And then I see them.
Jenna. Arms crossed. Smiling.
Izzy. Arm in a brace. Looking stressed. Guilty.
Cesario. Standing beside me, gun in his hand.
And Lionetti, sitting across from me. Calm. Controlled. Watching.
“Welcome back, Rebecca,” he says. His voice is smooth. Almost kind.
“We have so much to talk about.”
I don’t answer.
My head is still spinning. The room tilts. Nausea rolls through me.
I taste copper.
Blood.
My own.
Lionetti leans back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other like we’re having tea. Like I’m not tied up. Like Cesario’s gun isn’t in his hand.
“Let’s start simple,” Lionetti says. His voice calm. Patient.
“Where have you been, Rebecca?”
I swallow. My throat dry. Raw.
“Fuck you,” I say.
My voice cracks, but I hold his gaze.
Lionetti smiles.
It doesn’t reach his eyes.
“I see,” he says. “Let me try again.”
“Who have you been with?”
“No one,” I answer.
Jenna shifts. Her arms drop to her sides as she steps forward.
“She’s lying,” Jenna says, her voice sharp and bitter.
I look at her.
Really look at her.
She’s unraveling.
Her hair is pulled back tight. Too tight. Her makeup is perfect, but her eyes are wild. Manic.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I tell her.
