Whether I was ready for it or not, I’m in that world now. The man I love is suffering because of the choices he made to protect me and save our son.
No more hiding. I have to know everything.
I look Vincenzo square in the face. “But why is the Diamond Grand burning?”
“Because without Cristiano and his men, the operation failed,” Vincenzo tells me. “The Sokolis haven’t just taken all of the Lucania territory. They’re continuing their path of destruction through Malus by burning the Diamond Grand to the ground.”
I can barely feel the doorframe under my hand. I looked at the man I love covered in blood, and I saw a monster who only acts out of self-interest. The story I’ve been telling myself—that Cristiano is cold and manipulative, and I was right to run from him—has a hole in it now.
On the screen, the roof of the Diamond Grand collapses. The reporter flinches away from the heat and noise.
My chest hurts, and I feel sick with guilt and confusion.
Adora says something, but I don’t hear it.
Cristiano didn’t tell me why he killed those men. He didn’t warn me there’d be consequences for saving our son. He just chose quietly and went under the knife.
He choseus.
I go to the window and look out, and he’s still standing there, a darker shadow against the night. He looks so much worse. He’s swaying, visibly struggling to stay upright. His head droops forward, then jerks back up. Even from this distance, I can see how violently he’s shaking.
I press my hand to the glass, my eyes burning with misery. My whole body aches with tension.
Our eyes meet across the distance. He must be able to see me outlined in the fiery glow from the television.
And then, as I watch, his knees buckle.
He doesn’t fall gracefully. He just collapses, his body crumpling like a puppet with its strings cut. He hits the pavement hard and doesn’t move.
“CRISTIANO.” The scream tears out of me before I can stop it.
And then I’m running. Out of the room, along the hallway, bursting through the front door. The rain hits me like a wall, but I don’t care. I just run.
“Help!” I’m screaming as I cross the street in darkness. “Somebody help.”
I drop to my knees beside him. He’s not moving. His eyes are closed. His skin is ice-cold under my hands.
“Cristiano.” I shake him, my hands on his face, his shoulders. “Cristiano, please. Wake up. Please wake up.”
Nothing.
No response.
No movement.
“No.” The word comes out broken. “No, no, no. Don’t do this. HELP!” I scream toward the house. “SOMEBODY HELP ME!”
I press my fingers to his throat, searching desperately for a pulse.
I can’t find one.
He can’t be dead. He can’t be.
Not like this. Not because he loved me so much he stood in the rain until his body gave out.
“Please,” I whisper, leaning over him, my tears falling on his face. “Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave Leon. I need you. Please, Cristiano. Please.”
His face is slack and lifeless, and he doesn’t hear me.
