𝐶𝐿𝑂𝐴𝐾 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐷𝐴𝐺𝐺𝐸𝑅 | 𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐆𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒 [DISCONTINUED]

𝟐𝟗 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐃

"𝑁𝑜 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑏𝑎𝑑 𝑛𝑒𝑤𝑠."
—𝑆𝑜𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑠, 𝐴𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑒

𝒟.

𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐆𝐎 𝐑𝐀𝐍 𝐀 finger over the cool metal of one of his throwing knives, his eyes shifting between the blade, the clock, and the door.

It was nearing eight o'clock, and he was sitting at the kitchen island, waiting for Natalia to come home.

As much as he had pouted and grumbled about it, Natalia had a dinner with a few colleagues (Diego was more than happy to find out that Dr. Parkinson had not been invited), and she told him that it'd be 'rude' and 'unprofessional' to cancel the day of (and, as much as he hated to admit it, he agreed).

She had promised she'd be home before eight. And now, Diego watched as the hour hand moved up to the eight.

He was being too picky. Of course, she couldn't control what time she'd come home. Maybe they were having a few drinks, or dessert. It was just after the middle of March, and it was beginning to be warm out, so maybe they were enjoying the outdoors.

But when the hour hand reached the nine, Diego grew worried.

Was she okay? Had she gotten hurt? Kidnapped? In a crash? Murdered? The possibilities were endless, and Diego didn't want to think of any of them.

He was growing impatient and nervous. His foot tapped against the footrest of the stool, and he had somehow managed to cut himself in several places, though they were just grazes that he didn't care about.

He chewed on his lower lip when the hour hand got to the ten. Natalia was never one to be late. And she would've called if she was, right?

He got up, tucking his knife into his pocket and grabbing his keys.

He was pretty sure he knew the name of the restaurant they had gone to. It was some Italian place, with an Italian name which he now realized he had no clue was.

He cursed under his breath. Whatever. It was probably close, right? If he drove around long enough, he'd find it.

He patted his pockets, noting that he had three knives in total. That'd be enough.

He headed to the door, and just as he reached for the handle, it twisted itself, and the door swung open.

"Oh!" Natalia exclaimed in surprise as she saw that Diego was just a step away.

"Jesus Christ, Natalia," he groaned, feeling his heart pace flutter back to normal. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Sorry, they all got super drunk so I had to drive them all home," she said with a small laugh. Her eyebrows furrowed as he sighed and massaged his temples. "What, were you worried?"

"Yes!"

She shook her head as she took her purse off and rested it on the kitchen island. "Why?"

"You're home more than two hours later than you said you'd be," he pointed out, gesturing to the clock.

"Sorry, darling," she sighed as she pressed a kiss to his cheek. "The time slipped my mind. I'll make it up to you."

A smirk appeared on his face. "Oh, will you?"

"Not tonight," she chided, her lips curving into a lazy smile as she wagged a finger. "I'm way too tired. Work plus dealing with five drunk women is impossibly tiring, did you know?"