The last two days have felt like a fever dream. The outside world ceases to exist, as we lose ourselves in each other. We barely left the bedroom, our bodies seeking a desperate kind of comfort that we can only find in each other. I crave his touch, like a meth addict craves the next hit.
But even in the heat of it, a part of my mind stays intentionally watching, waiting for the right opening. I play the part of the grieving, fragile sister who needs the truth to feel safe, and in that post-coital haze, his guard eventually drops.
It’s how I learned that Nicolo is in Sicily now, lying low. It’s how I found out he was in Argentina the night of that attack. Damiano is convinced he was the one who paid Alfonso to carry out the hit. More than that, I was listed on the shipment manifest as "riggina nica", Sicilian for “little queen.”
Damiano is hunting for the trail of that payment. Apparently, even the Mafia has a code of conduct. If Damiano can prove Nicolo conducted unsanctioned business in Argentina, the organization will withdraw its protection. Then, Nicolo is ours.
A sharp crunch on the gravel breaks my thoughts. I look up to see Julian approaching me. He looks like he’s been through a war. His buzzed hair is a mess of sharp angles, and his deep-set eyes are ringed with dark circles, bloodshot from what seems like a lack of sleep.
He is still in a black suit like the rest of the guards, though his tie is missing and his collar is open, revealing his tattooed neck. He has a deep, persistent frown on his face until his eyes land on mine.
“Hola, boludo.”
I grin at him, and he responds by raising a small pet carrier he’s carrying.
“I thought you might need a piece of home,” He says.
He sets the carrier down on the ground and pulls back the latch. For a second, nothing happens. Then a small, frantic ball of black-and-tan fur emerges from the shadows of the crate. The puppy's tiny claws scramble desperately on the gravel as it bolts away from us, stumbling toward the fountain. My breath falters in my throat as my world suddenly shrinks down to a furball.
"Pedro!" I say, a genuine smile breaking across my face.
Pedro lets out a high, sharp yip before he scrambles toward me. His tiny tail is wagging so violently that his entire back half shakes. I bend down, reaching out for him, ignoring the sharp, stabbing protest of my shoulder. Pedro collides with me, his wet tongue finding my chin. I pull him into my chest, burying my face in the soft, warm fur behind his ears. He smells of clean shampoo and lemons.
“So that’s his name.” Julian chuckles as he settles beside me on the stone bench
“Mateo named him,” I chuckle as Pedro wriggles in my arms.
But the laughter fades just as quickly. A heavy lump rises in my throat, making it hard to swallow, as I remember the day Mateo first brought Pedro home. Julian squeezes my good shoulder in silence to comfort me.
"I tried all kinds of names, and he never responds to anything,” Julian says. “I grabbed him when I went to your apartment that night before we left for Italy," he adds, reaching out to scratch the puppy’s head. "All the guys checked your apartment, but we were too late. When we got there, it was spotless. The only thing that didn’t belong there was this puppy.”
“What do you think they did to Mateo’s body?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
“We don’t know. Don’t think about that. It’ll only drag you somewhere darker. You don’t belong there…” He pauses, his eyes locking onto mine. “And you certainly don’t belong here.”
I freeze.
“What?” I ask, certain I must have misheard him.
“Kat, listen,” he says after a beat, his voice dropping into an urgent whisper.
I frown in confusion.
"You need to leave this place.”
“What do you mean?” He rises to his feet and starts pacing the gravel path back and forth.
"You aren't healing here, you're… beingdomesticatedby a criminal." He says, running a hand through his hair.
“Julian,” I say, swallowing the bitter taste of his words in my mouth.
"Damiano isn't the savior he wants you to believe he is. He’s part of the reason Mateo is dead. If you stay here, you’re just waiting for the next bullet to find you.”
He paces back to me, then reaches out to hold both my arms as he tries to reason with me.
“Kat, I can protect you in a way he never will." He says it without hesitation, his eyes full of conviction that makes my chest heavy.
"What do you mean he is the reason Mateo is dead?" My voice drops as I try to understand his accusation. The words feel heavy and dangerous.
