I hate that I believe that, too.
“I’ll leave them.”
I blink at him.
“What?”
“My family.” His voice steadies, not because he’s calm, but because he’s certain. “The Andrettis. I’ll walk away.”
A disbelieving sound slips out of me. “You cannot be serious.”
“I am.”
“You’re talking about your family like they’re a job you can quit.”
“I’m talking about walking away from people who only want me when I’m willing to do something ugly for them.”
There’s more force in him now. More heat. Not the polished kind. The kind that comes from something torn open.
“I’ve spent my whole life trying to be enough for them,” he says. “Trying to prove I’m not the screwup, not the kid brother, not the one they use when they need a mess cleaned up.”
My hand twitches at my side. The impulse to reach for him is so automatic it disgusts me.
“And for what? So I can become exactly the kind of man you just flinched from?” He shakes his head once. “Fuck that. I’m done.”
The words punch through me because they’re real. I can hear it in them. Fury. Grief. Shame.
And still.
Words are words.
“You’ve known me for three weeks.”
“I know.”
“You’d leave the Andretti family. For someone you were assigned to murder.”
“For someone who showed me I don’t have to be the person they decided I was.”
My chest aches, sharp and physical, in that place where hope lives before it learns better. Because the terrifying thing is that I believe he means it. Right now, in this room, I think Luca Andretti would walk away from his family and everything he’s ever known.
Maybe it does mean something.
Maybe it still isn’t enough.
“You can’t make me trust you by blowing up your life in front of me,” I say.
“I know.”
“Do you?” I whisper.
“Yes.” The answer comes instantly. “I know I can’t fix this today. I know I can’t say one perfect thing and make you feel safe again. I know I don’t deserve that.”
He takes a breath. Lets it out shaky.
“But I’m telling you the truth now.”
I close my eyes.
