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Mason interrupts by leaning toward me, his eyes intense. “He would. Your husband’s been lying to you from the beginning. Being with you is all a cover. This whole time, he’s been running the same operation that killed your brother.”
My hands tremble. I scan the statements again, hunting for a flaw that proves Mason wrong. But the documents appear authentic, and the timeline fits the gaps in Marco’s schedule, accounting for the nights he came home late and the meetings he didn’t explain.
Even with all the paperwork, my mind refuses to believe.
“It’s not possible.” Even as I argue, a sinking feeling settles deep in my gut. “I know who he is.”
“Do you?” Mason tilts his head and slides another document my way, this one a list of Marco’s movements over the last six months, cross-referenced with trafficking incidents. “Because you’ve known him for, what, a few months? And in that time, you’ve been in his compound, surrounded by his people, navigating his world. How would you know if what you’re seeing isn’t exactly what he wants you to see?”
I glance at the dates on the document and struggle to fit them with the gaps in Marco’s schedule that I always accepted without asking.
“You’re wrong.” Though I continue to deny it, my voice cracks.
“The testimony comes from Benedetti employees who’ve turned state’s evidence.” Mason speaks with reluctance, like he’s delivering news he doesn’t want to. “They were on the inside. They saw the operation happen, and they named names, Lucia. Under oath. In depositions. Marco Santori is on record as overseeing organ procurement.”
“That’s—”
I stop and press my hands flat on the wood, my chest tightening around a breath I can’t quite complete.
My heart knows the truth. Marco held me while I cried. He’s shown me a hundred times what kind of man he is. While my logical brain wants to see the documents with cold facts that the contents can be true, my heart can’t reconcile the man I now know with what this evidence says.
Deciding I need to ask Marco in person, I push back from the table, my heart screaming in my chest.
“I need to go.”
“Lucia, you know Matteo wouldn’t want you to be with a man like Marco.”
“I can’t deal with this right now. I need air.” I’m already standing, reaching for my bag. The papers on the table have started to blur. I can’t sit across from Mason and watch him dismantle everything I believe about Marco. If I don’t get outside, I’m going to completely fall apart.
“Lucia, please.”
Once I get through the door, the afternoon sunlight assaults me, too bright after the coffee shop’s dim interior. My heels strike the sidewalk too fast, my breath coming in shallow gulps as I dig through my bag for my keys with trembling hands. Matteo’s name keeps colliding with Mason’s words, and I can’t think clearly enough to separate the grief from the doubt.
I’m halfway to my car when Mason’s hand closes around my arm. “Wait!”
I pivot, ready to demand he respect my choices. I want to tell him, with utter finality, that I’m done with him forever.
But I don’t have time.
A sharp prick stings my neck, and fire instantly engulfs my veins. My pulse hammers, my vision smears at the edges, and my knees buckle.
As I sink to the floor, Mason’s face swims in front of me, twisted into the desperate, broken expression that’s been there all along.
I never saw this coming.
His voice sounds distant, strange, and echoey. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t let you go back to him. Not when I’ve come this far, and not when I’m this close.”
Everything folds in on itself. The sunlight shifts from gold to gray to black. The last thing I hear before everything disappears is Mason’s thin, garbled voice.
“Bruno was right. This is the only way.”
Then nothing.
Chapter 34
Marco
I’ve been at the community center all day, painting walls in long, even strokes while my mind circles the same territory.
