My head felt too heavy to hold up, so I dropped it on the floor and closed my eyes. Maybe David Berkshire knew the truth, and they’d all been told to keep it from me. It was easier for me to keep up the persona of Sailor Wentworth if they withheld the details.
Struggling to sit up, I went in search of my phone before I realized Noah had never given it back to me. Opening my laptop, I used the secure portal to email David and ask who had shot at us. I told him what Lauder had done, explaining that Noah had seen the text and now knew I’d been working with them.
It probably wouldn't save me from the consequences of my actions, but maybe I could finally learn the truth. Obviously, the feds had withheld this information for all these years, using it to manipulate me into doing their bidding. I wanted to be out from under their grip, no longer indebted to them for the simple act of living when I should have died.
The ghosts of my parents must look down on me in shame. I’d gone to bed with their killer, whether knowingly or not. Something I’d been missing inside me had shaped the womanI’d become, leaving me with holes that were filled with despair and self-loathing.
I’d just leaned over and rested my head on the desk when I heard the quiet whoosh of the email notification. Blinking at the response, the wound in my heart opened up again as I read the words over and over. I was going to bleed out, and there was no one to hold me while I died.
Yes, they had always known it was the Costas who plotted to kill Carmine. They believed he was the sole target, especially since he originally had other plans before cancelling them and going to my recital. My mother and I weren't intended targets, but collateral damage. They fully suspected Nero had been the gunman, simply because he was freshly eighteen and needed to make his bones in his father’s organization.
The sounds that came out of me then were inhuman. I clamped my hand over my mouth, trying to keep them in, but it was no use. All the pain and fear poured out of me until I couldn't catch my breath. Agony wasn't a strong enough word to describe the way it felt. It was more like an exorcism, hollowing my chest and baring my soul until I collapsed over the desktop.
All along, I had been his prey. He’d played nice to lure me into his arms, hoping to marry me to buy my silence. He’d targeted me, used me, and I’d fallen for it. He was a sick motherfucker with a violent nature, and I’d almost agreed to spend my life with him.
The weight of that knowledge pulled me down into unconsciousness. In my nightmares, I could only see Noah with his gun, no matter how many times I tried to change the picture or wake myself up. Over and over again, he killed me in my dreams as I pleaded for mercy and tried to crawl away over the shards of glass.
In the morning, my body felt too heavy to move and my head pounded, so I pulled out my pain meds and tried to drown themwith coffee. Without a phone, I had to resort to my computer again to tell Dr. Hogan I would be taking a sabbatical.
When he responded, wanting to know why, I told him to ask Noah Costa.
I would have to dig deep to rebuild my life again. I’d done it before, and I’d only been ten at the time. But, God, I didn't want to. I wanted to just close my eyes and give up. I was sick of the pain, sick of the taunts from people who didn't understand. They didn't care what I’d been through that had turned me into such a cold bitch.
How was I supposed to go back to work, being expected to save patients when I couldn't save myself? How could I make proper judgment calls when my perception had been so far off that I’d fallen for my shooter? Knowing he was a killer in the general sense hadn't deterred me the way it would a normal person, so clearly there was something wrong with me. I wasn't morally good at all.
The nightmares were so persistent that I had to keep myself awake. Staring at the TV made my eyes burn, but the second I closed them, I saw everything on repeat. The car, the gun, the man holding the gun. Clarity was a goddamn heartless bitch.
A knock on my door startled me, but I got up slowly, trudging over to look out the peephole at who would be there at that time of morning. Seeing nobody, I opened the door, noticing a small package on my stoop.
Well, if they planned on taking me out with a bomb, that would be ironic. Or, since I’d opened the door, maybe it was a sniper from across the street. At that point, I couldn't find it in me to care.
But nothing happened when I picked up the box, and after I closed and locked my door, I used a paring knife to slice open the tape.
It was my phone. Swiping through it, I saw everything was the same. All my contacts, except Noah and Benito. All my texts with Berkshire and Lauder were there. Maybe he’d read them and knew I’d told the truth about cutting ties with them.
And in my gallery, all the pictures I’d taken over the past few months were there, minus any I’d taken of Noah or the places we’d been together. I couldn't say why that hurt as much as it did; he might be able to forget about me, but why did he have to force me to pretend he’d never existed?
That wouldn't solve anything, and it wouldn't heal either of us. It was just one more way to say it had all been a ruse from the beginning.
Chapter Twenty-six
Noah
Pouring yet another glass of bourbon, I stood in front of the picture window and stared unseeingly at the scenery below. My phone rang, but I ignored it. When it stopped, it started up again not long after.
I kept ignoring it.
Finally, my father came barging into my room with the phone in his hand. “You can’t dismiss everyone’s calls, Nero. It could be important.”
“Nothing is important right now,” I said quietly, positive he didn't hear me.
The phone rang again, and he swiped angrily at it. “What?” he barked into it.
I never turned around, never asked him who it was. I could see him frowning out of my periphery, but tuned out what he was saying.
“That was Dr. Hogan,” he said after a lengthy conversation. “I told him he has some explaining to do, but he swears he didn't know either.”
Drinking from my glass, I continued staring down at Central Park South.
