"Gabe," Massimo finishes, then gestures toward me without warmth. "Jenna."
Gabe's gaze settles on me, curious but not invasive. Not sexual. Not dismissive. He assesses me the way a soldier sizes up terrain, cataloging, measuring, and noting damage. I feel Massimo's eyes on me too, heavy and unavoidable, but I don't let myself look at him. I know what I look like. My hair is still wet, clinging in darkened curls around my face. No makeup. No shoes. Hands wrapped thickly in white gauze. The too-big shirt that hangs off my shoulders because I have nothing left of my own. Which is exactly the truth.
Pitiful.
The thought snaps something sharp and angry into place inside me. I straighten my shoulders, lift my chin. If we're atwar, I won't back down. Gabe nods once, as if acknowledging the shift. Something like respect flickers across his face.
Massimo finally speaks. "What does your father know about this?" he demands. Ruthless and calm. "Do not leave anything out. No matter how inconsequential you think it is."
I swallow. My throat tightens, but I push through it. "He knows who took them," I fill him in. Saying it out loud still feels like swallowing glass. "He knew almost immediately."
Massimo's jaw tightens. I don't miss it. "Who?"
"He didn't tell me." Finally, I meet his gaze. I need him to know that this is the truth. "He said that plenty of people were angry about his latest proposal, mostly the Cartels," I continue. "About the drug bill. He thinks they're using Carter and Amauri as leverage. To force him to back off."
"To stall," Gabe murmurs.
"Yes," I agree, nodding. "Or kill it entirely."
Massimo's silence is a weight pressing against my ribs.
"He also said…" My voice falters. I force it to steady. "He said it was… advantageous. Politically. That this could be spun. That the public would sympathize, rally."
Gabe lets out a low whistle. Massimo still won't look at me.
"And you?" he asks. The question lands heavier than the rest. "What did he expect you to do?"
My hands curl uselessly inside their wrappings.
"He expected me to stay," I say quietly. "To be sedated. Managed. Out of the way."
Gabe's eyes flick to my bandaged hands, then back to Massimo. I can feel Massimo now. Not just watching butmeasuring. Like he's trying to decide what I am to him in this moment. Liability. Weapon. Weakness.
Every part of me reacts to him anyway. My pulse stutters. My skin tightens. Even now, even after everything, he pulls at me like gravity. I hate that. I also need him.
"So I left," I finish. "And I came here."
Silence stretches.
The city glows behind them, indifferent. Massimo's gaze finally lifts. It hits me like a physical thing. Cold. Dark. Unreadable. A shiver moves through me at the thought that whatever happens next, he's already decided I'm part of it. Whether I survive it or not is still up for debate.
His phone rings. He exhales sharply. "Not now, Enzo."
A beat passes. His expression shifts. His brow wrinkles, his jaw tightens as he listens. He glances at Gabe, who meets his gaze instantly, alert and focused.
"I'll be right there." Massimo ends the call.
He looks at me like he's memorizing a problem he doesn't have time to solve. "Get some rest," he orders. "I need to go." Then, to Gabe, without lowering his voice, "You stay here. Make sure she doesn't do anything stupid."
"Yes, boss," Gabe replies easily.
Without another word—without another look—Massimo turns and storms out. The door closes behind him with finality. The absence he leaves behind is louder than the destruction earlier.
Gabe shifts his weight and looks at me, the edge of danger softened just slightly by practicality. "Hungry?"
I shake my head. The idea of food feels impossible.
"I'll go," I say quietly, "and try to get some sleep."
