I have two parents in a private facility. Steep bills. Monthly statements that don’t care about fear or justice or what feels right. They just want to be paid so my parents stay fed and medicated and safe.
The thought twists me in half.
But then, there’s Rose who has no one else.
I know that. I’ve always known it. She never talks about her past, but it leaks out in the way she flinches at certain questions. I know she reinvented herself here and never looks back. Whatever she ran from, she ran hard.
If anyone is going to look for her, it has to be me.
I glare at the table all night. Giovanni doesn’t notice. Or maybe he does and doesn’t care. Either way, I don’t look away.
By the time we close, my jaw aches from how tightly I’ve been clenching it.
When I step outside, the air is cold and sharp. The street has thinned out, the city slipping into that quieter hour.
And there he is.
Giovanni.
Standing exactly where Moretti stood the night before. Across the road. Like nothing has changed.
Something in me snaps.
I cross the street before I can talk myself out of it, heart hammering, anger and fear tangling together until I can’t tell which one is pushing me forward.
I stop right in front of him.
“What have you done with my friend?”
4
GIOVANNI
Isee her before she reaches me.
She crosses the street like she’s marching into a fight she’s already decided to have. Shoulders squared. Jaw set. Anger rolling off her in waves sharp enough to cut. People step out of her way without realizing why.
Beautiful, I think, and have no idea why the thought hits me so hard.
There’s fire in her like this. Raw and unpolished. Dangerous in a way that has nothing to do with weapons or threats. I feel it in my chest, low and immediate, and I clamp down on it just as fast. She doesn’t get to see that. She doesn’t get to know how badly I want her when she looks at me like she could tear me apart with her bare hands.
She stops right in front of me and demands answers I don’t have. "What have you done with my friend?"
“I don’t know where your friend is,” I say. Frankly, I'm not even sure which friend she's referring to.
Though I can guess.
Amber doesn’t believe me. I can see it in the way her shoulders tense, the way her chin lifts like she’s bracing for ablow. Anger sharpens her features, but there’s fear under it. Real fear. The kind that doesn’t fade just because someone tells you everything’s fine.
Behind my calm, something twists.
Because I remember Matteo following Rose last night. Close enough to keep eyes on her, far enough not to spook her. Matteo does nothing by accident. If Rose is gone now, there are only two possibilities.
Either Matteo crossed a line.
Or the other man did. The one who’d been circling her for the past three months.
Neither option sits well.
