"You heard me." She pulls me to my feet. "You need to explode? Then explode. Scream."
I stare at her.
"Do it!" Marina's own voice rises. "Fucking scream, Sophia!"
Something breaks inside me. The sound that tears from my throat isn't human. It's pure rage and grief and exhaustion given voice. Every loss, every fear, every moment of helplessness from the past month pours out of me.
Marina screams with me. Her voice joins mine, encouraging me, giving me permission to let it all out.
I scream for my mother, dead three weeks and I haven't properly mourned her.
I scream for Lorenzo, for wanting him when he might want someone else.
My voice cracks, breaks, but I keep going. Marina's hands find mine, squeezing tight as we both scream at her apartment walls, at the universe, at everything that's gone wrong.
When I finally stop, my throat is destroyed and my whole body shakes. But I feel lighter. Like I've expelled poison from my system.
Marina pulls me into a fierce hug. We're both breathing hard, tears streaming down our faces.
"Better?" she whispers against my hair.
I nod against her shoulder. Not fixed. Not healed. But better.
"Good." She pulls back, studying my face. "Because now we're going to figure this out. Together. Like we always do."
The apartment feels too quiet after all that noise. My ears ring. My chest still heaves with leftover sobs.
"I don't know what to do," I admit.
"First, you're going to drink some water because you probably just destroyed your vocal cords." Marina moves toward her tiny kitchen. "Then I'm ordering pizza and we're going to talk through this rationally. Figure out what's really happening before you make any decisions."
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Lorenzo
The Aston Martin screams through Chicago's streets, engine roaring like the rage in my chest. Red light. I blow through it. Horns blare behind me but I don't give a fuck.
Bruno knew.
He fucking knew she was alive.
Not just knew—helped her. Helped her fake her death. Helped her disappear.
The tires shriek as I take the exit too fast. The car fishtails but I correct it, muscle memory taking over while my mind races.
Riccardo and Luna. The image burns behind my eyes—my brother with the woman I loved. How long?
Another red light. This time I slam the brakes, tires smoking. My chest heaves. Can't think straight. Can't?—
The light changes. I floor it.
Everything makes sense now. Every fucking thing.
The way Riccardo never wanted to discuss Luna after the bombing. I thought it was respect for my grief. Thought he was being a good brother, not pushing me to talk about it.
Bruno always changing the subject when her name came up. Redirecting conversations. I thought he was protecting me too.
They weren't protecting me. They were protecting their secret.
