My chest tightens. “Fight?” I ask.
“Execution.”
I step into the room, closer now, close enough to see the swelling at his wrist.
“He framed you,” Lucian continues. “Told a few key people you were feeding information to the Morettis. Built a narrative. Almost convincing.”
My stomach drops. I remember him covered in someone’s blood. But I was too angry to care.
“When you came to the cell...”
“I handled it,” he says calmly.
“How?” I whisper.
His eyes flick to mine.
“I killed him.”
The room feels smaller suddenly.
I search his face for hesitation. For regret.
There isn’t any.
But there is exhaustion.
“I’m so tired,” he says, and the words surprise me more than anything else this morning.
Lucian Romano does not admit fatigue.
“I’m tired of looking over my shoulder,” he continues quietly. “Tired of wondering which man at my table is calculating my death. Tired of coming home and smelling like blood.”
His voice roughens slightly.
“I can’t keep doing this and pretend I deserve anything good,” he says.
I step closer.
“You have Mara,” I say. “You have Riley.”
He huffs softly. “They’re different.”
“You have me,” I say.
That makes him go still.
“I wish I could be normal,” he says after a moment. “Normal enough to deserve you.”
The words slice through me. Lucian goes quiet after he says it.
The words linger between us like smoke. He doesn’t look at me when he speaks again.
“You’re free to go,” he says.
For a second, I don’t understand.
His jaw tightens. “If you want to go home… I won’t stop you.”
