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“You needed a break?” My voice rises. “Three men broke into our apartment looking for you.” I watch her face carefully. “They had knives. And guns. They thought I was you.”

Chiara’s smile freezes, but she recovers quickly. “What are you talking about? Is this some kind of joke?”

“They said you owed someone money. A lot of money. They called me ‘Chiara’ and said time was up.” My voice shakes now. “They were going to hurt me, Chiara. They were going to cut me.”

The water bottle crinkles in her grip. “Aria, I don’t know what you’re?—”

“Don’t!” I rarely raise my voice, and the sound makes both of us flinch. “Don’t lie to me. Not about this. Not when they were ready to kill me because of you.”

Something shifts in Chiara’s expression. A hardness I rarely see breaks through her carefree mask. For a moment, I see someone else in my sister’s face—someone calculating, someone who’s been keeping secrets.

“You’re okay, though,” she says finally, glancing around the spotless apartment. “Nothing happened, right? I mean, the place looks great. Better than ever.”

I laugh, the sound brittle. “Nothing happened? I thought I was going to die. I had a knife pressed against my throat.” I pull up my shirt slightly, showing her the bruise beginning to bloom there. “The only reason I’m alive is because?—”

I stop, unsure how to describe him. My savior. The man who looked at me like I was already his.

“Because what?” Chiara takes a step closer, something like fear finally registering in her eyes. “Aria, what happened?”

“Someone came in. A man.” I swallow hard. He neutralized them. All three. Like he’d done it a hundred times before.

Chiara goes pale, her freckles standing out sharply. “Who was it?” she whispers.

“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me his name.” I wrap my arms around myself. “He just… appeared. Like he knew they’d be here. Like he was watching.”

“Did he hurt you?” Her eyes scan me for injuries.

“No.” My voice is too soft. “He saved me.”

“Your guardian angel.” Chiara smiles. She brushes past me to pour herself a shot of tequila.

“He wasn’t an angel.” I remember how calm he was, how efficient. “He was a killer. A professional.”

“But he saved you.”

“He didn’t save me for me,” I say, remembering the possessive way his eyes tracked my movements afterward. “He looked at me like… like I was a thing he’d purchased. A thing he owned.”

Chiara downs her shot, wincing. “I’m sorry you went through that, but I swear, I don’t know what they were talking about. I don’t owe anyone?—”

“Stop it!” I snap. “Those men knew who you were. They knew where we lived. They knew what you looked like.” I stalk toward her. “What did you do? What kind of trouble are you in?”

Chiara’s shoulders slump. “It’s nothing serious?—”

“Three men with knives and guns. In our apartment. That’s not serious to you?”

“I borrowed some money, okay? From this guy at the club. He seemed legit. Said I could pay it back whenever.”

“How much?”

Chiara looks away. “Ten.”

“Thousand?” My voice rises to a squeak. “Chiara, what the hell? What did you need ten thousand dollars for?”

She doesn’t answer, and I’m so, so tired at this point. I’m done searching for answers. I’m done fighting her battles. Not when it’s costing me my life and she’s treating it like some big joke.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I say, my voice hollow. “I can’t keep covering for you at work. I can’t keep paying your share of the rent when you blow your paychecks. And I sure as hell can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when men with guns are breaking into our home.”

Tears spring to Chiara’s eyes—real ones, not the fake ones she uses to manipulate managers and boyfriends. “Aria, please. You know I’d never purposely put you in danger. You’re all I have.”