But… he came back for me. Bleeding, half-dead, crawling out of a freezing bay, and the first thing out of his mouth when he burst through the door wasn't begging me to save his life. It was telling me to take the money and run. He'd doubled back into a burning house solely to let me go free before his heart gave out.
I still didn't know how to process that.
Did he do that because he was him, or did he do it because of me?
I sighed and scrubbed my hand down my face. I didn't want to think about it.
I made myself get out of my head. I could hear Vinny in the kitchen. He was singing—low, off-key, some old Italian song.
I caught a smile slipping onto my face and wiped it off real quick.Get it together, Jamie.
A few days ago, he could barely stand without wincing. Now, he was singing and cooking.
My chest tightened as I stared at the doorway.
The scent of crushed garlic, sweet basil, and simmering tomatoes drifted into the living room. A few minutes later, Vinny appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a dish towel. Sweatpants hung low on his hips, a black t-shirt stretched across his broad chest.
A glass of bourbon dangled from his fingers. I told him not to mix the pain pills and liquor, but he did, and he was gone, his eyes looking sleepy. So far removed from the melancholy man I'd first met.
"Dinner's almost ready," he said, his mouth curving into a lazy, crooked smile that I felt straight down in my gut. "This is one of my mother's recipes. Authentic gravy. Not that canned shit you probably eat."
I just smiled and nodded.
He didn't leave. He leaned his heavy frame against the doorpost.
He just stared for a minute before stepping closer. His gaze dragged over me slowly, tracing the line of my throat, the curve of my breast. "You're really fucking beautiful, Jamie."
I swallowed hard, keeping the blanket pulled tight around my shoulders like bulletproof.He's drunk, the voice behind the concrete walls inside my mind screamed.He's looking at my face, but he's seeing a ghost.
I understood. He was lonely, liquored up, and trapped with a chick who shared the exact jawline of the only person he'd ever truly loved. I wasn't about to be the placeholder for a dead woman though.
"The food smells good," I said, keeping my tone deadpanned, refusing to let him see how much he affected me. "Come eat."
I stood too quickly, headed towards the kitchen, anything to cut the tension.
He caught my wrist gently as I tried to walk past him, pulling me closer. The scent of bourbon and his cologne mixed together, warm and dizzying, cutting right through my defenses.
"You know," he murmured, his voice dropping into a rough, low register that made the hair on my arms stand up, "I keep thinking about how lucky I am."
I laughed softly. "Lucky why? Because you didn't die?"
"No." His thumb brushed over my pulse point, hot and deliberate. "Lucky you stayed. Lucky you're here."
My heart did something incredibly stupid in my chest, and it pissed me off. Because I knew he was thinking about her. Not me.
I pulled my wrist free and looked past him toward the stove. "Food's gonna burn if you keep talking this slick shit, papi. Go back to the kitchen before you ruin your mother's gravy."
He chuckled behind me, deep and warm, but didn't push.
We ate at the small kitchen table in a silence that had completely changed. It wasn't cold anymore.
Every time our eyes met, I looked away first.
I had to. If I didn't, I might start believing this was real.
Chapter Twenty-Three — Vinny
The burner phone buzzed against the kitchen table like a live wire. I stared at it, my gut tightening before I even flipped it open. I had only given Bael the number, and I had a feeling whatever he was calling me for was not going to be something I wanted to hear. It had only been a few hours since we'd awoken, and we hadn't even talked about plans to get us out of the clusterfuck we were in.
