“I think you’re smart enough to take a practical solution when it’s standing in front of you.”
A muscle twitches below his left eye. Not anger anymore. Hotter. My skin prickles and my thighs press together without my permission.
“Practical,” he repeats. The word sounds like a threat.
“I’m good at practical.”
His mouth curves. Not a smile. A blade. He sees right through my careful words to the mess underneath.
“You drove to a killer’s compound early in the morning in that dress.” He rises from the chair. Each inch of him unfolding like a weapon being drawn.
“That’s not practical, Miss Neri. That’s either courage or insanity.”
He’s coming around the desk now. Each step brings him closer. Each step makes the air thicker, hotter, harder to pull into my lungs. He stops three feet away, and I have to tilt my head back to keep meeting his eyes.
He towers over me, even in my heels. His shoulders block out the light from the window. His cologne reaches me, cedar and smoke, and my body wants to lean closer and find out what it tastes like.
I don’t move. Don’t step back. Don’t give him an inch.
Six heartbeats since he stood. My pulse in my ears like a drum.
I’ve watched you for three years. The words press against my teeth. The nightmares. The whiskey at 3:00 a.m. The way you carry this family on your shoulders and never let anyone see you crack.
But Lorenzo is five feet away, and those words aren’t for witnesses.
So I say the thing that’s still true.
“I won’t run.”
Three words. Simple. Final.
He searches my face. Looking for the crack in my composure. The fear I admitted to but refuse to show.
I let him look. Let him see whatever he needs to see. I’ve got nothing left to hide behind except the truth. I’m terrified, and I’m not leaving.
Seconds stretch. Each one an hour.
I can’t read him. His face gives nothing away. No anger, no interest, no rejection. Just that dark, assessing stare that strips me down to bone.
That terrifies me more than fury would. Anger I could work with. This silence, this stillness, this total absence of reaction. I have no counter for it.
Then he speaks. One sentence. Low enough that it’s meant for me alone, even though we both know Lorenzo hears everything.
“You understand what you’re offering?”
Not a question. A test.
His voice has gone to gravel. Wrecked.
My pulse pounds. My mouth goes dry.
Eight. Hold.
This is it. The moment I’ve been driving toward for fourteen blocks. The moment I either become someone who matters or go back to being invisible forever.
I hold his stare. Don’t blink. Don’t waver.
“Yes.”
