"Fine," he says, his voice low. "Let’s go."
"Let’s," I grin, pulling him toward the bedroom.
He follows me, but I can feel his eyes on the back of my head. I’ve bought myself an hour. Maybe two.
I will try again, I promise myself as I lead him away from the secrets that could kill me. I will find a way. For Laura.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
GIA
“Gia!!!” Laura is screaming my name.
I’m standing on the edge of the Amalfi cliffs, the ones from the photographs in my father’s study. The sky is a bruised, angry purple, and the waves below are churning like a graveyard of salt and stone. I can see her—my baby sister, her small hands clawing at the jagged rock, her brown eyes wide with a terror that no nine-year-old should ever know.
"Gia! Help me! Please!”
“Laura!!” I cry as I reach out, my fingers inches from hers, but my feet are rooted in the earth. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. And then, he’s there. My father. He looks at me, then at Laura, and he smiles. It’s the smile of a man who has already decided the price of a soul.
He raises a polished shoe and presses it against Laura’s knuckles.
"No!" I scream, but the sound is swallowed by the wind. "Father, please! Don’t do this!"
"You were disappointing, Gia," he says calmly.
He pushes.
Laura’s fingers slip. She doesn't just fall; she’s ripped away, her scream trailing off as the dark water swallows her whole. I’m staring into the abyss, my heart hollowing out until there’s nothing left but a cold, jagged vacuum.
I wake up with a jolt that nearly sends me off the bed.
My lungs are burning, my throat tight with a silent sob. The room is dark, save for the thin sliver of moonlight cutting through the curtains, and for a second, I’m still on that cliff. I’m still reaching for a sister who isn't there. My nightdress is plastered to my skin with cold sweat, and I’m shaking so hard I can hear the bedframe rattle.
She’s gone. He’s going to kill her. I’m sitting in a palace of blood and I’m doing nothing. I’m doing nothing.
"Gia."
The voice is low, a rough vibration in the dark beside me. I freeze, my heart slamming against my ribs like a trapped bird. Rafael. He’s awake. Of course he is.
I stay rigid, staring at the far wall, my breath coming in shallow, jagged hitches.
Don't look at him. If you look at him, you’ll break. If you look at him, he’ll see the silver wolf charm and the threat and the fact that you’re a traitor.
He doesn't touch me. I can feel the heat of him, a steady presence a few inches away, but he gives me the space. It’s the most frustrating thing about him—this capacity for patience that shouldn't belong to a man called The Butcher, damn it.
"You’re okay," he says, his voice like gravel. "You’re here with me. You’re safe."
Safe. The word tastes like ash. I reach out instinctively, my hand searching for something solid in the dark, and I find his. He responds instantly, his large, scarred hand closing over mine. His palm is hot, his grip steadying. I lean into the contact, my forehead dropping to his shoulder as the first sob finally breaks free.
"Tell me what's going on," he murmurs, his other hand coming up to stroke my hair, a slow, rhythmic movement that’s meant to calm me and only makes me want to scream.
"I can't... I just..." I swallow hard, the phantom image of Laura’s hand slipping away still burned into my retinas. I need to get out of my head. I need to drown the noise. "I need to forget. Rafael, please. I need to forget everything."
I look up at him then. His eyes are dark, two pits of shadow in the moonlight, but I can see the way they sharpen. He knows I’m not talking about the nightmare. He knows I’m talking about the world outside this room.
"Do you know what you’re asking for, little Gia?" he asks, his voice dropping into a register that makes my toes curl.
"Yes," I moan, my hand sliding up his arm, feeling the hard, corded muscle. "I know. Just... make me forget. Make me forget my name, my father, this house. Make me only feel you."
