Page 24

The moment stretches tight between us, crackling with something unnamed, something waiting to detonate. I feel the heat of him through my thin shorts, the roughness of his jeans pressing between my legs. My hands slide up, slow, curious, testing.

I lean in anyway, my lips brushing near his—close, so fucking close—when the door bangs open.

“What the fuck?”

Sophia’s voice cuts through the room, ice-cold. My stomach drops. I whip my head around to find her standing in the doorway, a can of soda clutched in her trembling hand. Her face is stunned, eyes wide, and her mouth parted like she can’t believe what she’s seeing.

I scramble off him, my limbs clumsy as I nearly fall. “Soph, it’s not—”

“What the hell are you doing with my dad?”

“Soph, it’s not—I didn’t—” I stammer, useless, my hands shaking.

Adriano’s up too, reaching for her. “Sophia, wait—”

Adriano runs a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath, but Sophia doesn’t even look at him. Her fury is locked on me, burning hot and ruthless.

“It was a joke,” I try, but the excuse crumbles in my mouth. We both know what this was.

Sophia shakes her head, laughing, but there’s no humor in it.

“A joke? You were all over him. So this is why you keep asking weird questions about him. Why you always managed to bring him up in every conversation we have.” She marches forward, shoving me back when I try to grab her arm.

“Don’t you fucking touch me. You slut. Are you fucking serious, Penelope?

My dad? What is wrong with you?” Her voice rises, tears glittering in her eyes. “I trusted you!”

“It was a dare, Soph!” I yell, desperate, but it sounds pathetic even to me. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Sorry?” she spits, cutting me off. “You were on his lap, Pen! What’s next, you gonna screw him on the couch while I’m gone?

” She’s trembling now and I’ve never seen her this mad.

This hurt. “No wonder your mom can’t even look at you.

Why she’s slowly losing her mind because you fucked up your entire family to ride your neighbor’s dick a few times.

Your dad died in a cell because of your shit, and now you’re slumming it up with mine? ”

The words hit like a blade, slicing deep.

She knows—fuck, she knows—about my dad, the neighbor’s son, the bloody mess that ended with him shanked in prison trying to defend me when he thought 24-year-old Austin was taking advantage of me.

How his father had my father locked up for beating up his son until he knocked him out.

How his rich father arranged for him to be stabbed in prison and left to bleed.

How it affected my family when we heard.

How we couldn’t do anything about it because we had no proof or money.

How my mom got lost to dementia, blaming me with every silent stare.

Sophia’s never thrown it in my face, not once, until now. It’s a betrayal heavier than anything I’ve done tonight.

My blood turns to ice. My vision narrows to her face, twisted in disgust, in rage, in something that makes me want to curl in on myself and disappear.

My father’s screams echo in my skull, the ones I never heard but still feel, trapped in that prison cell, bleeding out on the floor because I ruined him.

“You do not get to throw that in my face.” My voice shakes, my nails biting into my palms. I lunge forward, but Adriano steps between us, hands out. “I trusted you with that information. You were my best friend.”

She flinches, just barely, but the moment passes, and she steels herself. “Yeah. I was. Past tense.”

My breath stops.

Then she looks at him. “This is why you refused to tell me about my mother or let me see her because you want to have enough space to fuck girls half your age. Well, have it. I’ll give you guys the space you need.”

Adriano reaches for her.

Sophia shoves past him. “I’m done. You two deserve each other.” She snatches his car keys off the counter, the jangle loud in the tense air. “I’m out of here.”

“Sophia, wait!” Adriano grabs for her, but she’s too fast, slamming the door behind her. The engine roars outside, tires squealing as she peels out.

I stand there, breathless, my whole body trembling as Adriano tries to get another cab this late to chase after her.

My phone buzzes minutes later—her name flashing—but I’m too shaken, too pissed, and I let it ring out, the sound echoing in my skull. That’s the last time I hear her voice.

Hours later, I’m screaming her name into the pavement, her body twisted and broken, blood seeping into the cracks of the road with Adriano’s car totaled. Because of some drunk fuck who didn’t stop.

Her fingers twitch, just barely, like she’s trying to hold on.

She doesn’t.

She never had a chance.

I killed her. Not with my hands, but with my silence, with the call I ignored, with the car she took because I made her run. And maybe—maybe—with the way I looked at her that night, like she had already died in my eyes.

Adriano was the last person she saw before she got behind that wheel.

I was the last person she called.

And now she’s a ghost I’ll never outrun.

The guilt sinks its teeth in and never lets go. She died hating me, maybe him too, and every touch from Adriano since feels like I’m carving her name deeper into that grave.

Present Day

The glass slips from my hand, shattering on the tile, jolting me back.

Water pools around my feet, cold and sharp with glass, but I barely feel it, that night replaying like a looped reel.

I stumble to the counter and try Adriano’s number again.

It rings out, no answer, his voicemail a hollow tease.

“Fuck,” I mutter, my voice breaking. Where is he?

A creak sounds from the living room and makes my spine stiffen.

I’d dismantled the cameras, sick of his constant watch, so there’s no feed to check.

Another noise. Then a shuffle, closer now.

My pulse spikes, dread twisting in my gut.

I grab a knife from the block, the blade glinting in the moonlight spilling through the window, and creep toward the sound, barefoot and silent.

The living room’s shadows pool thick, and I catch a figure A tall, broad one moving near the couch.

I move silently, pressing my back against the wall, holding the knife tightly. Every breath feels too loud, my pulse hammering in my ears. I inch forward, my body taut, my muscles coiled. If they are here to hurt me, I will make them bleed first.

A shadow moves at the edge of the hallway.

I do not hesitate. I lunge.

The knife slashes through the air, catching flesh.

There’s a sharp inhale and a grunt of pain before a hand grabs my wrist and twists hard.

I collide into a body, and my free fist connects with solid muscle.

A rough snarl breaks through the quiet, and though it sounds familiar, I am too caught in the fight to process it.

A hard shove sends me stumbling back, my vision swimming. The knife clatters to the floor, and I move to grab it again, but then—

“Penelope.”

His voice.

My breath hitches. “Adriano?”

He lets out a breath. “Jesus Christ, you cut me.”

I suck in a breath as he steps into the low light, his features twisting in pain. Blood drips from his right arm, splattering onto the floor.

“Oh my God.” The knife feels like fire in my hand, and I drop it. “I—fuck—I didn’t know it was you.”

“No shit,” he mutters, shaking his head, but his voice is softer than I expect.

I reach for him, my fingers ghosting over his torn sleeve. “You are hurt.”

“I have had worse.”

“That does not mean it is fine,” I snap, my voice tight with guilt. “What the hell, Adriano? You broke into my apartment?”

He does not flinch. “You were not answering your phone.”

My stomach tightens. “You weren’t, either.”

“I was in an accident. My phone screen is damaged.”

“What? Oh my God, are you okay?”

“Yes, just my right arm is injured and a few ribs busted up bad, but I’m okay.”

“So you just—what? Decided to scare the shit out of me in the middle of the night?”

He does not apologize. He does not even look guilty. Instead, his lips curl into something almost satisfied. “You worried about me?”

“Of course I am!” I gesture at his bleeding arm. “You are literally dripping blood all over my floor.”

Despite the pain, a slow, teasing curve forms on his lips. “I think it’s romantic that I was just in a car accident and still made it all the way to see you.”

“You are insane.”

“And you love it.”

I should throw something at him. But instead, I grab his good wrist and drag him to the sofa in the living room. “Sit.”

He obeys, though his smile does not fade. He watches me, those gray-green eyes hooded as I rummage through the cabinets, grabbing the little supplies I have.

When I return, I kneel beside him, biting my lip as I pull up his sleeve. The cut is deep, but not lethal. I clean the surface first with shaking hands, pressing a dish towel to the wound to stop the bleeding. He does not flinch.

“You did not have to do this,” I murmur, not meeting his eyes. “Break in, I mean.”

His fingers brush my chin, tilting my face up. “I needed to see you.”

The words settle low in my stomach, burning slow.

“I was going to see you in the morning,” I whisper.

“Morning was too far away to be near you. Not with the way we left things. I’m sorry, Pen.”

Something in me breaks.

I lean in before I can stop myself, my hands grab his shirt and pull him closer. His lips crash against mine, roughly and I melt into it, into him, into this depraved and twisted thing between us. His fingers tangle in my hair, his body pressing against mine, and I know that this man will ruin me.

And I will let him.

I pull back for a while to wrap the towel tighter, my hands slick with his blood, and glare at him. “I’ve got nothing here, just peroxide and bandages. This needs stitches and if I do it, it won’t be pretty.”

“Then stitch me up,” he says, leaning closer, his lips brushing my jaw. “I trust you.”