He wantsme.
Not the family. Not Lorenzo or Bruno or Nico. Me.
If he wanted me dead, there are easier ways. They could have killed me that night. Somehow their plan went wrong and he got lucky enough to leave.
But they didn't kill me.
Which means death isn't the point. At least, not quick death.
I think about what that means. What Alejandro might want from me before the end. Answers? Revenge? Something else entirely?
The Uber turns onto an industrial street. Warehouses line both sides, their windows dark and empty. This part of Denver looks abandoned. Forgotten. The kind of place where screams don't carry.
I think aboutherface when I left. The way her hands shook. The way she saidcome back to melike it was a prayer and a command all at once.
I've never had someone waiting for me before. Not like that. Not someone who looked at me like my survival mattered more than anything else in the world.
It's terrifying.
It's also the only reason I'm doing this.
If I don't show up, Alejandro kills her parents. Kills Vittoria. Kills Aria. Four innocent people dead because I was too cowardly to face the man who murdered my family.
I can't live with that.
I probably won't live at all after tonight, but at least I'll die knowing I tried. Knowing I gave Marina a chance. Knowing the people I love are safe.
The car slows. Stops.
"This is it," the driver says. First words he's spoken the entire ride.
I look out the window. The building is massive—an old manufacturing plant, maybe, or a distribution center. The kind of place that used to employ hundreds of people before the jobs moved overseas. Now it's just another skeleton on the industrial landscape.
A single light burns above the entrance.
A man stands beneath it.
I open the door and step out. The night air is cold. Sharp. It cuts through my jacket and settles into my bones.
For now.
The Uber pulls away. I don't watch it go. My eyes are fixed on the man at the entrance.
He's big. Broad shoulders, thick neck, hands that look like they've broken bones before. Cartel muscle. The kind of man who follows orders without asking questions.
He doesn't reach for a weapon as I approach. Doesn't move at all, actually. Just stands there. Waiting.
When I'm ten feet away, he speaks.
"Castellani."
Not a question. A confirmation.
"That's me."
He nods once. Turns. Opens the door.
Well. At least I get to walk in on my own two feet.
