"No." The word cuts like a blade. "You don't get to analyze my choices. Any of you. I told Kristen the truth because she needed to hear it. Because she was making decisions based on incomplete information. Because?—"
Because I wanted to push her away before she got any closer.
Because last night I wanted to kiss her so badly my hands were shaking.
Because caring about someone in this life gets them killed, and I've seen that math play out too many times to count.
"—because it was the right thing to do," I finish. "End of discussion."
Nora watches me with those knowing eyes.
"You care about her," she says softly. Not a question.
"I don't."
The lie tastes like ash.
"Nico—"
"I said it's over. We're not discussing this. We're not discussing her. And we're definitely not discussing what I do or don't feel about anyone."
I turn and walk toward the door.
"Running away doesn't change anything," Vittoria calls after me. "Trust me. I've tried."
I don't stop. Don't turn around. Don't acknowledge the truth in her words.
The hallway swallows me whole, and I let it. Let the shadows and silence wrap around me like armor.
Because the truth is simple and brutal and exactly what I've always known:
I care about Kristen Thomas.
I care about her smile when she thinks no one's watching. I care about the way she holds Lily like the kid is the only thing keeping her tethered to this earth. I care about her voice singing. I care about the fear she hides behind sarcasm and the hope she's too scared to let herself feel.
I care about all of it.
And I hate it.
Because caring makes you weak. Caring makes you compromise. Caring makes you the soldier who hesitates duringa hit because his girlfriend is pregnant. The underboss who leaks information to keep his wife safe. The capo who chooses his mistress over the Don's orders.
I don't want to care.
I don't want to feel this.
I don't want?—
I stop in front of her door.
Through the wood, I hear nothing. No crying. No movement. Just silence.
Every rule I've built my life around screams at me to turn around, go back to my office, and let this situation resolve itself the way business always does. Clean. Distant. Professional.
But my hand is already on the doorknob.
Just tell her she can leave in a few days. That's it. That's all this needs to be.
She doesn't know how long it takes to settle a debt with the Bratva. Doesn't understand the negotiations, the shell companies, the careful maneuvering required to make $140,000 disappear without leaving a trail back to her or to us. A few days. Maybe a week. Then she can take Lily wherever she wants.
