I nod sharply because I know it’s a fight I won’t win. She’s going to hate me for this, but she’ll thank me in the end. We don’t touch, but the air between us feels heavy as we arrange our gear.
My phone finally buzzes, and I pull it out of my pocket and scan the screen.
Leo: Rotation is at 02:20. We don’t have much time. Mill’s south entrance loses eyes for 90 seconds. Docks are a decoy. I’ll jam their local net. You get in, you get him, and you get out.
Me: Understood. Keep Cat off the board. Tie her up if you have to.
Then I hate myself for typing it. For needing it. For wanting her still breathing more than I want air.
She catches the look I don’t mean to wear. “What?”
“Nothing, just some updates,” I lie, and I’m sure she hears it but lets me get away with it. “We have to move ASAP. Gemini is going to stage two streets over from the mill and take what the night gives them.”
She nods, already tying her hair back, businesslike. The motion pulls the collar of her shirt just enough to shadow the ink I can’t stop thinking about. The ache returns like a tide under my ribs.
“You could still say yes,” I whisper, because if I don’t, I’ll drink the words and drown on them. “We could be on a train out of here by dawn.”
She meets my eyes and for half a second, I see it, our future. Then she blinks and it’s gone. “Let’s kill the man.” Her voice is as sharp as a blade. “Then we’ll talk about after.”
I nod because it’s the only answer that keeps us both upright. Then I pocket a knife, palm the small pistol, and slide a spare into the ankle holster. She does the same, mirroring my movements. She thinks she’s coming with me, but she’s not.
I press the room key into her palm. “If I don’t make it?—”
“Don’t,” she snaps.
“—Leo knows where to take you,” I finish, and she looks like she might hit me, or kiss me, or both. I lean in, not quitetouching, and say the only promise I can keep without breaking another. “I’m coming back.”
She stares up at me like she wants to say something but decides against it. “You better.”
I step in before the words can ruin us, one hand at her jaw, the other fisting in the back of her shirt, and I kiss her like a last meal. It’s hard, hungry, and everything I shouldn’t be feeling right now. She gasps and answers, fingers hooking my collar, pulling me closer until there’s no air that isn’t hers. It’s the sea, whiskey and rain, a promise I can’t make with anything but my mouth. I break only long enough to rest my forehead to hers.
“For luck,” I whisper.
Her eyes are glassy but defiant. “For later.”
I turn for the door because if I stay another minute, I’m going to say something I swore I wouldn’t until she does first. The knob turns warm in my palm. Leo is already there like a shadow that learned manners, broad shoulders filling the walkway, one hand braced against the jamb of Room 12.
“Now?” he asks, voice low.
I nod once. It’s the worst kind of courage. It’s quiet, domestic, and done for someone you love. “Stay with her and keep her safe.”
His dark brows furrow. “Butcapo, I thought I was with you tonight.”
“Change of plans. She’s your priority now.”
I move before I can change my mind. The door swings wider on the chain, and Leo bodies inside with the soft efficiency of a man who hates noise. Cat is already reaching under the hem of her shirt for the backup at her ribs, but Leo catches her wrist before her fingers close.
“Easy,” he murmurs. He’s not unkind, turning her hand and peeling the pistol like it’s a splinter. With the other he plucksthe ankle piece without looking, then reaches behind her hip and fishes out the blade I’d warned him about.
“Matteo!” Her shout hits me in the back like a round. She jerks free, fury bright and wet. “Matteo, no!”
Leo eases the weapons onto the desk, palms up, stepping back but still between her and the hallway. “My orders are to keep you breathing, miss.”
“Don’t ‘miss’ me, you slab of granite.” She shoves at his chest, but he doesn’t move. She darts toward the door, toward me, eyes glassed and lethal. “Open it, Rossi.”
My fingers tighten around the knob I just let go of. I can see her in the two-inch gap, the chain a thin gold line across her throat. I can also see the linen mill in my head, the angle of a stairwell, the ninety seconds Leo just handed me. Two futures, both bloody.
“I’ll be back,” I repeat, hating the shape of the words.
