The kind one doesn’t text about. Just know that I will be on a flight home in the morning, and you will be safe.
My chest tightens painfully, and I type with trembling fingers.
Please be safe, Lorenzo.
I will.
I stare at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard. I could say it. I could tell him the truth. That I love him. That I’m terrified. That the thought of him not coming home feels like suffocating.
But I don’t.
I set the phone down with shaking hands, my heart a bruised, swollen thing in my chest.
And the words I can’t text echo through me anyway:
Please come back to me.
Please don’t die.
Please don’t love me more than I deserve.
Please don’t make me admit I already love you too.
25
Lorenzo
I want to call her. God, I want to hear her voice so badly it feels like a physical ache beneath my ribs. But I need to keep my head on straight.
Because the store owner’s footage—the grainy, shaky security video I nearly dismissed—ended up catching just enough detail for me to recognize the man who hired the thugs that night at the Christmas party.
And it’s him.Il Macellaio.The Butcher.
A sadistic bastard who shouldn’t be anywhere near my territory, let alone near two innocent girls at a holiday party. Worst of all, he’s been seen in Kansas City again. Asking questions. Asking aboutElizabeth.
A muscle jumps in my jaw just thinking about it.
Cesaro met me at the airport with the intel in hand before boarding my jet to fly back home. I’m still not happy that he texted my phone about the birth control pills after we had spoken, but I wanted him there because I need him watching her. I need someone who understands that if anythinghappens to Elizabeth, Kansas City and Chicago won’t survive my retaliation.
The moment he left, I stood alone on the tarmac, staring at the city lights blinking in the distance, feeling the shift inside me. Something violent and primal.
And that’s what I’m going to do now. Take care of business.
Not for the sake of my reputation. Not even for the Don I’m supposed to be.
I’m doing this because the idea of that man breathing in Elizabeth’s direction makes me see red.
Because while she thinks I’m choosing someone else, while she’s probably still curled in that damned quilt trying not to think about me, she doesn’t understand. She’s mine. And no one touches what’s mine.
26
Birdie
There aren’t any messages from Lorenzo by the time I crawl into bed. None when I wake up, either.
I tell myself it’s fine. That he’s busy. That he’s in a different city, handling dangerous things and tying off the loose ends that got Sienna killed. I also lie and tell myself that I feel sick because I’m worried about him.
But the nausea curling hot and vicious in my stomach tells a different story.
