Page 224 of Safe Word

But I wasn’t about to say that.

‘Anyone would be invested after what I’ve seen so far, Picasso,’ I dropped my eyes at his inked wrists, going with the easy answer – the one that would keep him at arm’s length.

He nodded, letting me have that one. But there was no amusement on his face.

‘Sorry to hear about your home.’ It was low, almost begrudging, as if he didn’t say that sort of thing often.

We drove in silence for a while, the streets unfurling around us, washed in shadow.

‘How do you know where he is?’ he asked, breaking the quiet.

‘I don’t.’

A pause.

‘Then you know where he rents?’

‘Nope.’

Silence, thicker this time.

‘So where the fuck are we going, Hollywood?’ His tone had climbed an octave, and I could feel the irritation rolling off him. But beneath it, there was something else. Guilt. Ignorance. Something that came when one realised they should have known something sooner. Done something sooner.

I could have given him an easy way out. Told him his sister wouldn’t have let him see the bruises. That she would have smiled through them, just like my mother had. But the selfish part of me – the part that didn’t give a fuck about his guilt – sharpened its horns.

Because if he had paid attention – if he had stopped it – she never would have come to Rome.

Ghost never would have met Scarlett.

I never would have met her.

The contradiction raked against something raw in me.

‘My place,’ I said finally. ‘Or what’s left of it. He left me a present.’

He frowned. ‘You’re giving me The Shining vibe right now.’

I scoffed. More like Cape Fear. But I kept that to myself.

I turned onto the last stretch of road before it narrowed into a street crushed between rows of buildings, their facades bearing the weight of time with their crumbling cornices, iron balconies – some tangled with dying ivy, some with windows lit with life from beyond. The city was pressing in now, its pulse thickening around us.

Rome’s centre had a sound of its own. And he was here somewhere. I felt it in my bones.

Meanwhile, the bastard next to me was still sprawled across the front seat like a king surveying his kingdom, legs stretched out, elbow hooked on the door, taking up more space than should have been physically possible.

For all the space in my car, he sat in it as if it were a fucking compact rental.

Given how fucking small Paula was got me wondering what the rest of them were like. And, like an idiot, I let my mouth move before my brain caught up.

‘Where’s the rest of the cavalry?’

He cut me a look, one thick blond brow arching with the lazy sharpness of a blade catching light.

‘The Cleaner,’ he said, half-amused, ‘likes to go to bed early. The Gardener is probably playing fucking PC games.’

It was obvious which one was Leo and which was Dante.

Still, my earlier exchange with Paula gnawed at me, making me re-evaluate everything – not that guilt had ever stopped me from opening my mouth before.