Page 166 of The Fractured

My lips twitched, and I kissed the top of her head, savoring her scent. She smelled of fresh linen and jasmine again. It lingered in her clothes from home and the soap Kira had brought. I never wanted to forget that smell.

This scene was a stark contrast to the one when we first arrived. That one was filled with questions from doctors, worried friends, and detectives. But the most intense interaction came from Lily’s mom.

I had forgotten that she was none the wiser about anything Lily and I were involved in from day one. Kate thought I was just a tattooed petty criminal. When she found out Lily was at the hospital after a hostage situation, and Mark gave her a rundown ofeverything, she exploded in a fit of rage. Mostly aimed at me, in the form of a misaimed water bottle and a pillow, until Mark led her from the room before she could scream the hospital down.

Jane was with them, understandably shocked to find out what else I did for a living. I hoped it didn’t change how she saw me.

Kate had every right to be mad. If I were in her shoes, I would also want to smother whoever put my loved ones in danger with a pillow.

Since that moment, Lily and I had found some peace for the night.

Lily slid her hand to my chest, leaving her head on my shoulder as she lightly traced invisible shapes into the front of my hoodie. Her voice was quiet. “How long before they take you away?”

Our attention went to my left arm. There were cords and needles, replenishing my fluids and blood, but it was my wrist, cuffed to the side of the hospital bed, that prompted the question.

Outside the doors, two cops were stationed in the hallway in case I tried to escape.

Mark had warned me about the arrests. It hadn’t come as a surprise when some of his colleagues strolled in to read out the charges, and my rights, and slap the cuffs on me. At the end of the day, I was what they had written on paper — an unofficial member of Antonio’s soldiers and an illegal fighter. A criminal. I worked for him and saw things that any law-abiding citizen would go to the police for. I enabled his crimes, I was an accessory, I blackmailed, stole, and threatened violence…

The only thing that didn’t come up was the forced suicide of Gio Calacoci.

“Twenty-four hours,” I responded.

She hugged me tighter.

Chapter 58

Lily

Five months later…

The bus ride over the girder bridge had become part of my weekly routine. It was the only road in and out of the island, and I went over it every Wednesday like clockwork. Starting in the borough of Queens, with only a handful of other people making the same journey to Rikers Island.

I hadn’t missed a single visit.

After the bus ride, we were shuffled off to the visitor’s center at Robert N. Davoren Complex, or RNDC, where we signed in and had our belongings and bodies searched. It was an unpleasant process. I always zoned out and focused on the reason I was there in the first place.

Today was no different, and once everything came up clear, our belongings were signed in at the desk, and they checked everyone was wearing suitable clothing, an officer escorted us down a long grayish-green hallway to the visiting room.

I wore white sneakers and a white T-shirt tucked in at the waistband of my skinny jeans. The rules were no clothes showing too much skin or cleavage, but also nothing so baggy itcould conceal something. I wore the same style of outfit every visit, just to guarantee I wasn’t turned away at the front desk.

I trailed along at the end of the single-file line, following the corridor to the next set of doors. No matter how many times I did this walk, I couldn’t ever subdue the barrage of butterflies fluttering around my stomach. Or get control of the excited shivers that spread goosebumps along my skin. It felt like the anticipation before Christmas morning, only it was better than Christmas.

My heart felt like it was ready to lurch from my chest as we walked through the doors.

The visiting room wasn’t exactly something spectacular, or at all comforting. The paint on its walls was cracked and chipped in places, and the windows on the right-hand side of the room were fitted with bars. There were also cameras in every corner.

Three correctional officers slowly paced the room, weaving around the tables and chairs that were bolted to the floor.

Bleach was the first thing I smelled as I walked to an empty table.

I perched on the edge of my seat, anxiously looking around the room as I clasped my hands together. The waiting was the hardest part, but not the worst.

A distant but loud buzzing echoed from somewhere beyond the doors on the other side of the room, indicating a prison door opening. This was followed by another echo of the same door slamming shut, another buzzing alarm, and then the distinct sound of footsteps. Many of them.

We all watched those doors.

I crossed my legs and cradled my chin in my hand as I leaned on the table, trying to at least look composed.