He could be coming to hear my explanation. Or he could be coming to end me.
The thought sent ice through my veins.
No. Quentin wouldn't—
Wouldn't he? You lied to him. Came into his life under false pretenses. Admitted you were sent to assassinate him. Then vanished without explanation.
I sank onto the couch, phone sliding from my numb fingers.
There were two men demanding my allegiance right now.
Quentin and Carlo.
One was family. Blood. The don who had every right—everyobligation—to demand absolute loyalty. Who'd raised me, protected me, given me purpose and a place in this world.
The other had stolen my heart so completely I couldn't imagine existing without him.
I can't betray Quentin. Even if it costs me everything. Even if it costs me my life.
The realization settled over me like a shroud.
I'd already made my choice, hadn't I? The moment I'd fallen in love with him. Maybe even before that—the moment I'd realized he was innocent.
I'd chosen him.
And that choice would destroy me one way or another.
I forced myself to move. Made a small bowl of Special K on autopilot, each spoonful tasteless and difficult to swallow. Refilled my coffee even though my hands were shaking too badly to hold the mug steady.
Too much on my mind. Too many thoughts spiraling out of control.
Netflix. The cure-all for overthinking.
I clicked on something—a documentary about a missing child. Distraught parents. A mother with a sketchy story about kidnappers. A father who seemed too calm. Detectives baffled. Serial killer theories. Conspiracy theories.
A mystery that had never been solved.
Perfect. Just like my life.
I liked mysteries because they reminded me that nothing was ever simple. Black and white were rare. The world lived in shades of gray—endless, infinite shades where right and wrong blurred together until you couldn't tell which was which anymore.
Tonight would be the perfect example.
Anything was possible.
Quentin could walk through that door and tell me he loved me, that he understood, that we'd figure this out together.Please, God, let it be that.
Or he could kill me. Put a bullet in my head and bury me somewhere no one would ever find me.I'd deserve it, wouldn't I?
Or—maybe worst of all—he could pretend. Act like everything was fine while gathering evidence, building a case, planning his revenge. Leave me in the dark, never knowing where I stood until it was too late.
I can't live like that. Can't spend every moment wondering if this is the day he decides I'm too dangerous to let live.
I paused the documentary, suddenly unable to focus on other people's mysteries when my own was consuming me.
A decision crystallized.
I would be honest with Quentin tonight. Completely, brutally honest. No more lies. No more deception.
