And Enzo knows.
The silence stretches until it suffocates. My pulse hammers in my ears, loud enough that I’m sure whoever is behind that glass can hear it.
Enzo doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Just waits.
“I asked you a question,” he says finally. It’s soft, but it still lands. “Answer it.”
I grip the arms of the chair, nails digging in. “No.”
He arches a brow. “No?”
“No,” I repeat, forcing strength into it. “I don’t wish I’d died with her.”
He leans forward, studying me. “Liar.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” he cuts in. “Because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t hesitate when I bring her up. You wouldn’t lose your breath when I mention her connection to him. You wouldn’t—”
“Stop!” The word rips me raw.
For the first time, Enzo smiles. Not warmth, not kindness—but satisfaction. A strike landed. Another layer peeled back.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Now we get to the marrow.” His tone lowers, deliberate, and cruel. “You’ve clung to ghosts long enough, but I want the truth: who do you love most?”
The question slams into me. I stare at him, stunned. “What?”
“You heard me,” he says, calm as ever. “If your heart had to choose, right now, in this moment, who would it be? Dante, who abandoned you? Elijah, who aches for you but will never touch you? Or me—the one who knows you, breaks you, rebuilds you?”
My throat closes. I want to laugh, scream, deny him the satisfaction, but the words stick.
He leans closer. “Say it.”
I shake my head, clamping my lips shut.
His teeth clench.
My vision blurs, but Enzo’s hand slides under my chin, tilting my face up to his. His touch is gentle—unbearably gentle—but it still burns me with fire.
I don’t answer.
My lips are sealed so tightly they ache, my jaw locked until the bones themselves might shatter. He waits and is patient, making me actually believe he has all the time in the world.
“Fine,” Enzo murmurs finally.
He releases my chin, leaning back in his chair as if none of this costs him anything. “If you won’t say it now, you’ll say it later. Starvation makes the tongue slippery.”
The scrape of his chair against the floor is deafening. He stands, straightening his cuffs.
I can’t stop watching him—his shadow stretching across the room, his reflection moving alongside mine in the mirror.
Then he’s gone.
The lock snaps shut behind him.
And I am alone.
* * *
