The realization crystallized somewhere around midnight, as I lay here in the dark listening to the sound of my own heartbeat, imagining what it would feel like to plant that bomb. To set the timer. To walk away knowing that in minutes or hours, the three men sleeping peacefully in this house would be?—
No.
I roll onto my side, curling into a ball, my bandaged hands pressed against my stomach. I cannot think about it. Cannot picture their faces when the bomb goes off, cannot imagine the aftermath, cannot let myself go down that road because if I do I will start screaming and never stop.
But if I don’t plant the bomb, Patrick will kill Erin.
And Dolan.
And their baby.
My sister. My best friend. The person I have spent my entire life protecting. The reason I took her place at the altar, married a stranger, and walked into this completely insane situation in the first place.
How can I choose Dante, Gabriel, and Luca over her?
How can I not?
The impossible choice sits on my chest like a physical weight, crushing the air from my lungs, making it hard to breathe.
I need to move. Need to get out of this room, away from the bomb in the closet and the bed where I have spent hours spiraling and the doorway where anyone could see me falling apart.
I slip out of bed as quietly as possible, my feet touching the cool hardwood floor, and pull on jeans with shaking hands. My fingers fumble with the button, the zipper, everything feeling clumsy and disconnected. I grab a hoodie from the chair—Luca's hoodie, I realize, the black one with the faded logo that I have stolen and claimed as my own—and pull it over my head, drowning in fabric that smells like his cologne and laundry detergent and safety.
I need to know something. Before I make any decisions, before I choose between Erin and the boys, before I do anything irreversible—I need to know.
The house is silent as I move through it, creeping down the hallway on bare feet, avoiding the spots I have learned will creak. I pass Gabriel's room first, his door slightly ajar, and I pause just long enough to see his shape under the covers, one arm thrown over his head, breathing deep and even.
Asleep. Safe. Alive.
For now.
Dante's door is closed, but I know he is in there, probably sprawled diagonally across his massive bed the way he does when he sleeps alone, his face finally relaxed in a way it never is when he is awake.
Luca's room is at the end of the hall, and I stand in his doorway longer than the others, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the way his hair falls across his forehead, the slight smile on his face like he is having a good dream.
I memorize this. Memorize all of them. Just in case.
No. Stop thinking like that. I will figure this out. I have to.
I pad down the stairs, avoiding the fifth step that squeaks, and slip into the kitchen. The clock on the wall shows 2:14 AM, the second hand making its endless circuit with soft ticks that sound too loud in the silence.
I unlock the front door as quietly as possible, wincing at every small click and scrape of metal, and slip outside into the cool October night.
The air hits me immediately—cold enough to make me shiver, carrying the smell of fallen leaves and distant rain and the particular urban scent of Manhattan at night. I close the door softly behind me, test the handle to make sure it latched properly, and then I am walking.
The nearest gas station is about thirty minutes away on foot. I know because I have mapped every exit route from this house, every possible escape path, catalogued in my brain during those first weeks when I was still planning to run. Thirty minutes east, past the corner with the Italian restaurant that is always busy even at midnight, past the bodega with the cat that sits in the window, past the park where I sometimes see drug deals happening in the shadows.
I walk fast, my breath visible in the cold air, hands shoved deep in the pockets of Luca's hoodie. The streets are mostly empty at this hour—just occasional cars passing, a few people stumblinghome from bars, someone walking their dog despite the late hour.
I keep my head down and walk faster.
My mind spirals as I move, thoughts chasing themselves in endless circles that lead nowhere.
I cannot kill Dante, Gabriel, and Luca.
I cannot let Patrick kill Erin.
There is no solution where everyone survives.
