“Good.” Sienna leans back with a sigh, relaxing as if we’re leaving from a normal dinner party instead of a bloodbath. “I’m going to text some of my friends in Chicago to let them know we’re coming home. Maybe we can find a party to go to.”
A party?
I stare at her, my mind scrambling to catch up. Mikel’s blood is probably still drying on the floor, and she’s talking about drinks and music like it’s any other night.
“What about Mikel?” I hear myself ask, my voice sharper than I intend. “And Dave.”
Sienna frowns, turning toward me. “Obviously I’m upset they’re gone,” she says, like she’s explaining something simple to a child.
I can’t even find words. My stomach twists and the SUV’s interior feels too warm. Mr. Conti doesn’t say anything, but I can see his jaw tighten.
Silence stretches between us, thick and uncomfortable. Sienna pulls out her lip gloss, staring at her reflection in the dark window like this is all routine. Hell, maybe it is. For her. Not me, though.
I turn my gaze outside, watching the city lights smear into gold and white streaks. Somewhere behind us, an entire life—my friends, my apartment, and my sense of normal—is bleedingout on the floor. Ahead of me waits something I can’t name yet. Something dangerous. And when I meet Mr. Contis’s gaze in the mirror again—the man who commands every inch of air in the SUV without saying a word—I realize I’ve traded one kind of fear for another.
We pull up to a private airfield just as the horizon begins to change with hints of sunrise. A lone jet waits on the tarmac, silver and silent, its engines humming softly in the cold morning air.
Two men with guns flank the stairs. Their postures are easy and practiced. They’re men who’ve spent their lives standing guard for someone important.
“Morning, Don Conti,” one of them says, giving a short nod. “The pilot says we’re cleared for takeoff.”
Mr. Conti returns the nod and climbs the stairs without hesitation, the wind tugging at the hem of his coat. Sienna trails after him, her hair catching the early light like obsidian.
Me? I stay rooted to the pavement, staring at the jet.
Don.
The word rolls through my head, cold and heavy. Not “Mister,” not “Sir.”Don.
I take a slow breath, weighing my options. If I ran right now how far would I make it? A hundred feet? Fifty? Maybe I’d get as far as the fence before a bullet found my back.
But if I go with them… if I step onto that jet… what happens then? Would I be safe or just trapped somewhere I don’t understand?
The morning wind bites through my scrubs, and I realize how stupid I must look standing here, in borrowed scrubs and my black ballet flats, clutching my discharge papers like they could save me.
“Elizabeth.”
My name, spoken low and firm, snaps me back. I look up. Mr. Conti is at the top of the stairs, his expression unreadable, his silhouette framed by the open cabin door.
It’s not a threat. It’s not even loud. But it’s an order.
So, I move.
Each step feels heavier than the last, the sound of my shoes hitting the metal stairs ringing sharp and hollow in the cold air. The whole structure hums beneath me, like even the steel can sense what’s waiting at the top.
When I reach the landing, he doesn’t step aside. Of course he doesn’t. He stands exactly where he is, his broad shoulders blocking the narrow path, forcing me to squeeze past him if I want to continue. It’s a deliberate move. A power play. A test.
And I hate myself a little for inhaling his scent as the space tightens around us. Clean soap, warm skin, something darker beneath it. It hits me hard enough to dizzy me.
I make the mistake of looking up.
He’s already watching me. Not casually. Not even politely. No, he’s watching me like he’s cataloging every breath I take, every tremor, every tell.
My breath catches, snagging in my throat, but somehow by pure luck or stubbornness my feet keep moving. I edge past him, my shoulder brushing the warmth of his chest for the briefest, most dangerous second.
I don’t breathe again until I’m beyond him and the air between us is safe.
Even though there’s nothing safe about him at all.
