The bed where she was lying just seconds ago shows nothing but rumpled sheets and the mark of where her body was pressed against mine. Her clothes and mask are gone too. The window across the room is cracked open, cold air spilling in, enough for someone her size to slip through.
The warm cloth is still in my hand and I stand there staring at it like an idiot, trying to process what just happened.
She ran.
I cross to where my jacket landed on the floor earlier and that’s when understanding hits me hard. The sleeve is pulled back and twisted in a way that would have left my shoulder completely exposed when I turned toward the bathroom. The scar would have been right there in the light spilling from the doorway, vivid for her to see.
My father’s saint medallion burned into my skin when I was twelve years old. He held my shoulder over a candle flame while three of his men watched, teaching me what happens when you show weakness in this family. I’ve carried that mark for sixteen years and never bothered hiding it because most people have no idea what it means.
But she knows. She must have seen it earlier tonight when I took off my jacket in Antonio’s room. And now she’s seen it again and put the pieces together.
She knows exactly who I am.
I heard her moving around while I was in the bathroom. The rustle of fabric, footsteps moving across the floor. I thought she was just getting dressed, maybe getting ready to use the bathroom after me.
Then I heard that lock click—she must have unlocked the door as a decoy, and by the time I shut off the water and came out, she was already gone through the window.
She’s smart enough to unlock the door first to distract me then escape the way I wouldn’t expect.
I move to the window and look down at the fire escape. It’s empty. The alley below is dark and deserted. She’s already gone,probably running barefoot through the streets, putting as much distance between us as possible.
Fuck, I don’t even know what to think.
I pull out my phone and dial Marco before I can second-guess myself.
He answers on the second ring. “Boss?”
“I need a location. A girl. Early twenties, dark hair, green eyes, about five-four. She was at the Marchetti mansion tonight. Merchandise. Find her. Now.”
“On it.”
The line goes dead. No questions or hesitation. Just immediate compliance the way it should be.
I drop the cloth and grab my shirt off the floor, yanking it on with movements that are rougher than necessary. I button it wrong the first time and have to start over because my hands won’t cooperate the way they should.
The room still smells like her. That perfume she was wearing mixed with sweat and sex and something uniquely her that I can’t name. The sheets are still warm where she was pressed against me just minutes ago. I can still feel her hands on my chest, her nails raking down my back, the way she said “please” like it was the only word in the world that mattered.
I force the memories down and focus on what needs to happen next.
She’s a witness. She saw my face. She watched me kill Antonio. She knows who I am and what I’ve done. In my world, there’s only one way this ends.
I should have killed her in Antonio’s office. Should have put a bullet in her the second I confirmed Antonio was dead. Clean. Simple. The way it’s supposed to be done.
But I didn’t.
And then I compounded that mistake by following her to that club. By letting her pull me onto the dance floor. By taking her to that room and crossing a line I never should have crossed. Now it’s dawned on me that I could never kill her. Not even if I wanted to.
My phone rings fifteen minutes later.
“Talk to me.”
“Nothing yet, boss. She didn’t go home—checked her last known address and the roommate hasn’t seen her. No hospital admissions under her name. No police reports filed. Still searching.”
“Expand the radius. Check shelters, hotels, bus stations. She’s on foot and barefoot. She can’t have gone far.”
“Understood.”
I hang up and leave the room, heading back down into the club. The music is still pounding, people still dancing and drinking like the world outside doesn’t exist. I push through the crowd and out into the night air that hits cold and sharp against my skin.
