Page 87 of Safe Word

And that realisation didn’t sit well with me.

‘And call your fucking ex. She needs receipts,’ I said, swiftly steering the conversation away.

Vinnie’s face twisted into theatrical exasperation as he rolled his eyes so hard, I thought they might pop out.

‘Witch,’ he muttered, mostly to himself, rubbing his face like he could scrub the irritation away. ‘I’ll take care of it today. Sorry she bothered you.’

‘It’s fine. She’s our accountant, and a damn good one. What’s going on with you two now?’ I asked, though I knew better than to expect an honest answer.

He shook his head, dismissing the topic with a few lazy waves of his hand. ‘I am not nearly drunk enough to talk about that. I’ve got to run, anyway. I’ll let you know after I make some calls about the… thing.’

Vinnie drained his tea in one go, nodded, and vanished – a hurricane in flip-flops.

I suspected managing a business was hard. Plus, all the odd things he had to do for me. But lately, we’d hardly sat down and talked properly. He’d always been in a rush. But that was the current state of things – especially this close to a book release.

So I stayed where I was.

The clink of cups. The murmur of Italian voices. Laughter curling around the morning.

It should have felt idyllic. Safe. Ordinary. But my thoughts were razors.

Scarlett. Paula. Ezio. Apparitions and tormentors – all of them.

SIXTEEN

I stood in my flat, half-buried in the wardrobe’s dark mouth, trying to find something that whispered control yet kept the chaos trapped in my bones.

Cain was quiet today. Or maybe he was just focused. I knew the deadline for one of the books was nearing, and if he was anything like me – he’d be spitting fire before the release.

I pulled out a black, form-fitting dress with a slit up the thigh, and held it up sceptically. These conventions were all about romance and forbidden cravings, which meant everyone would be pulling out their sexiest attire. And here I was, going on business – sort of – with my stupidly sexy, untouchable boss, no less. So I had to strike the impossible balance of professional and alluring. This dress seemed like it would do the job. The fabric shimmered faintly in the light, clinging just right to all the places I wanted to flaunt without looking like I was auditioning for a rap video.

With my hair twisted into a sleek knot at the nape of my neck, I added the final touches – lipstick, perfume, concealer over the bruises Ghost had left in evidence of possession. The cool cream touched my skin, and everything stilled. The mirror stopped being glass – it became a confession.

I stared at my reflection. The concealer dulled the marks, but not enough. My gaze drifted to the black silk scarf draped across the vanity. An idea bloomed, quick and desperate.

I looped it around my neck, fingers trembling as I started to tie it—

Clink!

A metallic echo spread from the living room.

The sound sliced through the flat like a cold, and far too familiar memory.

I snatched my phone and opened the camera feed, flicking through each view with frantic swipes.

Frame after frame – nothing.

And still, my pulse refused to slow. Travis’ blue eyes flashed behind my eyelids – the ropes, the blade, the way pain numbed me until I couldn’t tell if it was love or something wrong.

In.

Out.

Breathe.

I forced air into me, the pressure tightening behind my eyes.

With the next inhale, I gathered the courage to step into the living room. The lamp beside the bookcase held a low glow that smeared across the parquet like spilt honey. My gaze ricocheted from window to window. Tree shadows writhed in the soft wind, stretching long and thin over the floor.