Death wish.
Bruno's words echo in my skull.
Walked into that warehouse alone like he had a death wish.
My nails dig into my palms. The sharp bite of pain keeps me present. Keeps me from spiraling into the dark place where I imagine Nico on that operating table, his chest cracked open, doctors fighting to keep his heart beating while I sat in my crappy apartment telling myself I made the right choice.
Did I make the right choice?
I don't know anymore.
I don't know anything.
"Kristen." Nora appears in front of me, crouching down so we're at eye level. Her face is pale, drawn, but her voice is steady. "Have you eaten anything today?"
I blink at her. "What?"
"Food. When did you last eat?"
I try to remember. Lily had cereal for dinner because I couldn't bring myself to cook. Did I eat anything? I must have. I don't remember.
"I'm fine."
Nora's expression says she doesn't believe me. "Sophia went to get coffee. There's a vending machine around the corner. Let me get you something."
"I don't need?—"
"You're white as a sheet and you're shaking." Her hand covers mine, warm and firm. "Let me help. Please."
The please undoes me.
My throat tightens. I nod once, jerkily, and Nora squeezes my fingers before standing. She says something to Pietro that I don't catch, then disappears down the hallway.
I pull my knees up to my chest, making myself as small as possible in the plastic chair. The position reminds me of Lily when she's scared—curled up, arms wrapped around herself, trying to disappear.
Lily.
God. What am I going to tell Lily if?—
No.
I shut that thought down before it can fully form.
He's going to be fine. He has to be fine. He's Nico Sartori. He survived growing up in this family, survived whatever horrors made him the way he is.
He'll survive this too.
He has to.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Kristen
Two more hours crawl by.
Nobody speaks. Nobody moves. We sit in this sterile private waiting room like statues. The second coffee Nora brought me went cold an hour ago, untouched on the side table. My hands haven't stopped shaking since I got here.
Vittoria stopped crying about forty minutes in. Now she just stares at the wall, her mascara dried in dark rivers down her cheeks.
