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Charlotte’s memory lingers and I wonder if that’s my life now, if I’m always supposed to be braced for the next hit.

It’s not his fault, not really. He didn’t send her.

But fuck, I can’t shake it, this gnawing thought that loving him means drowning in this shit forever.

I see us, tangled in blood and want, and it’s a beautiful mess I crave and hate all at once.

Happiness? That’s a fairy tale, a lie for people who don’t know what we do.

With Adriano, it’s survival, raw and brutal, and I’m not sure I’m built for it anymore.

I grab my phone, scroll to his name, and stop.

My thumb hovers, trembling, then drops. Space.

I need it, even if it’s killing me. Because the truth’s a bitch: I’m caught, hooked deep, and every step away just pulls the line tighter.

Life with him is a fight I might lose, and I’m too damn tired to decide if it’s worth it yet.

Next morning, I’m at Caruso’s again, hunched over ledgers, when Lisa struts in.

She’s all heels and attitude, her blonde hair bouncing as she drops a stack of invoices on my desk.

She also recently got employed at Caruso’s after she resigned at Gianna’s company.

It has been a dream of hers to work here and when the store was looking to employ some positions last month, I helped push in her resume.

“You look like shit,” she says, leaning against the filing cabinet. “Rough night?”

“Rough life,” I shoot back, not looking up. My fingers stab the keys harder than they need to.

She laughs. “Still sulking over that hot mess of a boyfriend? What’s his name—Adrian?”

“Adriano,” I correct, glaring at her. “And he’s not my boyfriend. How did you even know? Does Gianna—”

“No, she doesn’t know anything, but I suspected from the wedding that something was going on. He totally had the hots for you.”

“He did not. And we aren’t together.” Liar.

“Sure, whatever you say.” She crosses her arms and taps her nails on her elbow. “He’s trouble, you know. Saw him outside yesterday, lurking like some creepy stalker. You into that?”

I snort, shoving the invoices aside. “He’s just… protective. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated’s a nice word for fucked,” she says, grinning wider. “Bet he’s good in bed, though. That brooding type always is.”

“Jesus, Lisa.” I roll my eyes, but heat creeps up my neck, uninvited. “Go bother someone else.”

She winks, sauntering out, and I’m left alone, her words digging in. He is good. Too good. I can still feel his hands, rough and sure, pinning me down, his voice growling in my ear. I shake it off, focusing on the numbers, but they blur into nothing. All I see is him.

That night, I’m walking home again, the SUV trailing a block behind.

I stop at the corner store, grab a soda, and lean against the wall outside, popping the tab.

The fizz burns my throat, and I catch Tommy’s reflection in the glass.

He’s lighting another cigarette, pretending he’s not staring.

I sip slowly, letting the tension simmer, then turn and march straight for him.

He rolls the window down as I get close, smoke curling out.

“Hey, doll,” he says, voice gravelly, beaming like he’s won something. “Miss me?”

“Cut the crap, Tommy.” I cross my arms, glaring. “Tell Adriano I’m fine. He doesn’t need to babysit me.”

He chuckles, sweeping the ash onto the street. “Boss’s orders. You know how he is. He somehow thinks you’re gonna trip over a crack and die if he’s not watching.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not his fucking damsel.” I step closer, voice dropping. “Tell him to trust me for once.”

Tommy’s smile fades, eyes narrowing. “He trusts you, kid. More than anyone. That’s why I’m here, freezing my balls off instead of drinking at Sal’s.”

I blink, caught off guard, then scoff. “Great. So, I’m special. Still don’t need a shadow.”

“Tell him yourself,” he says, shrugging. “I’m just the grunt.”

I turn away, soda can crumpling in my fist, and stalk off. His words stick, though. Trust. Adriano trusts me, and I’m the one running, hiding behind this “space” bullshit. I toss the can in a trash bin, the clang echoing, and keep walking, feeling eyes on me the whole way.

Back home, I lock the door, kick off my shoes, and collapse onto the bed.

The mattress groans under me, and I stare at the cracked ceiling, shadows stretching long from the streetlight outside.

My skin itches, restless, and I know why.

Him. Always him. I roll over, burying my face in the pillow, and let the truth hit me hard.

I’m not scared of his world anymore. Never really was.

It’s not the blood, the guns, the dark. I’m scared of myself.

How much I want it, how much I want him, even when it’s ugly and wrong.

I used to think guilt was my chain and Sophia’s death, her hate, the way it broke us both.

But it’s not. It’s gone, burned out somewhere between his hands on me and my choice to stay.

Now it’s just this: I love a man who’s a fucking storm, and I’m not sure I can live without the chaos.

I sit up, grab my phone, and almost call him. My thumb hovers but not yet. I need more time to wrestle this shit down, to figure out if I’m strong enough to stand in his fire without burning up. But deep down, I know I’m kidding myself. I’m already ash, and he’s the one holding the match.

I could walk away, build something clean, safe.

But safe’s a lie, nothing’s safe when you’ve felt this alive.

Adriano’s my poison, my pulse, and I’m too fucked to let him go.

That’s the raw, ugly truth I’m stuck with, and it’s eating me alive while I pretend I don’t see his shadow outside my window.