved to my bathroom. 

Of course, he left... 

It was safe to assume he had run off before I could wake up. With what happened in the past, you couldn't blame me for thinking that either. 

Suspicion and doubt clouded me as I set foot downstairs after freshening up. Kenji rushed to my side, eager for his usual morning pats. Delivering those absentmindedly, I entered the kitchen as the sizzling of fresh food on a pan, and the smell of a warm, Sunday morning kind of breakfast knocked out my senses. 

My lips parted in shock as I halted at the counter, setting my sights on Dante. He maneuvered around the kitchen as if he'd done it a thousand times, almost like he was in his natural element. He was dressed in last night's clothes, his hair more tamed than I imagined it was when he got out of bed, and he slid around the kitchen barefoot, knowing precisely where everything was located. 

Opening cabinets left and right, he grabbed cutlery and plates, salt and pepper, and whatever else he needed. I stood there and watched in silence until he spun around, two plates in hand, and set them on the counter, his eyes drifting to mine. 

A single brow twitched up, amusement settling into his gaze. "Buongiorno," he greeted, the Italian rolling off his tongue as smooth as liquor. 

"What do you think you're doing in my kitchen?" I asked, slowly walking further and rounded off to his side, my arms folded across my chest defensively. 

"Making breakfast," he answered, plucking a strawberry off one of the plates and bringing it to my lips. 

With an agitated click of my tongue, I swatted his hand aside. "I thought you left," I said, meeting his gaze. 

"Did you?" 

"Can you blame me? We both know you're great at running off without goodbye," I said. Was it necessary to take jabs at him that early in the morning? No. Would I do it anyway? Yes. 

He set the untouched strawberry back and released a slow breath, moving forward until he eventually cornered me, trapping me between him and the kitchen island behind me. 

My eyes dipped down to his torso where his shirt was splayed open, every goddamn button left unleashed, ready to undo me. Blinking, I forced my eyes up to his. 

"I didn't think you'd want me gone this morning," he said, staring down at me, "you didn't want me going anywhere last night." 

My eyes narrowed into a glare. "I think you've overstayed your welcome." 

He lifted a brow at me in question. "Have I?" A soft breath escaped him, "In that case..." Stepping away from me, he turned to the counter and took all the warmth with him. I caught a glimpse of an envelope before he faced me again and held it out. "It's an invitation," he prompted as I plucked it from his fingers. 

He'd already cut through the wax seal, and the invitation inside was one we'd been dreading for the past week. It was to an event at another art gallery. 

I let out a soft sigh, throwing my head back. "Again?" I muttered before looking at him. "It's the killer, isn't it?" 

He offered me a small shrug. "It would be foolish to think otherwise. It's been ten days since the last murder, almost two weeks since the first one." 

The murders were happening faster than any other serial killer case I'd ever encountered. 

"We have to go tonight," I exhaled, "we don't have a choice." 

"What if we don't?" he asked. "Do you think the killer would still unveil the bodies the way it's been done so far?" 

I blinked in confusion. "You think they're putting on a show for... us?" 

"It's possible. The clues left behind are meant for us to find, you and me. Not the police." 

I paused in confusion. "Doesn't that mean we should go? It's highly unlikely that the killer won't commit a murder at all. The victims have been dead for several hours before we find them." 

"I'm simply wondering if perhaps the killer might come to us... if we step back. They want attention, and we're feeding into it." He could be right. 

"But there are too many lives at stake," I reminded him. 

After thinking for a moment, he finally relented with a nod. "Okay. We'll go." 

As I set the invitation aside, my eyes drifted back to the breakfast he'd prepared. 

Oh... 

He'd made Italian cloud eggs. "You still like them, don't you?" he asked. 

I turned to him, a small sigh escaping me as I nodded, "I do." My eyes helplessly drifted down his bare torso yet again, and I hated myself for the magnetic pull I felt between us. 

He drew me in so effortlessly, making everything difficult, yet he'd walked away from me like it was the easiest thing in the world for him to do. 

I really wanted to will myself and hold back last night, but he was clouding all my senses, and having him so close, feeling his touch... I just couldn't resist. In fact, resisting him felt impossible at that very moment, too, as I watched him, and flashes of last night played through my mind, making my skin flush as heat crawled up my neck, threatening to coat my cheeks in a hue of pink. 

Forcing every irrational thought out of my head, I cleared my throat, "You can leave after breakfast. Since you cooked for two, we shouldn't waste it." Grabbing one of the plates, I walked around the counter, putting as much distance between us as I could before sitting to eat. 

I read the amusement etched onto his features clearly, but he didn't make any comment, and after eating in compatible silence, he buttoned up his shirt, grabbed his things, and left as I'd asked. 

Closing the door, I spun around and found Kenji sitting in the middle of the room, his head tilted to one side as he stared at me, ears perked, then falling in confusion. I could practically see the judgment in his eyes. "What?" I groaned, "don't give me that look. Come here." 

It was a luxury, but I was able to spend the majority of my day resting, apart from a few phone calls with Marshall to update him on everything, and before I knew it, it was time to start getting ready for whatever the night held for me. 

Preparing myself mentally and physically for the worst, I began getting ready. As I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, changing the dressing of my wound, my thoughts couldn't help but stray to last night. 

Being as bold as ever, I'd confidently declared that it was nothing but a one-time thing, that Dante and I would never have sex again. I just hoped and prayed that I could keep my word. 

"You'll want me again tomorrow, more desperately than you do right now. Even more the day after that." 

Groaning in frustration, I discarded the bandages and then finished up my makeup and hair before getting dressed and ready to leave. Gathering my belongings and fastening a knife sheath around my thigh, keeping it perfectly concealed this time, I headed for the front door with car keys clutched in my hand. 

"Be good!" I called out to Kenji over my shoulder, getting a peek of him gobbling up his dinner. Taking a breath, I swung the front door open, and the moment I did, that breath was lodged in my throat as my eyes clashed with his cloudy gray ones that held such a captivating intensity to them. 

He'll have me getting used to those eyes in no time at this rate... 

I blinked and cleared my throat, breaking the spell. "What are you doing here?" 

"Your timing is truly impeccable, I was going to ring the doorbell. I'm here to pick you up, Ms Vitalio." 

"I could have met you at the gallery," I said pointedly, leaving my keys inside before stepping out and joining him in the elevator. Taking a step back to rest against the wall, I eyed his suit. 

The sharp navy blue brought out the gray in his eyes when I looked at them earlier, and the way the fabric stretched across his back and shoulders screamed a custom-tailored fit. A crisp white button-up was hidden beneath with a matching navy tie dangling from his neck, and his Rolex glimmered on his left wrist beside his Tiffany & Co. cufflinks. 

God, he looks good. 

Dante took one step back, standing beside me as his eyes drifted from my heels up, taking in the red silk gown that flowed down to my heels and hugged each of my curves, the back dipping low and leaving my skin bare while two thin straps crossed over at my shoulder blades, holding the dress up. I'd left my hair down but pulled it to one side, leaving my back on display. 

The doors slid open before either one of us could say something or... do something. 

Trailing behind him until he opened the passenger door, I slid in the seat, and he began driving. Within just a few minutes, the silence began clawing at me, the air between us growing thick and charged with something I couldn't quite decipher. 

Forcing my brain to think about work at the case at hand, I began brainstorming. It vexed me that there was nothing we could do except allow the killer to have as many victims as they pleased because without their sick and twisted mission being completed or message being relayed, he or she wouldn't stop. 

It disturbed me that so many people had to die in this sickening game we were being forced to play. 

As Dante parked the car and got to my door, I took his hand and stepped out, taking a steadying breath. His hand settled at the small of my back, and it set me ablaze. 

Everything seemed perfect for the first thirty minutes. Guests mingled, toured the gallery, and sipped on champagne. 

"We should split up," I told him. 

His hold on my hip tightened. "I don't think that's a good idea, Mia Cara." 

I faced him. "We have to search for clues, Mr Rossi." 

He turned to me, a defeated breath escaping him, "All right. Fifteen minutes, then you meet me back here." 

I nodded in agreement before we parted ways, starting at opposite ends of the gallery. I began following the crowd's direction, eyeing each painting while searching the crowd. There was nothing to be unveiled tonight, as far as I could tell, and this was the first gallery without an attic. 

I was certain that no dead body would be falling through the ceiling today, but I wasn't sure yet if that was better or worse. 

Pausing at the corner, I rested my shoulder against a pillar and watched the crowd, searching for anybody that stuck out, when all of a sudden, I felt a presence behind me. 

"Red certainly is your color, Ms Vitalio," came a soft whisper. 

I remained still as the man took a step forward, taking my side, and I stole a glance. 

Blond hair, deep and rich blue eyes. Something about this man was familiar... 

I sucked in a breath. "We've met before," I said. 

"Have we?" he asked, his eyes traveling down my body. 

"It wasn't a question," I replied, "I know you." 

"Do you?" 

I blinked in confusion. 

"Do you truly know me, Anastasia?" 

"I certainly remember you," I told him. "You never told me your name." 

"You never asked," he smiled softly, stepping forward and then facing me completely, shielding me from the rest of the room. 

I watched his eyes scan over my face, getting caught on my lips. "Would you tell me if I did?" I questioned. 

He took a step forward, and I felt my spine turn to steel. I watched warily as he lifted a hand, running the pad of his thumb across my cheek before tucking my hair behind my ear. He leaned in, and I felt his lips brush the shell of my ear. "Ethan," he whispered before drawing back. 

"Ethan," I tested the name on my tongue. 

Stepping back, he began retreating, and with my instincts screaming at me, I grasped his hand. "Wait." 

His gaze dipped to where my fingers wrapped around his before flicking up to mine. Only, before I could ask him anything, a series of shrill and deafening screams pierced the walls of this room. 

No, no, no. 

I looked away for a moment, just a moment, and a large group of people ran past us and behind the curtains. 

Someone yelled out, "Someone's in the basement!" 

I felt his hand slip out of mine, and it felt like I was letting something crucial go. The crowd rushed in my direction, and the number of people was so overwhelming, I could barely hold myself in place, let alone hold onto him. 

I stumbled as someone crashed into me, elbowing the wound at my side unknowingly, and I winced, falling back as I lost my balance. 

A set of warm and familiar calloused hands caught me as I felt his lips by my ear. "Are you okay?" Dante whispered. 

I spun around in his arms, intending to tell him about the strange man, but my eyes drifted to the crowd as they continued rushing to the basement. 

I'll have to wait. I'll tell him about Ethan later. Because something in my gut told me Ethan would be important, whoever he was. 

"We should go see what they found," I said frantically. 

Dante's hand closed around mine as he led the way, barging past the crowd and keeping me tucked into the safety of his side until we rushed down the stairs and broke through the crowd gathered in the dingy, dimly lit basement. 

People were screaming and watching. Most were running back out, but not one of them was helping the man strapped down to the chair before us, blindfolded. 

The room reeked of blood, sweat, and alcohol, and the man's clothing was torn to shreds at every inch, his body completely covered in cuts as he bled out. The gag had fallen to his neck, but his screams had gone quiet a long time ago. Alcohol was poured all over his wounds from the looks of it... 

He wouldn't make it... that is, if he was even still alive. He appeared almost completely lifeless. 

Dante rushed forward, cursing, "Fuck." 

I clutched his arm tightly, pulling him back. "Don't," I said quickly, "we can't touch him. He has cuts all over his body, it'll only make the pain worse if he's even there." 

Dante stared at me, disbelief washing over him. "Anastasia, this man is bleeding out before our eyes. We have to do something." 

"Dante, he's dead," I told him, "he's already gone. It's too late." 

His eyes followed mine to the limp body before us. "What the fuck is this?" Dante muttered in frustration, eyes searching the room. 

"It's death by a thousand cuts," I mumbled in realization.

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Chapter 23

I'm expecting someone, if not most of you, to comment Death by a Thousand Cuts by Taylor Swift at some point...

Speaking of, though, favorite songs from 1989 Taylor's version, go!

outfits are the first comment btw

next ch: stranger