Page 73 of Safe Word

It hit deeper than he intended. And not in the way he hoped.

Of course she was broken. She wouldn’t have walked into Obsidian if she weren’t. But I knew what he didn’t. We didn’t break each other. We recognised the cracks.

And filled them in.

I took a breath that felt heavier than it should, eyes trailing to the city skyline like it held answers.

Then came the real blow.

‘Now…’ He leaned back, draping an arm over the booth as if he owned the world. There was something in his eyes now – part challenge, part concern. ‘What’s the deal with Paula?’

Something in me went absolutely taut.

Why did that question feel like pressure beneath my collarbones?

‘She’s a good asset,’ I replied, stalling – or diverting – my eyes fixed on the swirl of light in my wine, pretending disinterest. ‘Her writing mirrors mine. She understands the style. She works late—’

‘How do you know?’ he said, sharper.

It snagged.

‘The workspace logs edits every half hour,’ I said smoothly. ‘You can track the timestamps.’ My heart fluttered in my throat at that.

Then I paused and levelled him with a stare. ‘Why are you asking?’

A pause stretched, unuttered words floating between us. His gaze pinned me – not just watching, but peeling me apart – wrestling me to the ground – as if he’d known that the truth was buried somewhere deeper where not even I dared look.

Then the smile returned – classic Vinnie deflection.

‘You’re the face and the talent. I’m the brains and the dollar, remember?’

Our old mantra – the thing we’d said many years ago, before any of this existed.

‘Just making sure the boat’s not rocking,’ he added, lifting his glass.

I raised a brow, nodding. But it didn’t sit right tonight.

Unbuttoning my cuff and rolling the sleeve slightly back, my focus settled on the tattoo near my wrist – the anchor. A reminder that I needed to keep myself steady, regardless of the turbulence. I had it done the moment we’d landed in Rome twenty years ago.

I clinked my glass against his, the sound far too delicate for what it was trying to cover.

‘The boat’s fine,’ I said.

But there was no doubt in my mind that the tide was rising – and I’d already cut the anchor.

FOURTEEN

I heard her before I saw her – the click of stilettos against pavement, slightly rushed, definitely anxious. It made the breath trap behind my teeth.

She had changed into the black ones. The tall pair. The ones that made my fucking blood sing – and the ones that made her easy to follow.

Even through the tinted visor of my helmet, I could see how the dress clung to her. Not worn but inhabited. Fabric lacquered to skin, sculpted by something obscene and divine. The neckline was too high to serve as bait. But the hem? That was pure invitation as it rode up with each tap of her soles until she had to push it down every once in a while.

The muscles on her legs trembled with every step.

I pictured them quaking for other reasons.

Bent forward. Hands tied. Mouth taped shut. Hair caught in my fist while her breath stuttered against it.