I wanted to tell her the truth. That I had fallen for her the night I saw her first. That every moment since had been real.
But I couldn’t.
I didn’t want to pull her into danger that I knew would only hurt her again.
“You’re right,” I said, voice flat. “We can’t keep doing this.”
I watched the hope die in her eyes as I gently lifted her off me and fixed my clothes.
“I am not the man you think I am,” I continued. “I don’t think you’re in love either. Maybe it’s just because we’ve been around each other too much.”
“That’s not true,” she whispered, lips trembling.
“Then you love a version of me I let you see, Kat.” I looked at her, turning my face cold. “I don’t do happily ever after. I can’t give you what you want.”
“Stop pushing me away,” she whispers.
“I’m sorry.”
Just then, the car stopped at her building. She took a shaky breath, jaw tight, fighting to hold herself together. She wiped her cheeks and reached for the door.
“I see. Then you’re right. We can’t do this anymore.” She says before she stepped out of the limo. I watched her walk away with her shoulders straight, even though I knew she was breaking apart.
The door closed, and I sat there in the dark, hands clenched. My heart was breaking into a thousand pieces.
“You fucking asshole,” I muttered to myself as I watched her disappear.
Chapter 11
Katarina
I try to open my eyes, but my eyelids feel too heavy, almost like they’re glued together. I try to move my limbs, but a throbbing ache pins me to the mattress.
Where am I?
I squint, trying to focus my eyes so I can see my surroundings. As it slowly clears, I see a very tall white ceiling, decorated with intricate carvings, and a huge chandelier hanging in the center. The walls are covered with Bordeaux Victorian wallpaper; its intricate patterns match the ceiling carvings.
On my left are two arched windows, their velvet curtains pulled, letting in light that hurts my eyes. Across the bed, a massive stone fireplace dominates the wall, its hearth dark and empty, flanked by two small Chesterfield armchairs and a coffee table. The room is cool, and the chill makes me shiver.
As my senses come to life, I draw the thick duvet higher as the panic begins to twist my stomach. I push myself up, but a stabbing pain assaults my right shoulder.
“Ah!” I gasp, collapsing back against the pillows.
I look down and realize that I’m wearing a hospital gown with no markings. My right arm is strapped to my chest in a sling, while my left hand has an IV line taped to the vein.
Did I get shot? Is this a hospital?
Memories flash in my mind like disjointed movie scenes. Mateo is on the floor. The gun in my hand. Lux.
“Hello?!” I try to say, but nothing comes out.
I clear my throat and try again. “HELLO?!”
Footsteps approach the door from outside. I scoot backward to the bed until my back hits the padded headboard. When the door opens, a tall man walks in.
He’s wearing a gray suit, the inner white shirt unbuttoned, revealing his tatted chest. His dark hair is long and wavy, some of it tucked behind his right ear. When his eyes catch mine, I freeze.
Damiano.
