“What about you?” she asks, suddenly serious and sharp. “Is there something I should know?”
He hesitates. Then, finally says, “Yeah. But I’ll tell you when you get back.”
She scoffs. “Why not now? I’m not coming until next month. I can’t wait.”
“You’ll have to. Got to go, sweetheart. Work is calling.”
“Okay. Love you, Dad.”
“I love you too.” I hang up the call and lean against the desk, grasping the edge until my knuckles turn white. Only a few more weeks left to tell Maria the whole truth. Maybe we can all move forward from there. I hope so.
I didn’t return to my bedroom that night.
Sleep doesn’t come either. Instead, I stay at my desk, leaning back in the chair, one hand folded behind my head as I stare at the ceiling, like it’ll give me answers I have destroyed everything to find.
Zoe’s voice drifts through my thoughts—quiet, hesitant, grateful.
“I feel very sorry. I shouldn’t have called you a monster. And… thank you. For protecting me. And the baby.”
I know she’s still scared of me. Because when she called me a monster, she meant it.
I didn’t blame her. Not really. I know what she saw. I know what it must’ve felt like—to have her world turned inside out again, blood on her skin, a body at her feet, a man she barely understands firing a bullet to protect her. It was the second time she’d watched someone die right in front of her. The first time, it was her parents.
I should’ve seen it coming.
It’s why I hunted the Italians like rabid dogs. Why I didn’t stop until their blood soaked the floors and their base burned. I wanted to erase every piece of them that ever touched her world.
But that fear in her eyes… that’s what stayed with me. That flicker, that flinch—that is what I hate.
And I’m not sure what’s worse. That she’s still afraid of me. Or that I don’t want her to be.
I don’t want her to run. I don’t want her to lock doors or shrink away or sleep on the far side of the house. I want her here. Beside me. Looking at me without fear. Staying.
That realization sits in my chest like a weight. Sharp. Dangerous. Because I’ve never needed anyone to stay before. But with her? I’m starting to think I do.
Near dawn, I finally leave my chair and pour myself a drink—something strong enough to burn—and step out onto the balcony. The sky’s beginning to change, dark giving way to a pale, reluctant blue. The glass is cold in my hand, but my chest is hotter than it should be.
I’m losing control, and the only person who’s ever made me feel like that… was my wife. Twenty years ago. And I lost her. Just like that.
Now Zoe—she’s nothing like her. But somehow, it’s worse. Because Zoe got under my skin when I wasn’t looking. Because I didn’t mean to care, didn’t plan to… and now I don’t know what to do with the fact that I do.
I don’t say it aloud. Don’t even breathe it. But the truth is there, pressing against my ribs like a knife.
I don’t want to lose her.
Suddenly, I hear a soft cough behind me and turn, simultaneously reaching for my knife. But it’s Zoe, barefoot, hair slightly messy, wearing one of those soft sleep shirts she stole from my closet. She looks like she just stepped out of a dream. My breath catches, but I keep still. Keep calm.
She tilts her head. “Are you avoiding me?”
I swallow. “No.”
We stare at each other, the silence stretching between us like a live wire. Then, without a word, she walks closer and holds out her hand.
Not a demand. Just an offering.
I take it. Her fingers curl around mine. She smiles—small, tired, real—and tugs gently until I follow her back into the bedroom. She climbs into bed and pulls the covers up, then turns to me. Without hesitation, I climb in beside her, drawing the sheets up to our chin.
“I can’t sleep when you’re not here,” she says and curls into my side, tucking her head beneath my chin like it’s the most natural thing in the world. She immediately falls asleep, as if she’s always belonged there. I pull her closer, burying my nose in her hair and letting my body relax.
