I shook my head, the pain slicing through me.
I hesitated.
Just briefly.
Then lifted my hand again—just enough to brush lightly over the bruises on my jaw.
The contact made me wince.
“There,” I added quietly. “And just now—you almost broke my jaw because I didn’t answer fast enough.”
I dropped my hand back into my lap.
“Don’t tell me none of it was intentional.”
My voice sharpened again, cutting through the space between us.
“You choose to hurt me,” I said, eyes fixed ahead.
“Every day. Keep at it—it’s your season. But mine will come, Vincenzo. And when it does, I will make you pay for every pain you’ve inflicted. There will be no undoing it.”
Thick silence followed.
I reached up and wiped the last traces of tears from my cheeks with the heel of my hand, smearing faint streaks of salt and mascara across my skin.
My fingers trembled slightly as they fell away.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him shift.
Subtle.
But noticeable.
His shoulders squared.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened—just enough for the veins in his hands to press against his skin, just enough to betray that something inside him had reacted.
But he didn’t speak immediately.
When he finally did—his voice was lower.
Like he was choosing each word with precision.
“Well...” he paused, forcing down his words, then shifted.
“Violet only has a few days left... her heart failure has deteriorated rapidly.”
The words landed hard. Like a blow to the chest.
My breath caught slightly.
My hands stilled in my lap.
For a moment—everything inside me went quiet.
I swallowed against the sudden thickness in my throat, forcing the words past it.
“And how does her dying concern me?” I asked, my voice trembling.
