The first guard’s eyes meet mine. “This isn’t yourhome.”
There’s no malice in his voice, but the comment still stings.
“I’m allowed outside.” I lift my chin. “It’s the morning. I’m not trying to escape.”
“You’re not allowed outside alone.”
“Oh my god.” I drag a hand down my face. “If I bring a chaperone and a permission slip—”
“Mrs. Amante.” The second guard straightens, voice careful now, like he’s stepping around a tripwire. “Please return inside. Don’t make this difficult.”
I stare at them. I can push . . .
I can even scream.
Hell, the world is my oyster with the shit show I can create, but instead, I turn sharply and walk back inside, fury coiling in my spine.
Fine, I won’t go outside, but I’ll find freedom somewhere else, and I know exactly the spot . . .
The library feels like stepping into a different century. Floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with leather-bound books. Tall arched windows spilling gold light across the floor.
I trail my fingers along the spines, letting the texture ground me. Nothing beats this feeling.
My gaze skates over the titles, and I’m not surprised that half the collection is violent in some way.The Art of War,The Iliad,War and Peace. I mean, what did I expect from Lorenzo’s library? Jane Austen?
I pull out a volume at random.
The Count of Monte Cristo
Of course.
I shove it back like it burned me and keep wandering. Toward the back wall, behind a half-open cabinet, something catches my eye.
A frame.
Face down.
Which, in Lorenzo’s world, might as well be a neon sign that says don’t touch.
My fingers slide it out gently anyway because being told no has never been my kink.
I flip it over—
And forget how to breathe.
It’s him.
Young him.
Maybe sixteen. Maybe seventeen. Wild hair. A grin that’s reckless and real.
He’s standing in front of a rusted chain-link fence, shoulders relaxed, eyes soft. Looking at this makes my throat tighten painfully. Because I knew that boy.
And that boy didn’t survive.
My thumb drifts along the edge of the frame, slow and stupidly tender. He doesn’t smile like this anymore. He barely smiles at all unless it’s sharp enough to cut someone.This is the way he used to smile at me.
He used to be human.
