The worst kind.
The kind that tears holes in reckless women and makes them burn worlds down.
“I have to,” I say.
My voice breaks.
I don’t hide it.
I let him hear what this costs me.
“Because if I stay, I won't stop hurting you,” I continue. “I just change what it looks like.”
I step back.
Once.
Then again.
Santino lunges a half-step before forcing himself to stop. Like he wants to grab me but doesn’t trust his hands not to beg.
“You don’t get to decide this alone,” he snaps.
I force myself to meet his eyes.
Force myself to watch his heart crack in real time.
“I do,” I whisper. “Because it’s my fault.”
Emiliano doesn’t interrupt.
He just watches.
Like a man watching a fire finish eating something that mattered.
I move.
My boots carry me toward the gate with the heaviness of a funeral in every step.
“Santino,” I breathe, just before I cross the last inch between staying and gone. “I didn’t mean to love you.”
The truth rips itself out of me.
“And I don’t know how to stop.”
I turn away, because if I don’t, I’ll crawl into him and never come back out.
The gate looms.
Black.Iron.Final.
I reach it and pull it open myself.
No one else gets the honor.
The hinges scream like something dying.
I step through.
