Castellano doesn't leave loose ends. Doesn't tolerate interference. If he thinks Marcus is protecting me, if he sees him as an obstacle…
No. No, I can't think about that. Can't let guilt paralyze me when I should be moving.
I need to pack. Need to leave. Tonight. Right now.
I push myself up from the floor. My legs are steadier than they should be considering my hands won't stop shaking. The apartment is small: one bedroom, a kitchen barely big enough to turn around in, a living room with exactly one chair and a lamp I bought at a thrift store.
Everything I own fits in two duffel bags.
I make it three steps toward the bedroom before I stop.
The same thought freezes me mid-step.
Marcus protected me. Put himself between me and men who were armed, who work for someone dangerous. He didn't know me. Didn't owe me anything. He just… Did it.
And now he's a target.
Castellano will come for revenge. He always does. My parents warned me about that, back when they were trying to convince me what an honor it was to be chosen by him. How powerful he is. How dangerous. How men who cross him tend to disappear.
They said it like it was romantic.
I run my hands through my hair, pulling it loose from the hood I've been hiding under for a week. Auburn strands fall around my face and I want to scream.
This is my fault. If I'd just been more careful, if I'd noticed them following me, if I'd gone somewhere else, anywhere else—
But I didn't. And now Marcus is involved.
I should keep packing. Should leave him a note, maybe. Warn him. Tell him I'm sorry and he should forget he ever saw me. Except what good is a note when Castellano's men come back? What protection does an apology offer?
None.
I press my palms against my eyes.
I don't owe him anything. He chose to help. He's a grown man who made his own decision. He stepped in because he wanted to, and he sure as hell looks like he can protect himself. Those scars on his knuckles didn't come from nowhere. The way he moved, calm, absolutely certain, that was training. Experience.
He's not helpless.
I am.
I need to focus on myself. On getting out of here before those men come back with reinforcements. Before Castellano decides to come personally.
I'll leave tonight. Pack my bags, grab my burner phone and the cash I've got hidden in the closet, and disappear. Again. Find another small town. Another anonymous apartment. Another place to hide until—
Until what?
Until Castellano forgets about me? Men like him don't forget. Until I run out of money? That's three months away if I'm lucky. Until I'm so tired of running I can't remember what it feels like to stand still?
I'm already there.
I walk into the kitchen because I can't stand still anymore. My hands need something to do besides shake.
The space is tiny but I've made it work. Kept it clean. Stocked it with basics from the grocery store two blocks away, the only place I've been since moving in. I've been cooking to keep myself sane. To feel normal for thirty minutes at a time.
There's chicken in the fridge. Vegetables. Pasta. Ingredients for something real.
I could make him dinner.
The thought comes out of nowhere and I almost laugh. Almost. Because it's absurd. I'm planning to run and I'm thinking about cooking?
