Page 13

Present

I don’t go back to the reception.

I can’t.

The air outside the warehouse still clings to my skin—coppery, thick with blood. My dress is clean, but I feel stained.

Leo hasn’t called.

That bothers me.

I pull out my phone and text him: It’s taken care of.

I don’t wait for a reply. I slide into the car I had waiting and tell the driver to head to the airport. A flight to Atlanta is easy enough to arrange. Being a Testa opens doors that aren’t available to regular people.

The flight is a blur. I don’t drink, don’t speak to anyone. Just sit there, staring out at the clouds, replaying the last few hours in my head. The way the man’s body slumped in the end.

It’s past ten when I land. Atlanta is quieter than Miami, cooler, the air crisp with the promise of a storm. I take a cab straight to Truman’s house.

I shouldn’t be here. I’ve given him no notice.

I know that.

But I don’t care .

He is the only part of my life that still feels real. The only person I have who isn’t tangled in duty and blood and the Testa name.

I let myself in, locking the door behind me. The house is dark, but his familiar scent wraps around me. My chest tightens.

Relief floods my veins, making my limbs heavy. I move toward the bedroom, heart pounding harder than it should. Maybe he’s awake. Maybe he’ll pull me into his arms, let me forget—

I step into the doorway and freeze.

He’s asleep, starfish on his belly. His preferred sleeping pose.

But there’s a woman in his bed.

She’s tangled in his sheets, bare shoulders exposed, blonde hair fanned out on his pillow.

For a second, my brain refuses to understand what I’m seeing.

Then it hits me, like ice water through my veins, a blade through my ribs.

I suck in a breath—sharp, ragged—and it comes out broken. A sound I don’t recognize.

The woman stirs. Blinks up at me, bleary. “What the fuck—?”

I could kill her. So easily. So quickly. I could. My shoe would work fine. My bare hands. My teeth.

He shifts beside her. His dark lashes flutter, then his eyes open. My eyes lock on his as the woman starts screaming.

Sleepy.

Confused.

And then he sees me.

His body goes rigid. His gaze flicks to the woman beside him, then back to me.

“Stop screaming,” he yells over her shrieks.

For a long, suffocating moment, none of us move.

Then his jaw tightens. “You need to leave, Mara.”

The woman frowns, pushing up onto one elbow. “What?”

He is already sitting up, voice like a blade. “I said get out .”

Her eyes flash with anger. “Are you serious? You—”

He doesn’t even look at her. His attention is locked on me, sharp and unreadable.

I don’t move.

Can’t move.

The woman huffs, muttering a curse as she scrambles out of bed, grabbing her clothes from the floor. She shoots me a glare on the way out, but I don’t register it.

The second the door slams shut behind her, I turn. Ready to leave, to pretend this never happened.

But he is faster.

“K—” His voice is low. Rough.

I flinch. “Don’t.”

His fingers close around my wrist—firm but gentle. “Why are you here?”

I lift my chin, forcing steel into my spine. “Mistake.” My voice doesn’t waver. But my body does.

He sees it.

Feels it.

His grip tightens, his free hand coming up to cup my face.

“You’re shaking.”

I let out a sharp breath, hating how raw I feel. “I just killed a man.” My voice breaks around the words, and his thumb brushes over my cheek like he can smooth out the damage.

He exhales hard. “Come here.”

I should push him away. He deserves a life. He deserves to have happy and normal relationships with available women.

But when he pulls me against his chest, I let him.

And when his lips press against my temple, I break.

The tears come first, hot and unstoppable. He rocks me gently, his breath warm in my hair, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath the chaos spinning inside me.

“You hate me now,” I mumble against him.

“I could never.” His voice is fierce now, pulling me back from the edge.

I press my face into his shoulder, trying to breathe past the knot in my chest.

We don’t move for a long time. It feels good, being like this with him again. Too good.

When I finally pull away, there’s something new in his eyes—a flash of something deep and urgent.

“You can’t keep doing this. You have to get out.”

I shake my head before he’s even finished speaking. “You know I can’t.”

His jaw flexes, his hands still gripping my arms like he can physically hold me together.

“K—”

“No.” My voice is sharper than I mean it to be, but I can’t let him say it. Can’t let him tell me what I already know—that I should run, that I should escape this life before it swallows me whole. Because it’s too late .

I wipe at my face, forcing the weakness away.

“You think I don’t want to?” My voice is raw, the edges frayed.

“That I don’t dream about just—just disappearing?

Leaving it all behind?” I shake my head, laughter bitter in my throat.

“But that’s not how this works. You don’t leave the Testa family. You don’t walk away from this world.”

His grip tightens, frustration flickering in his dark eyes. “You’re not just playing in this world, you’re beholden to it. You’re a pawn in their game, making moves and pulling triggers for them. And one day, all of their demands are going to catch up to you .”

I exhale slowly, pushing past the ache in my ribs. “Maybe.”

He curses under his breath, raking a hand through his messy hair. “And that doesn’t scare you?”

Of course, it does. But fear is a luxury I can’t afford.

I step back, putting space between us before I do something stupid, like beg him to make me forget—like crawl into his bed and let him kiss the blood and guilt away.

My gaze flickers to the crumpled sheets, to the faint imprint of another woman’s body.

A sharp pang slices through me, fast and brutal.

I lift my chin. “You should get back to bed.”

He watches me carefully, his expression unreadable. “I don’t want her.”

My stomach twists, but I force a smirk, brittle and hollow. “She looked pretty convinced.”

His mouth tightens. “You disappeared that winter. For a year! Then, out of the blue you call me. You beg to see me. I let you back in. And now six years of this cat-and-mouse game where you don’t call.

You don’t text. You hold me at arm’s length only appearing when you need me.

I get what’s in it for you…but what about me?

I’ve made it clear over and over again that I want you.

All of you, however, you’ll give yourself to me. But Christ…” he trails off, frustrated.

He sighs and scrubs a hand down his handsome face. “I was trying to forget you.”

A painful beat of silence.

I swallow hard, my nails digging into my palms. “Did it work?”

His gaze darkens. “Not even a little.”

I nod, even though it feels like my heart is being stripped away inside my chest, ragged edge by ragged edge. “I never meant to drag you into this,” I say softly, barely above a whisper. “That’s why I leave. That’s why I disappear. To protect you.”

His eyes flash like lightning in a storm. “Protect me? From what?”

“Me.” The word sticks in my throat like broken glass.

He shakes his head, disbelief etched across his features.

“You don’t get to decide that. Not for me.

” He takes a step forward, eyes boring into mine with the intensity of a wildfire.

“I’m not some lost puppy you need to shelter from a hurricane.

You act like you’re saving me by leaving, but you have no idea what it’s like on this end.

Emotion shivers through me—a potent mix of longing and terror. I waver on my feet but hold my ground, fists clenched tight with the urge to touch him.

He moves closer, until he’s a breath away and his presence is all around me—hot and demanding and impossible to ignore. He kisses me, and all of the fear and guilt and longing I’ve been holding inside erupts, shattering the dam I’ve kept so carefully in place.

I kiss him back with reckless abandon, letting it all bleed out. My hands find his hair, his shoulders, grasping desperately, like if I just hold on tight enough, maybe I can keep this, keep him.

For a moment, nothing else exists but him—his touch scorching away everything else. I forget who I have to be. I let go.

We break apart, ragged and breathless. His forehead rests against mine, and he’s watching me with those eyes that see everything.

“Stay,” he murmurs, low and rough—a quiet plea that twists my heart.

“I…” My voice is hoarse, torn between hope and despair.

He brushes a thumb across my lower lip, a soft promise that makes me ache in ways that are almost unbearable. “What do you want?”

“Your mouth,” I breathe out.

He grins at our inside joke.

“Where?”

I point to my neck, then drag my finger lower, over my collarbone, down my sternum over my black silk dress, over my belly and stop between my legs.

He makes a low sound in his throat, one that vibrates straight through me. He dips low, his fingers find the hem of my dress, brushing my thighs—teasing as he lifts it, and I’m dizzy with how much I need him.

His name is a gasp.

He slides the fabric higher, trailing kisses over every inch of exposed skin until the dress slides up and over my arms, gets tossed on the floor. His lips burn like fire, and I arch into him, my body a live wire. He pauses, just shy of where I want him most, hooded eyes meeting mine.

His mouth moves lower, and the world fades to white hot bliss.

“Fuck,” he growls, his voice low and rough. He presses a single, deliberate kiss right there. My thighs clamp around his head instinctively, my hips grinding against his face, but he pulls back just enough to drive me insane.

I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood, my heart pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it. He spreads my legs wider and lowers his mouth to me, I swear I see stars. His tongue flicks against my clit, and I nearly come undone.

I wake a few hours later in tangled sheets, sleep clinging to the edges of me. His arm is heavy across my waist—a warm weight that lulls me back toward unconsciousness.

But an itch keeps me awake, a whisper at the back of my mind that sounds like danger.

The window frames a bruise-colored sky. Dawn isn’t far off.

I untangle myself slowly, careful not to wake him. As I rise from the bed, his hand slides free from my body—the loss of contact colder than it should be.

He shifts but doesn’t wake. A part of me wishes he would—that he’d stop me before I can disappear again.

I dress quietly in the gray slant of early morning light. On his nightstand, a framed photo of us sits proudly. I smooth the hair back from his forehead. Press a kiss to his temple.

And leave.