Page 41 of King of War

For one dangerous second, I let myself pretend. That we’re not ruined, and that there’s not a chasm between us filled with all the things we never said and all the things he chose to believe. I imagine that his arms around me mean what they used to mean, instead of being one more cruel reminder of what I lost.

But none of this, nor anything he did all those years before that awful day, can make up for what he didn’t do. The worst day of my life, when I needed him more than I had ever needed anyone before or since, and he abandoned me. Worse than that, he looked at me like I was something filthy. Something he was ashamed to have ever touched. He treated me with contempt and disgust when I was already shattered beyond recognition.

Over the years, I’ve found plenty of ways to move on from that pain. Extensive therapy helped. So did my photography. Long hikes beneath the late afternoon sun. Cold mornings with my camera in my hands. Quiet evenings in my apartment with too many plants and no one telling me who I was allowed to be. I built a life out of all the little things that made breathing easier.

But being here with him rips the seams right open. All that devastation and anguish comes rushing back, hot and raw and vicious. The hurt becomes so sharp it feels like a blade sliding into my heart, carving out the parts of me that are foolish enough to still want him. I cannot stay here like this. I cannot keep pretending that his arms around me are not tearing my heart out all over again.

I take a deep breath and put on my armor. Piece by piece. Spine straight. Chin up. Heart locked down. I remind myself that I’ve been looking after myself since I was a small child. That I looked after my alcoholic father too, right up until he died when I was seventeen. I remind myself that I survived Enzo Medici once already, and I can survive him again.

Carefully, before my stupid body can betray me by burrowing closer, I untangle myself from his embrace. His arms resist for half a second. Just enough for me to feel it. Just enough to make my chest ache.

“I think I’m fine to walk now.”

He blinks, looking a little shocked. Maybe even hurt. The expression is gone almost as quickly as it appears, shuttered behind that familiar wall of arrogance and control, but I saw it.

That’s simply because of what just happened though. Enzo is impulsive and reckless, but I was right in my assessment of him the other day. He’s not cruel. Not at his core. Watching me almost die on his kitchen floor rattled him too. So it’s best I put an end to this cozy little reunion sooner rather than later, before one of us forgets all the reasons we’re supposed to hate each other. Before we end up kissing again. Or worse.

“Are you sure?” His voice is rougher than usual, scraped raw around the edges.

I nod. “Sure.”

I stand on shaky legs and he jumps up with me, one hand already reaching out to steady me. His fingers hover close to mine, close enough that I feel the heat of them, and then he seems to think better of it. His hand curls into a fist at his side instead.

I’m grateful for that too. I’m already feeling vulnerable enough without him touching me, without him acting like he cares, without my traitorous heart trying to make a meal out of scraps.

“I think I’m going to go take a nap.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

For a long moment, I just stare into his dark eyes, unable to stop myself from remembering a time when we had the world at our feet. Once upon a time, I was certain there was nothing our love could not conquer.

What a silly, naive little girl I was.

“Goodnight, Enzo.”

His throat works as he swallows, and I wonder if he’s remembering too. I wonder if it hurts him as much as it hurts me, or if I’m the only idiot still haunted by ghosts we both helped create.

“Goodnight, Rayne.”

My legs are still trembling as I make my way down the hallway, but now it has nothing to do with the aftereffects of my bee sting, and everything to do with Enzo Medici.

Chapter

Nineteen

ENZO

“Istill can’t get into the club, Enzo. Because of the Russian connection they’re keeping the whole area on lockdown. I spoke to Pat Kelley today and he told me the chief is worried there’s going to be an all-out war, so he’s handling this with kid gloves.”

Fuck! “Do you have any good news for me?”

“There’s no arrests being made, and Kelley says it will likely go unsolved because nobody is hugely concerned about a load of crooks turning up dead. His words, not mine. However, he did say he took a good look around the crime scene and found nothing like what we’re looking for, and there was no video logged for evidence either. Their techs are going through cell phones, but that could take a few weeks.”

“What about his house? Oscar called Rayne, though she said it was Joseph who claimed to have the video. Maybe he didn’t even take it to the club.”

Micah hums, thinking. “Probable, given that the cops didn’t find it. I’ll have someone check it out.”

“Not someone, Micah. You. Or send Raf or Luca if not you. I don’t want anyone else getting their hands on it.” Specifically, I don’t want anyone else seeing Rayne like that. If Joseph Bertelli weren’t already dead, I’d cut his fucking eyes out for watching that video of her.