Except he lived long enough to give us a name. That led us to the lab where they cooked the shit. We burned it to the ground.
Doesn’t bring him back, though.
And now the Bratva’s just set up somewhere else, and Lightning is back on the streets like Joey’s sacrifice meant nothing.
“I was undercover, too,” Luca’s voice is flat. “Looking for the same information Joey found. If I’d discovered it first, maybe he’d still be alive.”
“You can’t carry that,” I tell him. “Joey made his own choices. Same as you. Same as all of us.”
“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “I know.”
But he doesn’t, not really. Luca’s been trying to make up for old mistakes since before I can remember.
I know the feeling. The weight of past sins doesn’t get lighter with time. You just get stronger at carrying it.
I don’t know what else to say, so I don’t say anything. Words aren’t my thing.
When I pull up to his building, he gets out without another word. Just nods and disappears through the glass doors.
The drive home is quiet. I pull into my driveway and the house is dark.
Inside, it’s quiet. Too quiet. I convinced Sierra to stay here for now— safer than her apartment—but she’s still at work, and the silence feels strange. I’ve lived alone for ten years. This should feel normal. But I’ve gotten used to her too fast. The sound of her moving through rooms. Her sneakers by the door. That vanilla scent that’s missing from the air tonight.
I checked my phone twice on the way home, making sure she hadn’t texted me with trouble. Nothing.
I could go to the bar. Wait for her like I’ve done before. But she told me that my face was scaring away customers, so maybe I should give it a rest.
I drop onto the couch and turn on the TV. Some action movie with car chases and explosions. My kind of mindless.
My eyelids grow heavy despite my intentions. The adrenaline from the construction site has faded, leaving exhaustion in its wake. I try to fight it, want to stay awake until I hear Sierra’s car in the driveway.
Sleep drags me under anyway.
The dream starts the way it always does.
My mother on the kitchen floor. My stepfather, Scott, standing over her, fist still clenched, that dead-eyed look he got when the whiskey took over.
I’m thirteen. Frozen in the doorway. I know I should move. Should do something. But my legs won’t work and my voice won’t come and I just stand there, watching him raise his hand again.
She looks over at me like she already knows I’m not going to help her.
Then the scene shifts, the way dreams do.
It’s not Scott standing over her anymore.
It’s me?—
A hand touches my shoulder.
I explode.
My arms connect with something soft, shoving hard before my eyes are even fully open. Heart slamming. Pulse roaring. The dream still wrapped around my throat.
Then I blink.
I’m standing in my living room. The TV’s still flickering.
And there’s Sierra. On the floor. Looking up at me.
