But I didn't.
I called Sophia instead.
I called the Sartori family.
I pulled myself right back into the world I spent two years running from.
For him.
I press my face into the couch cushion. Squeeze my eyes shut.
Stop thinking about him.
But I can't.
I can't stop thinking about the way he looked when he collapsed at my door. The way he said my name.
I can't stop thinking about what would have happened if I hadn't opened the door.
He would have died.
Right there. In my hallway. Alone.
And I would have found him in the morning. Cold. Still. Gone.
My stomach turns.
I sit up. Throw the blanket off. Press my palms against my eyes until I see stars.
Get it together, Marina.
I need to sleep. The doctor said the next forty-eight hours are critical. I need to be alert. Focused. Ready to handle whatever comes next.
But every time I close my eyes, I see his face.
Pale. Gray. The life draining out of him one heartbeat at a time.
And I see something else too.
The men who shot him.
They're still out there. Somewhere. And if they tracked him to Denver, they might track him here. To my building. To my door.
To me.
I grab my phone from the coffee table.
I scroll to Sophia's number. Hesitate.
She's probably asleep. She should be asleep. It's the middle of the night and she has her own life now. Her own problems. Her own husband who runs a criminal empire.
I shouldn't call.
I shouldn't drag her deeper into this.
But my thumb is already pressing the button.
The phone rings once. Twice.
