"Then you'll be safe." He says it simply, like it's the only thing that matters. "Then you and the baby will be safe, and that's all I care about."
I want to argue. I want to tell him that I need him more than I need safety. But I can see the desperation in his eyes, the fear that he's losing me, that he's watching me break apart and can't stop it.
And maybe he's right. Maybe I do need to get away. "How long?" I ask quietly.
He reaches out, stroking my hair. "Just until I can neutralize the threats. Until I can make sure you're safe to come back."
"And then what?"
"Then you come home." He pulls me into his arms, and I don’t bother putting any distance between us. I can’t fight how Ifeel for him, not right now. "Then you come back to me, and we figure out the rest together."
I close my eyes and lean into him, and I try to imagine it. A house upstate. Giulia's company. No Thad. No threatening texts. No constant fear.
It sounds like a dream. Or maybe a prison.
I'm not sure which.
26
ROMEO
The penthouse feels wrong without her.
I’m standing in the living room where she sat just hours ago, where I held her before Marco drove her away, and the silence is suffocating. Her coffee mug is still on the counter. Her book—some dense academic text—is on the side table, bookmark halfway through.
There’s evidence of her everywhere. Proof that she was here, that she was real, that this wasn't just some fever dream. But she's gone now. Safe. Protected.
Away from me.
I pull out my phone and open the file Luca sent me this morning—the updated dossier on Thaddeus. Rebecca's testimony is in here now, along with the evidence Savannah gathered. Photos of bruises. Medical records. The text messages that escalate from controlling to threatening to explicitly violent. And underneath it all, the thing that matters most: an autopsy report for the girl he pushed off a balcony.
I've read it three times already, but I read it again now, looking for the details that don't quite add up. The angle of impact that suggests she didn't just fall. The defensive woundson her hands, which the original investigation dismissed as irrelevant. The toxicology report showing there was no alcohol in her blood.
Someone pushed her. Someone who knew exactly how to make it look like an accident. Someone who's done this before.
My phone rings, and I answer without looking away from the report. It’s Luca calling.
"Tell me you have something.”
"I have three more." His voice is tight. "Three more girls who dated Whitmore in college. One of them is willing to talk. The other two are too scared, but they confirmed the pattern when I pressed them."
"Names?"
"Sending them now. But Romeo—" He pauses, and I can hear the concern in his voice. "You need to be careful with this. If Whitmore finds out we're digging into his past, if his family realizes what we're building?—"
"Let them realize." My voice comes out flat and emotionless. It's the voice I used before Savannah. Before I tried to learn to be softer.
"That's not—Romeo, that's not smart. We need to be strategic about this. We need to?—"
"I need to destroy him. Permanently. So that he can never touch her again."
There's a long silence on the other end of the line.
"You're worrying me," Luca says finally. "You sound like?—"
"Like what?"
"Like you did before. Before her. When you were just—" He stops himself.
