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“Yeah. Like, I could go back to college, get my accounting degree. But I don’t know if I want that now. Not with you in my head all the time.”

His eyes narrow. “How can you not want that? Your career should be because of you and you alone. You can’t get mixed up with this life. It is for people already far too fucked up, like me. College keeps you out of this shit. My world’s a meat grinder, Pen. You’d get chewed up.”

I lean in. “Well, the way I see it, I’m already halfway there. And maybe I don’t care. Maybe I want the mess. You ever think about us, long-term?”

He drops the fork, then grabs my hand, squeezing until it hurts. “Long-term is a fantasy. You with me? It’s ducking bullets, not picking out curtains. I’d slit throats to keep you, but it doesn’t mean we’d make it.”

“So we hide it,” I say, testing him. “Sneak around. I can do that.”

He pulls me closer, breath hot on my face. “You don’t tell a soul. We keep it under wraps for now.”

“Why? You scared they’ll judge the age gap or think you’re taking advantage of me?”

He lets go, raking his hair back. “It’s not that. One slip, and you’re dead. My enemies don’t fuck around. You’re my weak spot, and they’d carve you up to get to me.”

It hits me then, it’s not shame, but survival. He’s paranoid, possessive, always grabbing me like I’ll slip away. I’m pissed he wants me caged, but I’m hooked on how he needs me, how he can’t keep his hands off me. It’s twisted, and I’m too deep to care.

The next day, I’m at his place as usual, sprawled on his couch watching TV, when I spot a crate in the corner, cracked open, bags of white powder spilling out like guts. My heart bangs against my ribs, and I’m up, pointing at it, voice shaking.

“What the fuck is that?”

He glances over from his phone, cool as ice. “Business.”

“Business? That’s fucking dope, Adriano! You’re peddling death!”

He stands, looming over me, all muscle and menace. “It’s just work, Pen. Pays for the roof, the food, the life.”

I shove him. “That’s a lie! That shit kills people. Kills kids, junkies! You don’t have to do this anymore. You’re not doomed to be the bad guy just because Sophia’s gone.”

His face twists, and he grabs my wrists, slamming them against the wall. “Don’t you dare bring her up. This has nothing to do with her.”

“Doesn’t it? Everything’s about her with you.

You’re drowning in guilt because you feel she hated you for keeping her mother from her, when you could have just told her why all these years.

So you’re playing king of the filth to punish yourself, and I’m the idiot wading through your shit. You think I don’t see it?”

He tightens his hold. “You think you’re any different? Screwing me, knowing I’m a goddamn rot pile? Hate to break it to you. But you’re neck-deep in this muck like I am, sweetheart so don’t pretend your hands aren’t dirty.”

“Dirty? I’m not the one giving people poison to shove into their veins, you bastard! You’re not just rotten, you’re a fucking plague, and you love it. Hiding behind Sophia’s ghost so you don’t have to face what a monster you’ve become. I might be in the mud, but at least I know it.”

His eyes flash and his voice drops an octave. “Keep talking, Pen. You’re really good at cutting me open, but you’re still here, aren’t you? Clinging to the plague because you can’t walk away.”

I wrench free, tears stinging. “I know I can’t, but you could stop, be something else!”

He steps in. “I don’t want to be something else. I’m this. And you’re kidding yourself if you think you’re above it.”

I slap him, hard, the crack echoing. He doesn’t move, just stares, eyes burning. “Go to hell,” I hiss, storming out, slamming the door shut so hard it rattles.

The street’s cold, and I stumble. He’s right.

I’m not clean or different. I’m in love with a monster, a dealer, a trafficker, a man who’d burn the world for me but won’t climb out of it.

I want to scream, to purge him out of my soul, but I can’t.

I’m as fucked as he is, and the worst part is I don’t know if I’d change him even if I could.

Then tires screech against the pavement, spitting gravel, and Tommy’s black SUV jerks to a stop beside me.

The window rolls down, thick cigarette smoke unfurling like a veil.

He rests his elbow on the frame, a knowing smile tugging at his mouth.

I know Adriano sent him, his shadow trailing me to take me back.

“Lovers spat, huh, doll?” he says, voice scraped raw from years of nicotine and grit, eyeing my tear-streaked face.

“Go away, Tommy,” I snap, swiping at my wet cheeks with my sleeve. “I’m not in the mood.”

He chuckles. “Boss is a live wire, huh? Fucks like a machine, fights like a devil, burns hotter than a torched warehouse. But I have never seen him like this. Not since Sophia. You must really have him down bad.”

I’m tempted to go on a rant, but I decide against it. I step closer. “Why don’t you go tell him that when you run back to lick his boots.”

Tommy’s laugh bursts out, his head tilting back so the scars on his neck catch the light.

“Damn, I like you. Adriano’s a tornado, doll.

Been with him ten years, watched him crush skulls over a wrong look, screw women until they crawl, then ditch them before sunrise.

But he is loyal, through and through. He pulled a knife from my gut in ’19, took the next hit himself.

But he is a mad dog, heart buried deep. You are either nuts or steel to stay with him. ”

“Maybe I am both,” I say, hands on hips. “But he does not own me, Tommy. He is a wreck, and I see it better than you. So shove your advice and just leave me be.”

He tosses the cigarette onto the street and leans out the window. “Get in. I will take you home.”

“No thanks. I will walk.”

Tommy sighs, rubbing his jaw, grin fading. “Boss will cut my balls off and hang them on his rearview if I let you stumble off alone. Come on, doll. Save my sack and get in.”

I glare but his stupid plea lands. I picture Adriano’s rage, Tommy bleeding out, and I groan, stomping to the passenger side. That lunatic might really do it.

“Fine. But I hate you both.” I pull the door open, slide in, and slam it shut, the leather creaking under me. The car is stale with ash and old blood, and Tommy’s wearing that same crooked smile as he steers forward.

“For what it’s worth, he is a bastard about you,” he says, glancing over.

I stare out the window, but my head’s spinning.

Adriano was everywhere on me a few hours ago.

His smell, his hands, the way he owns me.

I hate it. I need it. Sometimes I think this is my sentence, a life of shadows, drugs, and a man who’d die for me but drags me down instead.

It’s not pretty. It’s a goddamn disaster, and I’m riding it straight to the edge, wondering if I’ll jump or pull him with me.

Maybe we’re both too broken to fix. Maybe that’s why I stay.