That wasn't the answer I wanted to hear.
Sweat beaded on his brow. "Look," he said. "How about you lower that weapon, and we can talk about this some more. I can help you work through these feelings you're having so they don't seem so overwhelming."
"I don't think you understand. If you can't fix me, I'll lose everything." How could I do my job now? Like this?
He spread his hands wide, holding them out in front of him. "What you're asking just isn't possible. I can't just medicate your feelings away, but if you'll just let me..."
"No," I told him. "We're done here."
"You don't have to do this. I can help you."
Reaching into my jacket pocket, I pulled out a silencer and screwed it onto the end of the barrel of my gun, glad I'd remembered to grab it from the glovebox. This was not the way I'd imagined this appointment ending, but it was always good to kill with as little noise as possible whenever you could to avoid attracting attention. "No, you can't."
"I can!"
"Nothing personal, Doc. But this was a mistake. Thank you for patronizing me, but this appointment is over." The bullet hit him right between the eyes. It was a quick death, and that was good. It would give me plenty of time to get out of the vicinity before he was discovered.
Taking out my cell phone, I called Matteo. "I'm standing in an office right now. There are cameras in the hallways, elevator and main lobby. I need you to make it so that I was never here." I gave him the address, and he assured me it would be taken care of immediately. Then I went back to the table and stopped the recorder from recording, slipping it into my inside pocket with my phone.
I left the body where it was. Without camera footage or fingerprints—which I'd been very careful not to leave anywhere in the building—the authorities would have no way to tie me to the scene.
I made my way out of the office building, keeping my head down and my pace measured. I couldn't afford to draw any attention to myself, not now.
As I stepped out onto the street, the bright sunlight momentarily blinded me. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision as I walked towards my SUV. I slid into the driver's seat and started the engine.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I glanced at the screen. It was a text from Matteo, confirming that the footage had been taken care of. I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for his efficiency. I thanked him and carefully pulled out into traffic.
I drove around the city for hours, barely noticing when the sun went down and the streetlights came on, my mind consumed with thoughts of Luna. Fucking hell, how I craved her. How had a simple fascination with a beautiful woman twisted itself into this?
My hands tightened on the steering wheel as I fought the urge to turn the car around, to go back to her. If there was any way to get her out of that cell other than the key in my pants pocket, I'd have Enzo release her and send her and her brother far, far away. Yet the thought of letting her go made something dark and possessive rear up inside me, so strong a low growl reverberated through my chest.
Jerking the steering wheel to the side, I pulled off into a restaurant parking lot. Luna belonged to me. Not by her choice or mine, but because of the fucked-up sense of humor of fate.
Was she hungry? Cold?
Did she miss me, despite the things I'd told her?
I closed my eyes and took a breath, and when I opened them, a sense of calm flowed through me.
Turning on my blinker, I pulled back out of the parking lot and headed toward home.
CHAPTER16
Luna
Isat in the cell with my back pressed against the wall, staring at nothing through eyes that felt gritty and raw, the weight of Tristan's revelation crushing me like a ton of bricks.
He'd murdered my mother. Left Logan and I alone with only Gino for a father. A man who'd thrown us into the system and didn't give a shit what happened to us as long as he didn't have to look at us anymore.
Knowing the horrific details of how my mother had struggled against Tristan as he brutally ended her life made bile rise in my throat. I wanted to scream at him, to demand how he could be so cruel as to describe her desperate fight for survival to me. What kind of twisted monster would share something so sickening to that woman's child?
My mouth filled with saliva, and my stomach churned violently. I thought I might actually be sick right there on the cold concrete floor. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to block out the images that were now seared into my mind, but it was no use. His words echoed in my head, tormenting me with the knowledge of my mother's final, terrifying moments.
I wrapped my arms around my knees, trying to hold myself together as I began to rock back and forth on the floor mindlessly. Everywhere I looked, I saw him standing over my mother's dead body, both covered in blood. Was it my imagination? Or was I remembering now that I knew the truth?
I guess it didn't really matter.
The strange thing was, it wasn't that I didn't understand why he'd killed her. I knew it wasn't anything personal against my mother. He'd only been obeying orders, the way he'd been trained. But understanding the reason behind it didn't make the pain any less. It didn't stop this hollow ache spreading through my chest or quell the hatred rising in my throat.
