"You going to get that?" Gabriel asks, glancing over at me.
"I don't know," I say honestly. Unknown numbers at eleven-thirty at night usually mean one of two things in the mafia world—bad news or wrong number.
But something makes me reach for it anyway.
"I should probably—" I gesture vaguely toward my bedroom.
Gabriel's expression shifts slightly, something knowing flickering in his eyes. "Go ahead. I will be here destroying your kill-death ratio in your absence."
"Don't you dare start without me," I warn, already standing and heading toward the door.
"No promises, Bella."
I take the stairs two at a time, my heart inexplicably racing, and make it to my doorless bedroom just as the phone stops ringing. I stare at it for a moment, debating, and then it rings again.
Unknown number.
I swipe to accept.
"Hello?"
"Rosie."
The voice hits me like a physical blow, and I actually have to sit down on the edge of my bed, my knees suddenly weak.
"Erin?" I whisper, my hand coming up to cover my mouth. "Oh my God, Erin, is that you?"
"It's me." Her voice sounds different—lighter somehow, less burdened, like someone has lifted a weight she has been carrying her entire life. "Hi."
"Hi?" I repeat incredulously, my voice rising despite my attempt to keep it down. "Hi? You disappear for two months and all you have to say is hi?"
She laughs, and the sound makes my chest ache with how much I have missed her, how much I have worried, how many nights Ihave lain awake wondering if she was okay. "I am sorry. I know it has been a while."
"A while? Erin, I have been losing my mind wondering if you were okay, if you made it somewhere safe, if Seamus found you, if something happened—" My voice cracks, and I have to stop, take a breath, force the tears back because I am not going to cry, I am not. "Are you okay?"
"I am more than okay, Rosie. I am happy."
The simple certainty in her voice makes something in my chest loosen, makes the tension I have been carrying for two months finally start to release. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I can hear the smile in her voice. "Dolan and I—we made it to Texas. We bought a little farm outside Austin. It is nothing fancy, but it is ours, and it is perfect."
"A farm," I repeat, trying to picture Erin O'Connor—princess of the Irish mafia, raised in mansions and luxury, who once cried because she broke a nail—on a farm. "You are living on a farm."
"I know, right? Who would have thought?" She laughs again, the sound bright and unrestrained. "We have chickens, Rosie. Actual chickens. I have to feed them every morning and collect eggs and everything. I named one of them after you because she is bossy and protective of the other birds."
Despite everything—despite the stress and the confusion and the absolute insanity of the last two months—I find myself smiling. "I am honored."
"You should be. Rosie the chicken is clearly the best chicken. She runs the whole coop." There is a pause, and when she speaks again her voice is softer, more serious, weighted with concern."But what about you? Are you okay? I have been so worried about you stuck in that marriage with Dante Salvatore. Has he been treating you well? Because if he has hurt you, if you need help getting out, Dolan and I will come back. We will figure something out. You do not have to stay there if?—"
"I am okay," I interrupt, and I realize as I say it that it is actually true. "Better than okay, actually."
"Really?" The skepticism in her voice is clear and immediate. "Rosie, you do not have to lie to me. If they are treating you badly, if you need help getting out, you can tell me. I will not judge you. I will just help."
"I do not need help getting out," I say gently, lying back on my bed and staring at the ceiling. "Erin, I know this is going to sound insane, but I actually like being married to Dante."
Silence on the other end of the line.
Complete, total silence.
