Antonio   My head is pulsing with an oncoming headache. That useless idiot Morozov really screwed up big time. I have been trying to get to him since he took over after his uncle but he has always found a way out. But now all the afterwork that has to be done thanks to his death is taking up time I’d rather use for other things. Like seeing that Marissa is okay.   There has to be a new leader for the Russians and I would want to start off on a good foot with whoever takes the place. It will probably be the cousin of Morozov that takes his place. He is about the same age as me and much more cooperative. He is his father’s son, smart, organized and has values. I think we can have back the truce I had with his father.   He might not be all that happy with the amount of

Marissa Both James and Josie agree that the apartment is much better than anything they could ever dream of ever living in on a student salary and will go home to pack and move in as soon as possible. I am very pleased that they have agreed and will look past their differences and live together.  When we exit the building I see Antonio leaning against a car on the other side of the road.  His posture is stiff with his ankles crossed over each other and arms crossed over his chest. His face is perfectly scolded in an indifferent expression and his eyes are hidden behind a pair of shades. Even if there are no obvious signs I can see that he is furious. I stop in my tracks to take him in and try to think of a reason for him to be this angry. I wring my hands

Marissa The next morning I wake up feeling deliciously sore from our rough lovemaking the night before. But as I brush my teeth another, not so pleasant, feeling hits me. With a second to spare I run to the toilet and empty the contents of my stomach. Antonio comes rushing into the bathroom with his shirt halfway buttoned and his belt hanging loosely around his waist. “Are you sick? Are you still affected by the concussion? Should I call for Dr. Stevens?” He collects my hair and rubs my back. I wave at his speech, still focused on heaving into the bowl. When I’m done he dries my mouth with a piece of paper. “I can’t speak while throwing up!” I growl at him and he has the decency to look apologetic.