Page 227 of Safe Word

I’d been so wrapped up in Paula that I’d shoved Vinnie to the back of my mind. I hadn’t liked how we’d parted at dinner, either. He was clearly upset about me playing the HR clauses.

He’d been fine when he’d followed Ezio out of the house to take him back to the hospice. It’d been a two-hour round trip, but he’d texted me – which had meant he was probably near the building.

I tried him again, thumb trembling slightly.

Still no answer.

Vinnie wasn’t a fighter. That had always been my role when we were little. I’d taken the kicks, the split lips, the busted ribs. He was softer. Sharper in other ways – the kind of kid who’d help his Nonna to church every Sunday and lit candles. A proper altar boy in designer shoes.

I was the one who’d grown up punching walls and memorising exits.

If something had happened to him—

Christ.

‘Vinnie’s supposed to be here,’ I murmured. Matteo crossed his arms, leather creaking as we glanced around.

‘Let’s wait a bit.’

And I hoped. Fucking hoped he would show.

FORTY

I woke to the rustling of leaves outside, a quiet sound carried by the breeze. Zio’s fig tree stretched high in the backyard, its branches dancing lazily against the wind, casting shifting shadows through the sheer curtains.

The remnants of Cain’s scent were on my skin, on the sheets, deep in my bones.

I inhaled slowly, blinking against the softness of the night. My body ached in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. The places he’d punished me, the heat still throbbed there faintly like a pulse that blurred the lines between hurt and hunger.

It wasn’t normal. I shouldn’t have liked it.

I shouldn’t have wanted it.

I lay there, watching the lazy sway of the fig tree outside, and the truth settled like ash.

Cain had rewritten me this night – and put me back together on his terms.

I’d needed it more than I could say. He had drawn me into that darkness, and I hadn’t recoiled. My body had surrendered long ago and now, I wasn’t sure I knew how to exist without him.

A slow, sharp exhale left my lips, my fingers curling into the sheets.

I turned my head.

My breath stalled, the space beside me was empty, the mattress wrinkled yet cold, like he’d been gone for a while.

My stomach tightened, a sharp, unexpected jolt cutting through the lingering daze of exhaustion.

I sat up, scanning the room. Listening. There was no light coming from under the toilet door.

The toll of the week came crashing over me all at once, dragging at my limbs, my mind.

I reluctantly settled back into the pillows, sighing through the tightness in my ribs.

This was fine. It didn’t have to mean anything.

But I hated that small, twisted part of me – the one that clenched in disappointment. The one that had foolishly expected to wake up still tangled in him, still feeling his heat against me, his fingers tracing over the marks he’d left behind and rekindling the sting of pain.

I let my eyes drift to the window again, watching the branches tap against the glass in time with my pulse.