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"Especially then. You've known him three weeks, and you've already discovered two things he deliberately kept from you. You need to consider what else you don't know."

I want to argue.

I want to tell him he's wrong about Enzo, that the man who kissed my forehead and made sure I ate breakfast couldn't possibly be dangerous.

But I can't.

Because apparently, I don't know Lorenzo Moretti nearly as well as I thought I did.

By the time Daniel finishes his questions, it's almost four in the morning.

He explains that the stabbing investigation is ongoing. They're examining how Valentina gained entry, and they'll need to speak to me again. No decision has been made about charges, but I'm not under arrest and I'm free to leave.

An officer takes photographs of my bruised shoulder and the bloodstains, then collects my dress as evidence. I change into spare clothes that are several sizes too large and look like they came from somebody's emergency hurricane kit.

Under different circumstances, I'd make a joke about the fashion choices.

Tonight, I just want my own bed.

"One more thing," Daniel says as I'm leaving. "If anybody contacts you about what happened, or you feel threatened, call us. Don't try handling it yourself."

"Believe me, Detective. I've officially retired from handling things myself."

He gives me a sympathetic smile before arranging for a uniformed officer to take me home.

Los Angeles is strangely quiet at this hour, and I spend most of the drive staring out the window. My phone has been silent inside my purse since I turned off the sound at the station.

When I finally look, there are twenty-three missed calls.

Most of them from Enzo.

There are messages, too.

Bridget, please call me.

I need to know you're okay.

Sweetheart, let me explain.

The last one was sent twenty minutes ago.

I meant everything I said to you. Please don't let this be how we end.

My vision blurs.

I stare at the words until I can't read them anymore, remembering Valentina lying on my kitchen floor, looking at me with pure hatred.

His latest mistress.

I turn on Do Not Disturb and put the phone back in my purse.

The officer waits while I enter my building. The police have finished their initial examination of my apartment, although there are still questions about the door and how Valentina got inside.

I can't bear to look toward the kitchen.

Instead, I find Darcy hiding beneath the couch and gather him into my arms. Mrs. Patterson has left a note explaining that all five cats are safe, their bowls are full, and she'll check on them again later.

I sit on my bed with Darcy purring against my chest until the sky outside begins to lighten.