“Not even close.” His tone hardens. “I know you think this is your way of keeping her safe, but you’re killing her. This…” He pauses, like he’s deciding whether to say the next part. “You will regret this.”
I take a slow breath. “You done lecturing me?”
He huffs a laugh. “For now.”
I pour another drink, clear liquid splashing against the glass. “Why’d you really call?”
“Wanted to know if you’re coming to the wedding.”
I almost laugh. “You’re joking.”
“I’m serious.”
“You think I’d sit in a church watching her say vows to another man?”
Romiro’s quiet for a moment, then says, “Maybe you should.”
“Why?”
“So you can finally admit what the rest of us already know.”
“Which is?”
“That you love her.”
The word sits heavy. Foreign.
I swirl the glass in my hand, watch the liquid catch the light. “Love’s a liability.”
“So is regret.”
I drag a hand through my hair. “I’m not coming.”
“I figured.”
There’s a pause.
Then, softer, “You know, for a guy who’s spent half his life trying to erase his past, you sure let one woman rewrite all of it.”
I don’t reply. I can’t.
He exhales. “All right. I’ll let you go, Mr. Esposito. Try not to break anything expensive.”
Before he can hang up, I say, “Romiro.”
“Yeah?”
I stare at the glass. At the faint reflection of the man I’ve become: cold, detached, built entirely out of choices I stopped believing were right.
“I need a favor.”
The line goes still.
He knows that tone. It’s the one that comes before everything burns. There’s a rustle on the other end. The sound of him moving, stepping away from wherever he is.
“What kind of favor?”
“The kind that doesn’t end well if I ask twice.”
