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The place where I first saw her has been burned down. The only other place she could be is at home—quiet and lost in her world of paint and canvas like an artist trapped in a dream. That was before all this. Before I let her get under my skin. Before I made the mistake of believing she was something she wasn’t..

I pull up, the tires squealing on the wet pavement. I don’t even bother shutting the car off. The headlights slice through the night, illuminating the dark, empty street. Everything is cold, still, like the world is holding its breath.

The front door is cracked open, and I don’t waste time.

The smell of paint hits me first, and then her scent, lingering in the air. Still the same. Still there. The tension in the room could choke anyone. And there she is, standing in front of herpainting, the one that still doesn’t make any sense to me. Her back is to me, but she knows I’m here. I can feel her stiffen.

I step forward, my boots echoing on the concrete floor.

My hand clenches into a fist, but I keep it at my side. For now. “You do know I have no choice but to kill you now.”

She doesn’t turn. Not right away. She just stands there like she’s waiting for something. Like she knows this is coming. Finally, her shoulders loosen, and she turns slowly. When our eyes meet, I can see it. The one thing I wasn’t expecting. Vulnerability. Like she’s the one who’s been crushed, not me.

“Remo,” she says, her voice soft, too soft for the storm that’s coming. “You don’t understand.”

I don’t give a damn what she thinks I understand. “I understand enough.” The words come out like venom. “You did this to me. To us. And for what? A grudge?”

“No,” she says, her eyes sharp now, cutting through the fog of my rage. “I did it for you.”

Her words don’t register at first. My mind skips over them, trying to figure out what she’s really saying. “For me? What the hell are you talking about?”

She steps closer, and I don’t move. I’m frozen, waiting for something. Maybe an apology. Maybe more lies. But what she says next rips through the last of my resolve.

“I gave them the ledger,” she whispers like it’s a confession. “I traded it for your freedom.”

The world tilts. My heart sinks, disbelief settling in. She traded me to the feds, but not for revenge. She did it for me.

My chest tightens, and before I can stop myself, I ask, “You…didn’t turn me in?”

Her gaze is steady. “I see what this world has done to you…to both of us. I knew getting rid of you would be what I needed, but I knew I couldn’t survive it. I didn’t want to hurt you. I thoughtmaybe if I did this, you’d have a real chance to get out.” Her voice trembles when she adds, “I did it because I love you.”

Love. The word lands like a punch, and I can’t breathe, can’t think.

I don’t know what to say. I want to scream, to ask why, but I already know. She chose this for me. For us. Even if it meant burning everything down.

I step closer, every part of me torn. “I can’t fix myself, Daniela. I’m too broken.”

She doesn’t flinch. “I don’t need you to be anyone else.”

She takes a step toward me, her hand trembling as it reaches for mine. I don’t stop her. I don’t pull away.

After a moment, I crash my lips on hers.

I force her mouth open with my tongue and plunge inside. This kiss is feral—more feral and animalistic because it means something more.

I grip her shoulders, bringing us closer together as though I want to disappear inside her skin.

She returns my kiss, not only because I want her to, but because she seems to need it so much. Just as much as I do.

Epilogue

I should’ve known it was coming, judging by the way he looks at me sometimes and the way his eyes soften when he thinks I’m not paying attention. It’s like he’s thinking about something we’re both avoiding. Something that’s too ugly to speak of, too real to ignore. But we’re here. In Greece.

I stand on the edge of a small dock, feeling the saltwater splashing against my bare feet and staring out at the calm blue sea stretching out in front of me like it could go on forever. Maybe that’s what we need. Something that feels like an endless possibility, where the world can’t catch up with us. Where we can finally breathe without looking over our shoulders.

Remo’s standing behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off his body. His presence is unmistakable. I glance at him, the same brooding silence still hanging between us. We’ve been through enough shit to know that silence doesn’t mean peace. It’s just the calm before another storm.

“Do you ever think about what happens after this?” I ask, my voice quieter than I mean it to be, like I’m afraid the world will hear and come crashing down again.