Luca’s handsome face is completely open, genuinely happy, transformed by joy into someone I don’t recognize.
This is what he looked like before grief turned him into a monster.
Marco wasn’t just his cousin.
He was his best friend. Probably the only person in the world who knew him completely and loved him anyway.
And my father’s mistake—coerced or not—took that away from him.
The weight of my secret knowledge presses down on my chest like a physical thing. I know who really orchestrated Marco’s death. Or at least I know his voice.
The recording on my phone, buried in cloud storage, proves that someone else was the mastermind and that my father was just a desperate pawn in a larger game.
I could tell Luca right now.
I could redirect his rage toward the actual culprit.
But what would happen then?
Would Luca see me as useful because I have information he needs?
Or would knowing too much seal my fate?
And if I tell him about the voice, am I complicit in whatever bloody revenge follows?
The voice on that recording was ruthless.
That person wouldn’t hesitate to eliminate anyone who could expose him. Which includes me and anyone I care about.
The secret burns in my throat, begging to be spoken, but terror keeps my mouth shut.
Besides, Lucas already knows my father was a pawn. Maybe he’s already handled who was pulling the strings.
“What are you doing in here?”
I spin around so fast I knock into the desk, my heart leaping into my throat as I clutch the photo frame.
Luca stands in the doorway, the expression on his face making my blood run cold.
He’s wearing dark slacks and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his hair still damp from a shower.
He looks perfectly composed and completely in control.
Nothing like the man who lost his mind in my bedroom last night.
But his dark brown eyes are hard, dangerous, fixed on me with an intensity that makes me want to back away.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, the words tumbling over themselves as I set down the photo. “I was just walking and I found this room and I shouldn’t have come in, I know, but the door was unlocked and I?—”
“You were going through my private things.” His voice is deadly quiet as he moves into the room, each step deliberate and predatory. “Things that have nothing to do with you.”
I shake my head frantically, feeling wisps of hair dance near my jaw. “I wasn’t going through anything! I was just looking?—”
“Why?” He’s close now, close enough that I can smell his cologne and feel his body, and my traitorous body responds with a flush of heat I immediately hate myself for. “Looking for ammunition? Ways to hurt me? Information you can use?”
“No!” The accusation stings because it’s so wrong. Fuck me, I should have listened to my self-preservation. “I was just…I needed to get out of that room. After last night, I couldn’t…I just—” I swallow heavily. “I needed to be somewhere else,” I finish in a whisper.
His expression shifts slightly at the mention of last night, something unreadable crossing his features before the cold mask returns.
