A low exhale. “You sure about this?”
I don’t answer.
He swears under his breath. “Jesus, Nicolo. You really unwilling to admit it out loud?”
“Do I ever?”
There’s another long pause. I can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose, weighing loyalty against sense. It’s not the first time I’ve made him do it.
Finally, he says, “Fine. Tell me what you need.”
“I will,” I say. “Soon.”
“You planning on doing something stupid?”
“Probably.”
He sighs, resigned. “You always were predictable.”
“Keep your phone close.”
“I always do.”
The line clicks dead. I set the glass down and look out the window again.
The sky’s dark now, rain threatening. In the distance, lightning flashes—white, quick, gone. There was a time I thought storms like this could wash things clean.
Now I know better. They just remind you what’s already broken.
I light another cigarette, watch the smoke curl up toward the ceiling, and think about the only person who ever made this place feel less like a cage.
Mara Folonari.
Sooner or later, I’ll have to see her again. Whether it kills me or saves me…that’s still up for debate.
But one thing’s certain: I’m not done.
46
MARA
Three weeks.
That’s how long until I’m no longer a Folonari by name, but by transaction.
Three weeks until Orlo Chernov becomes my husband. Three weeks until the life I didn’t choose becomes the one I live in.
The strange thing is, I’ve stopped fighting it.
Acceptance didn’t come like a storm. It came like fog: quiet, creeping, one breath at a time. I woke up one morning and realized that whatever I had with Nicolo isn’t unfinished. It’s over.
Maybe it was always meant to be temporary. Maybe I was foolish for thinking it was anything more.
He warned me. Over and over, he warned me. And I fell anyway.
Now, I sip espresso from a too-delicate cup at a café that smells like sugar and sunlight, pretending I’m someone else entirely. Someone who isn’t counting down days. Someone who isn’t trying to forget a man who taught her what ruin feels like.
“Alright, you’re staring into that cup like it insulted you,” Alessia says, dragging me back. “Earth to Mara.”
