"I keep thinking about all the ways this could go wrong," Luca admitted in the darkness.
"So do I. But worrying doesn't help."
"I know. Doesn't stop me." His arms tightened around me. "Promise me you'll be careful. Promise me you won't put yourself at risk."
"I promise. I'm just answering questions. I'll be fine."
"You don't know that."
"Neither do you. But I need you to trust that I can handle this."
He was quiet for a long time. Then: "I do trust you. It's Reeves I don't trust."
Fair distinction. I didn't trust Reeves either. But I could handle one interview. I had to.
Thursday morning arrived with nauseating inevitability.
I woke up at six even though the meeting wasn't until two. Couldn't sleep anymore, mind already spinning through possible questions and answers. Luca was already awake, standing at the window looking out at the city.
"Morning," I said.
He turned. "Morning. How are you feeling?"
"Terrified."
"Honest." He came back to bed and pulled me close. "You don't have to do this. We can cancel. Find another way."
"There is no other way. He's going to keep pushing until I meet with him. Better to do it on my terms."
"I hate this."
"I know." I kissed him. "But I'll be okay. Emilio prepped me. I know what to say and what not to say."
We made breakfast together but I couldn't eat much. My stomach was twisted in knots of anxiety. Luca didn't push, just made sure I had coffee and something in my stomach.
"Security will follow you," he said. "They won't interfere or make themselves known. Just... insurance."
"I know. You told me." I reached for his hand. "Thank you. For trusting me to do this."
"I'm trying. Every instinct I have says to stop you, lock you in here, handle Reeves myself. But that's not what you need."
"No. I need to do this myself." I stood. "I should get ready."
I dressed carefully—button-down shirt, nice jeans, boots. Professional but not overly formal. Journalist meeting with a federal agent, not a suspect turning himself in. The distinction mattered, at least to me.
By one o'clock I was ready. Had my ID, my phone, my carefully rehearsed answers. Luca called me a car—insisted on it, and I didn't argue—and walked me down to the lobby.
"Text me when you're done," he said. "The second you're done. I'll be waiting."
"I will."
"And if anything goes wrong—"
"It won't."
"But if it does—"
I kissed him to stop the spiral. "I'll be fine. I promise."
