It was never about the money. The money was a leash, but the real point was control. Men like Max didn’t just cut women loose. Not in the Outfit. Not when we knew what we knew.
They couldn’t kill us either. That would be messy. Too many questions. Too much heat. So instead they boxed us in. Put us in gilded cages and made damn sure we stayed there. If we wanted security, we had to remarry. If we wanted freedom, well, too bad. There was no freedom. Not once you were in.
And I’d been in since the day Cillian slipped that ring on my finger.
Now I was here.
Walking.
I wasn’t sure where I was going, but I let my feet carry me anyway—past blocks, past people who didn’t look at me twice,past everything that had once been familiar and now just felt foreign.
I walked until the city blurred together. Until the cold bit at my fingertips and the wind tangled my hair. Until I stopped thinking about the fact I had no real plan. Then, at some point, without realizing it, I stopped and looked up.
I was standing in front ofhisbuilding.
Nothisanymore. Cillian’s name was on the deed, but it had never really belonged to him. Max owned it in all the ways that mattered, and when Cillian died, he took the paperwork too.
I didn’t let myself think about it too much. I just walked inside and headed straight for the front desk.
The receptionist barely glanced up. Her eyes squinted with recognition. I could tell she remembered me. I suppose it was hard not to, since last time I’d walked in here as if my hair were on fire, like those stupid cartoons where they’re blazing with rage. I’d thought it was funny when I was a little kid eating my bowl of cereal in front of the TV. Now? Not so much.
“What can I help you with?” she had asked softly, with a smile.
I hesitated.
There was a long list of things I needed help with. A way out. A plan. A solution that didn’t involve Max’s leash tightening around my throat.
But those weren’t things I could ask for here. I wasn’t even sure why I was here. Maybe out of habit. Cillian used to have me in this office so often I could probably still find my way around blindfolded.
I drummed my fingers once against the counter, my nails clicking softly against the marble. “Um,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’m here to see Marco.”
She blinked. “Last name?”
I tilted my head. “Don’t know it.”
That earned me a look. “Is he expecting you?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“No.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ll see if he’s available.”
I stepped back, turning away before I could catch the judgment in her expression. It didn’t matter. I had worse things to worry about.
I started pacing. Not fast, but just enough to keep the energy from settling under my skin. I hadn’t planned this visit—hadn’t even let myself think about it until I was already here—but now I was, I wasn’t sure why I’d asked forhim.
Of all the people in this building, of all the ways I could spend my time, I’d walked up to the front desk and asked for Marco.
I ran my tongue along the inside of my cheek, still pacing, trying to piece together what the hell I even planned to say to him. If I needed legal advice I could go anywhere. Find another government-funded hack willing to pretend they gave a shit.
Instead I’d come here.
To him.
I hated the way that sat in my chest, so I told myself this was just because he was a good lawyer.
Areallygood lawyer.
Expensive too.
