Achilles stood up first, helping her to her feet with gentle hands. He kissed the back of her hand and grinned. “Will you marry me?”
“Now?” She giggled, but inside, her flame had been doused. She’d heard Don Vello had great plans for his favorite son. He wanted Achilles to marry underworld royalty. Someone from a sizeable organization, like the Outfit or the Bratva.
“Not right this second, but as soon as we’re eighteen,” he said.
“But your dad?—”
“He’ll be fine,” he said, cutting her off. “I’ll deal with him. He cares more about heirs than about pedigree anyway. I’ll figure it out.”
Another thing she couldn’t give him. Heirs to continue the Ferrante legacy.
“No one’s ever gonna believe you’re my girlfriend.” He wanted to shout it from the damn rooftops. “I’m a weirdo loner at my school and you’re Little Miss Popular.”
“Then how about some proof?” She pulled out her burgundy lipstick, applying it to her luscious lips, and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the side of his throat. “Here. Something to remember me by.”
“This sounds like a goodbye,” he accused.
She shook her head. “We rarely know when will be the last time we see someone we love. So I want to make sure every time we say goodbye, I make you happy.”
“You wanna make me happy?”
She nodded. “More than anything.”
“Then promise me one thing.”
She stared at him expectantly.
“That we’ll always be honest with each other.”
“Always.” She already knew she was going to break the promise. She couldn’t tell him why they couldn’t marry. The shame was killing her.
“Truth?” Achilles asked.
“Truth.” Her voice trembled.
“You’re the only good thing about my life.”
His next stop from her doorstep was a tattoo parlor down the street. He inked her kiss to his neck, a reminder he belonged to her and always would.
At sixteen, it was his first tattoo, and he didn’t know it yet, but he’d spend the next decade inking every last inch of his body, chasing a thrill that would never come again.
On his way back home, he pushed away the tiny bit of doubt that always bothered him.
The fact that her eyes never smiled when she did.
And that her laugh seemed to die as soon as she was sure no one was watching.
That every time he spoke about the future, she retreated to a place in her mind where he couldn’t reach her.
And that she felt very fucking temporary, for something he wanted to hold on to forever.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tierney
I tossedmy phone into the trash halfway through my journey from Long Island to DC. Tiernan dropped me off at JFK, but I knew better than to get on a flight there.
Achilles could find anyone anywhere. He put bounty hunters to shame. I’d seen him in action. If I knew him well—and I did—he’d already assigned several soldiers to every international airport in the tristate area to watch who was coming and going. Pure instinct told me to delay my departure by a few hours and cover my tracks with some unexpected detours. Paying a visit to my BFF, Francesca Rossi-Keaton, aka, the First Lady, was just what the doctor ordered.
