“And yet,” Janella stubbornly lifts her chin, “I’m completely fucking serious.”
“He threatened you,” I remind her. Surely, I didn’t literally fuck her brains out. “He threatened our family.”
“And Ihandledit. You either trust me or you don’t. You have to choose, Iosif.”
I step back from her, feeling my frustration notch up. “I don’t do well with ultimatums, Janella.”
“It’s not an ultimatum,” she insists. “I am telling you I handled this. I want to move on. I’ve built this whole new life for myself. I’m not going to spend any part of it looking over my shoulder, like I’m a criminal on the lam. I’m asking you, as a person you care about, to respect my wishes.”
I purse my lips, striving to rein in my temper.
“You want me to do nothing,” I summarize.
“I don’t want my father's death to be one more thing that happens to me.”
Every instinct I have is screaming at me to refuse her. To accept that her face will contort with hurt and sadness. To make her face the fact that this is what has to happen. Cillian Driscoll needs to be put down. This is what I do. I’m fucking good at it.
I exhale heavily and unlock my phone again. I keep it in her line of sight when I text Ivan. I let her see me text him for an update.
His response comes quickly:No movement.
“Fine then,” I huff and toss my phone back on the desk. “I won’t kill him. For now.”
Relief shines in her eyes.
“But,” I add grimly, “if he comes near you again, that’s done. I will not spare him. And you can’t ask me to. You also won’t work at the café alone. Stop sending both your puppies off for lunch breaks while you man the place alone. I need you safe.”
This, she considers. “Okay.”
In lieu of the post-coital bliss an entanglement like ours earned, there is dark, suffocating tension in this room. I can’t fucking stand it.
An impulse fills me—I need to get out of here. I need to getherout of here. Away from this world of mine, even if just for a little bit.
“Let’s pack a bag,” I suggest.
Janella stares at me like I’m growing a second head. “Excuse me?”
“Pack a bag. Let’s go somewhere. Just you and me. Just for a couple of days?”
“Where?” she asks, incredulous.
I think about it. It has to be somewhere close, obviously. Safe and private. A place where she and I can just… be.
I grin at her when it comes to me. “It’s a surprise.”
***
The resort I chose is only thirty minutes outside of Boston.
It may as well be another world.
The dozen or so private villas scattered across manicured lawns and a heated pool that glows a jewel-like turquoise beneath the winter sun are perfect.
I can tell Janella loves it, too.
It’s only when we step into our villa, and she looks around to find no guards, guns, or cameras, that she gets it. Now, she repeats, “Just us.”
“Exactly,” I agree proudly, setting our bags down.
