By the time I reach my room, I’m shaking, pressing my fist to my mouth to muffle the sound.
Then I let it all out—the grief, the love, the longing, the fear.
I cry until my throat burns and my pillow is damp, until there’s nothing left but the empty, aching knowledge that I’ve lost Gio—not because I didn’t love him enough, but because I loved him too much, and I don’t belong in his world.
But no matter what I tell myself, no matter how I try to spin it in my head, one truth remains.
Letting Gio go feels less like doing the right thing and more like cutting out my own heart and locking it away where I can never touch it again.
29
GIO
By the time I roll out of bed, the house is already breathing with morning sounds—muffled voices in the kitchen, the low clink of dishes, the hiss of the espresso machine.
I came in late last night, long after the lights were out, slipping through the front door like a thief because I didn’t want questions. Not yet.
No one knows.
Not about Stephanie’s memories crashing back into place, not about the way she looked at me like it was me ripping outherheart as she told me to stay away.
The words are still wedged under my ribs, sharp enough to bleed if I move wrong.
I linger on the stairs a beat longer than necessary, adjusting my face, steadying my breathing.
Then I head for the kitchen, skipping the breakfast room completely in the hopes that I can avoid anyone lingering there.
Even the kitchen staff have mostly filtered out for the time being, leaving me to pour a cup of black coffee and sit at the modest nook reserved for employee meals.
I take a sip of the dark brew and cringe.
It’s cold.
But I don’t get up and toss it.
Instead, I sit and stare into it like it’s the reason I’m walking through life like a ghost again.
Because that’s better than smashing my fists into the wall of Miko’s new home.
The kitchen around me is too quiet for a place this size.
The mansion—compound, really—has that constant undercurrent of noise—boots in hallways, low voices in Russian, doors shutting with just enough force to remind me of where I am.
But this morning, the only sound is the faint hum of the refrigerator and my own heartbeat thudding dully in my ears.
I can’t stop replaying her face.
Stephanie’s eyes when she told me she didn’t want me in her life anymore.
Not angry.
Not even cold.
Just… final.
For Jackson’s sake.
I rake my hand over my face, willing the image away. It doesn’t budge.
