“You could’ve tried.”
“She was in the crosshairs. That fuck was going to ruin her life. She deserves the truth.”
“That’s not your damn decision to ma?—”
“Why didn’t you tell me what Rico said in the hospital?”
Julian takes a step back. “What?”
“Apparently, he said something about not being sure I was dead without a body,” I say, watching him closely. “Seems odd to leave that out.”
There was a brief pause, and then Julian said, “I didn’t realize he had said that. Celine was stressed when she told me. Fuck, man. This is all wrong. I’m taking Celine. I’m going home.”
“No.”
Celine is in the doorway, every inch of her etched with stubbornness.
“No?”Julian snaps.
“I’m not going with you. You’ve lied to me for too long.”
“If Rico came for you, others might. I need to keep you safe.”
She shakes her head. “I’d rather be in danger than be with you right now. You’ve insulted me by lying to me for years. At least give me the courtesy of respecting this decision.”
Julian lets out a growl. “Celine?—”
“I can stay here!” she blurts out, then turns to me with a challenge. “Right?”
“I mean… yeah. You can. Sure.”
Julian winces. “So you hate me for being in the mob, but not him?”
“He’snot my fucking brother, Julian!”she screams.
“It might be good for some space,” I say quietly. “Some time to cool off. Plus, no one knows I’m here. No one will find her.”
Julian throws his hands up. “Fuck it. Like I give a shit.”
He storms through the house, footsteps making the whole house shake.
Celine squeaks as he slams the door on his way out.
“I can’t believe this is my life,” she whispers.
I know the damn feeling.
CHAPTER 10
CELINE
I’m hiding away in an empty spare room, replaying what I’ve learned so far. The attack on Damian was mob-related. Julian lied to Damian about what I said concerning that lowlife Rico.
I was eavesdropping, and I don’t feel bad about it. Julian said that I didn’t mention the body, but I did. He knows I did.
I feel gross in my scrubs, but I’ve got nothing else to change into. It’s a strange world where I can’t swing by my apartment to collect some clothes without worrying aboutthe mob.
Finally, I sit up, force myself out of the room. I walk through his sparsely decorated – but modern and bright, and sleek – home. I find him in the gym, shirtless, hammering the heavy bag without boxing gloves on. For a moment, I just watch him and watch the bag swinging back and forth, whining in protest with each brutal strike.
