Page 17

Penelope

I hang up the phone with Gianna and Gerald, my ears still ringing from their goofy banter about baby names. “If it’s a boy, I’m pushing for Gerald Junior,” Gerald said, his voice crackling through the speaker. “Gives me legacy vibes.”

Gianna snorted loud enough to make me wince. “Over my dead body. I’m not cursing my kid with ‘Junior’ baggage. How about something cool, like Blaze?”

“Blaze?” Gerald laughed. “What’s he gonna be, a wrestler? I’d rather name him after my grandpa—solid, dependable Frank.”

“Frank?” Gianna fired back. “Sounds like a guy who owns a deli and yells at kids for stealing gum. No way.”

I couldn’t help the small smile that played on my lips as I shoved my phone into my pocket and stepped onto the street outside Caruso’s.

Their bickering is the kind of normal I crave, a lifeline to a world where babies and delis matter more than blood and bullets.

My sneakers scuff the pavement, the atmosphere thick with exhaust and late-night chill.

I tug my jacket tighter and feel the weight of Adriano’s world pressing heavier on me, like it does every damn day.

That is when they hit me.

Three guys melt out of the shadows, moving fast. Before I can scream, a hand clamps over my mouth, pulling me into an alley.

My heart slumps against my ribs. I thrash and kick at shins, trying to remove the arm pinning me, but they are too strong.

One shoves me against the brick wall, the jagged edges biting into my back.

My breath hitches, and my eyes dart between them.

I take in their greasy hair, scarred knuckles, and cold stares.

And for some inexplicable reason, I just know they’re Ricci’s men. I know it without them saying a word.

“You fucked up, girl,” the tallest one growls. He towers over me, his leather jacket creaking as he leans in. “So you killed Theo, huh? Boss says you do not get to breathe easy after that.”

My stomach drops. They think I killed Theo.

Not Adriano. Me. I freeze, processing their words, my mind racing back to that night—Adriano swinging that bat, Theo’s skull cracking, sticky blood pooling everywhere.

I was scared shitless then, watching him turn a man into pulp.

Now? Now I know that psychotic edge is his and his alone.

These idiots have no clue who they are really dealing with.

“I did not kill him,” I spit, shoving against the guy holding me. My voice shakes, but I keep my chin up. “You have the wrong person.”

“Bullshit,” the second one snaps, stepping closer. He’s shorter, wiry, with a twitchy eye that makes him look unhinged. “Theo’s face was smashed to hell. No way a little thing like you did that solo. Tell us how you pulled it off and made it look like some freak accident.”

The tall one nods, cracking his knuckles. “Ricci wants the truth. You had help, right? Some bastard backing you up. Spill it, or we start breaking shit that a hospital can’t fix.”

I swallow hard, my pulse hammering in my throat.

They do not know about Adriano. Not really.

They think I’m the mastermind, that I staged it.

If they knew he was the one who turned Theo into a mangled mess, they would have a target and a reason to hunt him down.

Proof to take to Ricci. I realize that I want to protect him.

Even after the cameras, the lies, Charlotte’s smug bitch face, the stupid and unreasonable part of me still wants to shield him.

He’s shown me his dark side, the part that rips people apart, and I’m the only one who’s seen it raw. That makes it mine to guard.

“I did it alone,” I lie, staring them down. “No help. Just me.”

The wiry one laughs, sharp and mean. “You expect us to buy that? Look at you, you’re barely big enough to swing a bat. Theo was a tank. No human could do that without backup.”

“Maybe I’m stronger than I look,” I shoot back, my voice steadying. “Ever think of that?”

The tall one squints, studying me like I’m a puzzle he cannot crack. “Nah. You are hiding something. Ricci says you do not get peace till we know. So talk, or we make you.”

I clamp my mouth shut, glaring. They want Adriano’s name, his shadow to chase. I will not give it. Not because he deserves it, but because letting them have him feels like handing over a piece of myself. And I’m too fucked up to let that go.

“Last chance,” the wiry one says, pulling a gun from his waistband. My breath catches, but he does not aim it. Instead, he flips it in his hand, holding the barrel like a club. “Tell us who helped you fuck Theo up.”

“Fuck you,” I snarl, spitting at his feet.

He moves fast, smashing the gun’s handle into my temple. Pain explodes, white-hot and blinding. My knees buckle as I crumple. The world spins as blood trickles warm down my cheek. I hear them muttering, their boots scuffling, before everything fades to black.

I wake up to sterile lights and the sharp sting of antiseptic.

My head throbs, a dull ache pulsing where the bastard clocked me.

I’m in a hospital bed with tubes snaking from my arm and a scratchy blanket pulled up.

Adriano sits beside me, his chair shoved close, those gray eyes burning with a fury I can feel across the room.

“Who did this?” he demands, his voice rough. He leans forward, elbows digging into his thighs. “Tell me now, Penelope.”

I turn my head away, staring at the beige wall. “I want to be alone.”

“Fuck that.” He stands, looming over the bed, his shadow swallowing me. “Someone put you here. I’m going to find them and rip their goddamn throats out. Tell me who.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, the ache in my skull flaring. His anger is a storm, but I’m too raw to face it. “Just leave, Adriano.”

“No.” He grabs the bedrail. “I’m burning this city down till I get them. You do not get to shut me out. Talk.”

I open my eyes, glaring up at him. “It was Ricci’s guys. They jumped me after work. Happy now?”

His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking. “What did they want?”

I hesitate, my throat dry. “They think I killed Theo. Wanted to know how I did it and how I made it look like an accident. They were fishing for proof that someone helped me.”

He freezes, eyes narrowing. “And you said?”

“Nothing.” I sit up, wincing as pain stabs my head. “I told them I did it alone. They did not buy it, but I was not giving you up.”

“You should have,” he snaps, voice rising. “You should have thrown my name at them and ran.”

I laugh, bitter and short. “Right. Because that would have stopped them from smashing my head in? They would have hurt me either way, Adriano. They were pissed. Theo was Ricci’s son.”

He stares at me. “You protected me. Why?”

I look away, my fingers twisting the blanket. “Because you are mine to hate. Not theirs.”

He goes quiet, like the space is uncomfortable between us. Then he sits back down, then drags the chair closer until his knees bump the bed.

“You are a damn idiot,” he mutters. “Risking yourself for me.”

“Yeah, well, you are not exactly a prize either,” I shoot back, meeting his eyes. “What are we even doing? This is not some fairy tale. You are a killer, and I’m… what? The dumbass who keeps coming back?”

“You are the pain in my ass who does not know when to quit.”

I scoff, but it hurts—deep, where the truth lives. “If Sophia could see us, she would hate me. She would say I’m shitting on her grave, screwing her dad like this.”

His face hardens, but he does not look away. “She would hate me more. For touching you and needing you like air. For wanting you this bad.”

I swallow hard. Her last words were, “You two deserve each other.”

“Maybe she was right to run from us. That night… I let her go and did not pick up her call after she stormed out. You did, too. And now we are drowning in it, fucking each other like it fixes anything.”

He stiffens. “That is all you think this is? Just fucking?” His voice cuts and he’s pissed, like I slapped him.

I laugh, coldly. “So what is it then? Love?” I lean forward, my head throbbing but my words flat. “Oh please, Adriano. I do not deserve love. I killed my own father, for God’s sake. I’m nothing but a whore who got her best friend dead too and now I’m screwing her dad to top it off.”

He moves fast, his hand snapping up to hold my jaw, fingers pressing into my skin.

“Do not ever talk about yourself like that,” he growls, his breath hot on my face.

A tear slips free, burning down my cheek, and he leans in, licking it off slowly, tasting my shame.

“You are my goddamn sickness, Penelope. I’d carve my chest open just to keep you in it. ”

His tongue lingers, salty and possessive, his eyes wild with something mysterious and sweet all at once.

I freeze, my pulse hammering, caught between shoving him off and pulling him closer. “You are insane,” I whisper, my voice cracking.

“And you are mine,” he says, his thumb brushing my lip. “Guilt and all. I do not give a fuck what we deserve. She is not cursing us from the grave, okay?”

I shake my head. “I think we are cursed either way. This thing between us—it is not normal. It cannot end happily. We are kidding ourselves if we think it can.”

His hand hovers over mine before pulling back. “I will fix it. I will protect you. Those bastards who touched you? They are dead. I swear it.”

“Stop,” I close my eyes. “I do not need your promises. I need you to let me be.”

He does not move, his eyes locked on mine, fierce and unyielding. “I cannot. You know that.”

I glare at him because deep down, I do not want him to. Even now, with my head pounding and his world crashing into mine, I want him here—his heat, his chaos, his fucked up devotion. I hate myself for it. Hate him more.

I lie back, staring at the ceiling, the hum of the hospital machines filling the silence. He stays, a stubborn shadow I cannot shake. My head spins with more than just pain.

Sophia’s call from that night rings in my ears—the one I did not answer. She died mad at me, and now Adriano’s carving his own chunk in me. I hate that I need that. Hate that it might be my punishment for loving him when she cannot forgive me for it.

This is his life bleeding into mine with violence, secrets, and bodies stacking up.

I protected him tonight, kept his name out of their mouths, and for what?

To keep this twisted thing alive? I wonder if I’m strong enough to walk away, to let him go for good.

But the truth gnaws at me, cold and ugly: I do not know if I can.

Not when he is the only one who makes me feel this alive, this broken.

Sometimes I think life is just a game of who gets to hurt you first. Sophia’s death taught me that.

In a flash, she was just gone after being hit by some drunk asshole who did not even stop.

I carry that every day, a knife in my gut that twists when I least expect it.

Maybe I deserve this. Maybe it is penance for failing her.

Or maybe I’m just too weak to say no to the one person who sees me, really sees me, and still stays.

“Ralph’s on it,” he says suddenly, breaking my thoughts. He pulls out his phone, thumb jabbing the screen. “He will find those fuckers. You rest.”

I roll my eyes. “Great. Your lapdog’s going to save the day.”

He smiles. “Lapdog? He would gut you for that.”

“Bring it,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “I could use a good fight.”

He laughs. “You are something else, Penelope.”

“Yeah, a real catch,” I say, voice dripping sarcasm. “Bleeding in a hospital bed, covering for a psycho. Living the dream.”

He leans closer, his breath brushing my ear. “You are my dream. Fucked up as it is.”

I turn my head, our faces inches apart, and my pulse jumps. “That is the problem,” I whisper. “It is too fucked up to last.”

He does not argue, just holds my eyes, and the tension crackles, hot and heavy. I want to shove him away. I want to pull him closer. I do neither, trapped in this limbo where we both know the truth: this is killing us, and we cannot stop.