Something dangerous.
Something that can kill.
And for the first time in weeks, I don't want to disappear.
I want to see what comes next.
Even if it destroys me.
Even if it destroys us both.
"What happens now?" I ask.
"Now we clean you up. Get rid of the evidence." He pauses. "The body... Marcello's people will handle the scene. But a body like that? The head of the Bratva? That's complicated. We'll deal with the fallout when it comes."
The car pulls up to a building I don't recognize.
Saint gets out. Comes around. Helps me out. I can barely stand. He supports most of my weight.
We're somewhere in Queens. Industrial area. No one around.
He leads me inside. Up the stairs, to an apartment that's clearly not lived in. A Marini safe house. And this definitely qualifies as an emergency.
"Bathroom's through there." He points. "Burn the clothes. Everything. Shower until the water runs clear. I'll get you something to wear."
I nod. Move toward the bathroom. Each step is an effort. I am so tired. Moreso than I think I've ever been in my life. Every inch of my body aches, and I want to just curl in on myself and sleep, but I push forward, doing what Saint commands.
"Gemma."
I turn.
"You did good." His voice is quiet. "You survived. That's all that matters."
I want to believe him.
Want to believe that killing someone is just survival, and that I'm not a monster.
That this feeling, this awful, wonderful feeling of being alive, is okay, and not insanity taking root.
But I don't know.
I don't know anything anymore. Everything is confusing. I'm covered in blood, and I can't think clearly.
I go into the bathroom. Close the door.
Look at myself in the mirror.
Blood everywhere. My face. My hair. My clothes.
My hands—cuts across both palms. Evidence of what I did.
A killer stares back from the mirror.
I close my eyes. Take a deep breath.
When I open them again, I don't look away.
I get to work.
