I looked like death.
Fitting.
I turned on the shower, and the memories hit me like a physical blow.
Quentin. Here. In this bathroom. His hands on my skin. His mouth on mine. Water cascading over us as we—
I gripped the edge of the sink, breath coming short and sharp.
Stop. Don't think about it. You can't think about it.
But I couldn't stop.
The shower. The bed. Those kisses. His laugh. The way he'd looked at me like I was precious, like I mattered, like I was more than just Big Sal's daughter or Carlo's weapon.
He'd made me feelseen.
And I'd lied to him about everything.
Why does he have to be so perfect?The thought came with a surge of irrational anger.Why couldn't he have been cruel or boring or awful?
But he wasn't. He was handsome, yes—devastatingly so—but it was so much more than that. His demeanor. His wit. His charm. The way he could tell story after story like he'd lived a hundred lives. The way he talked to me like I was the only person in the world who mattered.
The way he'd held me in the dark and whispered that he was falling for me.
I miss him. It's been two days and I miss him so much I can barely breathe.
I needed to call him. Had to call him. Needed to hear his voice, know he was alive, start figuring out how to fix this impossible mess.
But first—coffee.
Yes, I knew drinking coffee late in the day was terrible. Yes, I'd regret it tonight. But I wasn't going to sleep anyway. My mind wouldn't let me. The anxiety, the deadline, the fear—it would all keep me awake no matter what I did.
I shuffled to the kitchen, every step an effort. I pressed my palms against the counter, staring at the coffee maker without really seeing it.
Love.
The word echoed in my mind.
Was it love?
Yes. Heaven help me, yes. I love him.
I'd tried to deny it. Tried to tell myself it was just attraction, just loneliness, just the thrill of the forbidden.
But I'd been lying to myself.
I loved Quentin Vanetti.
Loved his laugh. His stories. The way he looked at me. The way he challenged me. The way he made me feel safe and seen and valued.
I loved him.
And in seven days, I might have to watch him die.
Or die trying to save him.
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely get the coffee grounds into the filter.
