Maybe I broke through too much. Pushed too far.
Her empty expression speaks of damage deeper than I anticipated, the raw, bleeding wounds festering beneath her cheerful exterior now laid bare.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, shattering the silence. When I check the display, a cold weight settles in my stomach.
Roman.
I slip away from Chloe, moving toward the kitchen to accept the call. “Da.”
Roman’s voice is tight with barely controlled fury. “Where the fuck are you?”
“Secured location. North Side.” He’ll know exactly where I am. It’s his safe house, after all.
“And the teacher?”
I glance back at Chloe, who remains motionless on the sofa. “Here. I’m still gathering information.”
“Information?” Roman releases a harsh bark of laughter. “Here’s some for you. The Falcones hit my docks last night. Burned two of my trucks. They’re tearing up this city searching for you and that damn teacher.”
So it was the Falcones after us.
The confirmation should satisfy me but only exacerbates to an already crushing gravity.
“I don’t know what you did,” Roman’s volume rises with every sentence, “but this sideshow has become a war. Find my diamonds. End this. Now!”
The line goes dead before I can respond.
I’m left staring at the phone in my hand.
Sasha was hurt. Others may be wounded or dead. With each passing second, the pressure mounts.
Patience is no longer an option. Not with Roman breathing down my neck and the Falcones burning down Chicago to find us, not with twenty million reasons to keep pushing until I get answers. I’d love to ask the obvious question. Why now? The diamonds have been missing for a long time. But I can hardly ask him that when I’ve received almost zero information beyond the two clues and my instructions.
I turn back to Chloe, studying her with new urgency.
She hasn’t moved or reacted to the phone call at all. She’s trapped somewhere in her own head, in memories of an island and a night that changed everything for both of us, though in vastly different ways.
I cross the room in three long strides, stopping directly in front of her.
She doesn’t acknowledge my presence. Her vacant, distant eyes stay fixed on nothing.
I shove aside the guilt threatening to pulverize my ribs.
Time for a different approach.
“This act. The cheery voice, the twinkly eyes, and the sunshine smiles. It’s why they chose you.” It can’t be the only explanation, but it’s a start.
She trembles.
I crouch in front of her, invading her space. I need to yank her back to the present where she can give me answers.
“You think if you can just hide inside your happy little bubble, the monsters will go away?” I stage a deliberate attack against her core survival mechanism. The chipper facade that’s kept her sane since she was nine years old. “That the real world can’t touch you if you think pleasant thoughts? It’s pathetic.”
I check for a flicker of awareness. A twitch. Anything to indicate I’m reaching her. Nothing.
“It’s why they planted the diamonds on you. And it’s going to get you killed. You won’t be smiling with a bullet between your eyes.” I press my index finger into her forehead.
Not even a reflexive blink.
