“I want to keep her safe,” I say. It’s the only truth that matters.
“And you’ve been doing that quietly,” he points out. “For months.”
I think back to all the creeps I intercepted on the streets. Guys following her home. Muggers and kidnappers and worse. New York after dark is a whole other city, and not always safe for a woman on her own. I can’t change that.
But I can make it safer for her, and that’s what I’ve been doing.
“Not enough,” I mutter.
“Or maybe too much,” he counters. His tone softens a fraction. “You know the line you’re walking, right? If you get involved, even a little, it stops being casual.”
“It hasn’t been casual in a long time.”
He goes still. His expression changes—less teasing now, more knowing. “So you’re admitting it. You care.”
“There’s nothing to admit.”
“Riccardo.”
I look away.
He sighs and pulls his scarf tighter. “You’ll step in eventually. You know that. You’re just pretending you won’t.”
“Not unless it’s necessary,” I say.
He huffs a laugh. “And in your head, ‘necessary’ is whenever a guy looks at her wrong.”
I don’t respond, because the truth of that hits harder than anything he’s said so far.
He claps me on the back lightly. “Come on. The others are waiting.”
I take one last look at the door she disappeared behind. The urge to check on her is stronger than it should be. Stronger than is wise.
But she needs calm right now, not a man like me showing up in her kitchen like a threat.
“I’ll go in a minute,” I say.
Valerio nods and disappears inside.
I stay where I am, letting the cold settle around me. I shouldn’t have pushed her. I should’ve stayed quiet like I’ve been doing since the first night I noticed her.
But quiet won’t work forever. Not with Gerard circling her like a snake.
Something’s going to snap soon. I can feel it.
And when it does, I’ll be there.
I always am.
3
SAVANNAH
Closing takes longer than it should.
My hands move on autopilot, but my head feels hollow, like everything inside it has been scraped out and left somewhere behind the line. Everyone else has gone home. It’s just me, the hum of the fridge, and the flickering exit sign above the back door.
My whole body aches. I’m still thinking about the insurance email. Thinking about Mom’s tired smile every time she tells me not to worry. Thinking about how ninety percent of my paycheck goes to her meds, and how the other ten percent tries—and fails—to keep the rest of our world from collapsing.
