I crawl onto the bed, pulling the blanket around me like it can shield me from the truth. The storm outside has quieted, but thehouse still hums with its own kind of tension, like it’s waiting for something to give.
Three days. That’s all that’s left.
And the worst part is, he won’t stop me when I go. He’ll let me walk out like I was never here. Like I never mattered at all.
40
NICOLO
Romiro’s name flashes across my screen before I’ve even had my first cigarette. Every time he calls me, something has to go wrong. I answer anyway.
“What?”
He laughs on the other end—that lazy, amused sound that always grates on my nerves. “Good morning to you too.”
“It’s not morning,” I say, lighting the cigarette. The smoke hits my lungs, sharp and grounding. “It’s barely six.”
“Early bird, late demon…whatever you are,” he drawls. “I thought I’d call with some good news.”
“You always say you have good news, and it ends up being mediocre at best.”
“Emiliano confirmed. He’s coming in two days.”
I don’t say anything.
He keeps talking, voice light. “Looks like you’ll finally get rid of your houseguest. I bet you’re counting the hours.”
I take a slow drag and exhale through my nose. “Is that all?”
“Come on,” he says. “Don’t tell me you’re not relieved.”
My hand tightens around the cigarette. Ash drops onto the floor beside my desk.
“I’m not discussing this.”
“Touchy,” he says, mock sympathy dripping from every syllable. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re actually going to miss her.”
“Romiro.”
“What?” He laughs again. “You’ve been complaining about her since she showed up. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
I close my eyes for half a second. “Do you ever shut the fuck up?”
“Not when it’s this entertaining.” A pause, then softer, “Look, I’m serious. You did your part. Made sure she was safe, kept your hands off her. That’s the job. You start caring, that’s when you lose. You know that.”
I grind out the cigarette in the ashtray, jaw tight. “I’m not you.”
“No,” he says. “You’re worse.”
He hangs up before I can respond. Typical.
The silence after the call is worse than the conversation itself. It fills the room like smoke, heavy and choking. I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling, trying to remember what it felt like before all this started. Before she walked into my life like a fucking storm and made a mess of things I’d spent years keeping in order.
Two days. That’s all that’s left.
Two days, and she’ll be gone. Safe. Out of my reach. Out of my control.
It should be a relief. It isn’t.
