Page 45 of Mafia King’s Dangerous Vow

“You’re an interior designer.”

Her brow lifts faintly. “That has been established.”

The words arrive before I decide to say them.

“Fix it.”

She glances toward the painting.

“I don’t mean the Kandinsky,” I say. “Not only that.”

She understands before I explain. “The apartment?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to erase her,” Tamara says.

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you understand what the painting was.”

She looks away then. The first tear slips down her cheek, and she wipes it away, almost angrily.

“I damaged something irreplaceable.”

“Yes.”

“I hate that.”

“I know.”

She believes me.

Not forgiveness. Not yet. But the absence of accusation.

“I’ll call restorers in the morning. The best ones I know. And I’ll make a plan for the apartment. Not to replace her. Not to replace anything.” Her voice firms slightly. “To make it livable.”

Livable.

I have owned this penthouse for years and somehow never considered the word.

Slept here. Worked here. Bled here. Detoxed here. Survived here.

I don’t know that I’ve lived here since Elena.

My attention moves to the painting again. The tear is still there. Asking her to touch the apartment should feel impossible. Instead, it feels like the only thing in the room that might move.

“All right,” I say.

Tamara nods once. Then she looks at the tear again.

“I really am sorry.”

“I know.”

This time, I let the words mean more.