I stared up at him, anger and grief twisting together until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. A small part of me thought he just wanted to keep me talking.
“You want a goodbye,” I repeated. “From me.”
His throat bobbed. “Yes.”
The unfairness of it almost made me laugh.
“You ended it.”
His eyes shut briefly like the memory physically hurt. “Madeline?—”
“You don’t get to do that and then ask me for a clean exit,”
“Say you don’t want it,” he said hoarsely.
Silence pressed in around us. The corridor, the summit, the whole fucking dynasty.
“I want out. Of you. Of this. Of standing in front of you and forgetting how to breathe. If that requires a goodbye, fine. Let’s do it fast.”
His jaw clenched. “I’m listening.”
Of course he was.
I straightened my spine, smoothed my hands over my dress, and stepped back just enough to see him clearly without feeling like his body heat was going to melt whatever resolve I had left.
“Vincent Crow. Thank you for allowing me to work in your courts. For the opportunities, the training, and the experience.”
His eyes darkened attraining.
“I wish you a long, profitable life. May your dynasty expand, your syndicate thrive, and your brothers stay alive and intact.” My voice tightened on that last part; I pushed through it anyway. “I hope Villain continues to worship you the way it always has.”
Pain flickered. Barely there, but there.
“And personally,” I added, softer now, “I hope I never see you again. Because every time I do, it rips my heart back open. I wish, that I’d learned how to shut it off the way you did.”
He closed his eyes like that physically hurt.
When he opened them again, they were full of something I didn’t have a name for.
His hands flexed at his sides, like he was restraining himself from reaching for me. Or at least thats what I hoped. The reality was, the man in front of me. I didn’t know.
We stood there, ten feet apart, three months older, a thousand cuts deeper.
Then I stepped around him.
48
Nikolai
By the time my jet hit Villain airspace, I’d already decided it couldn’t be as bad as Bastion made it sound.
I was wrong.
Four missed calls from Rome. Three from Bastion. One from Luca.
The last one bothered me the most.
Rome called when Vince was pissed. Bastion called when Vince was bleeding. Luca didn’t call unless he couldn’t get Vince to move, and Luca usually could get Vince to move.
