Because when she gives herself to me, it won't be like this. It won't be out of pain. Or desperation. Or debt. It'll be because she wants to. That's the only version I'll take.
My heart is pounding so hardit feels like it's trying to break out of my chest. I can hear it. Feel it. The rush of blood in my ears, loud and relentless, like a river I can't shut off. My stomach twists. Flutters. Not just nerves. Not just fear. Something else. Something I don't want to name. But it's there. Sharp. Insistent. Unwelcome. Desire.
The realization hits me like a slap. No. No, that's… that's wrong. Completely wrong. My husband is dead. The worddeadstill doesn't feel real, still sits wrong in my head; it's a sentence that belongs to someone else's life, not mine. And yet here I am. Standing in front of another man. Feeling… this. Heat floods my face. Shame follows immediately after. What is wrong with me? This isn't how I felt with Pete. Never like this. What I had with him was… warm. Safe. Steady.
This? This is something else entirely. Something that has nothing to do with love. My stomach tightens harder. Because a small, traitorous part of me knows he's right. I squeeze my eyes shut for a second. No. No, I don't get to go there. I loved Pete. I owe him more than this. More than letting my thoughts drift like this, like everything we had can be set aside the moment something… easier comes along. Even if I was going to leave him, that doesn't mean I get to jump into another man's bed. It doesn't erase what we were. What he meant to me.
That doesn't just disappear because ofthis. Because of a look. Because of a moment. Because of a man who walks into a room and makes everything feel… sharper. More alive. More dangerous. My chest tightens. The ball flashes through my mind. The way my pulse jumped when Gabe spoke to me. The way my body reacted before my brain could catch up. I shoved it down then. I can do it again now. I will. I have to. My nails dig into my palms, and I focus on that instead. On the pain. On the anger. On the fact that Pete is gone because of those men. Because of the cartel. Because of something that has nothing to do with this confusion in my body.
I latch onto that.
Hard.
Because that makes sense. That I understand. Revenge. Justice. The need to protect the only family I have left. My mom. That's something I cando. Something that doesn't make me feel like I'm losing myself.
I open my eyes again. Steady. Or at least steadier than before. Whatever this is—this pull, this heat, this… thing—I shove it down. Lock it away. I'll deal with it later. Or never. Right now, I have bigger things to focus on.
I don't understand him. That's the truth of it. Gabe. Gabriel D'Amato. A man like that doesn't do anything without a reason. Men like him don't help. They take. What would a man like himdo to obtain a woman he wants? The question sits wrong in my head. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
I had to wonder about another person's motives and intentions only once before. To consider what it might cost me in the end. That's when I ran. Straight to Pete. With Pete, things were simple. Good. Safe. This isn't.
I don't like it. I don't like not knowing. I don't like not being in control. But right now, that's not the most important thing. Because underneath all of it—the confusion, the grief, the exhaustion—there's something else. Something that's been there since the warehouse. Since the moment the gun went off. Since Pete?—
My throat tightens, but the feeling doesn't disappear. It sharpens. Burns hotter. Anger.
No.
Not just anger.
Fury.
Cold. Steady. Alive. Hot. Burning with desire of a different kind.
It's been sitting inside me, coiled tight, waiting. Growing. I thought I buried that part of me. A long time ago. Back when I decided to be… better. Safer. Back when I married Pete. Back when I traded in that reckless, rebellious girl for a more… acceptable version of me. More predictable. Morenormal.The kind of woman who watches the five o'clock news and makes dinner and doesn't ask questions she doesn't want the answers to.
I thought she was gone.
That version of me.
The one who didn't back down. The one who didn't play nice. The one who believed, very clearly, that if someone hurt you, you hurt them back or worse. But she's not gone. I feel her now. Clear as day. Rising up through the cracks. They killed my husband.They dragged me into that place. They put a gun to my head. They're still out there.
And now they came for my mother.
No.
I'm not letting that happen. Not again. Not to anyone else I care about. Whatever Gabe's game is—whatever he wants from me—I'll figure that out later. Right now? I need answers. And I want them to pay.
I lift my chin and look at him. "You said you had two of them?" He nods once. Still watching me. Carefully. "And you're going to make them tell you what they want? Why they came?"
Another nod. Slower this time. More cautious. Like he already knows where this is going. Perfect, because I'm not backing down. "I want to go with you."
His eyes narrow slightly at me. "You understand they're not just going to answer our questions, right?"
I give him a look. A very clearduhlook.
"I'm not stupid," I reply flatly.
I've watched enough movies, read enough books. And while I realize that movies and books are not the same as reality, I remember those fingers on the floor. Fury rises inside me like a red-hot poker. They did that to him. To Pete. Gabe doesn't need to spell it out for me. I know what happens in rooms like that. His gaze lingers on me. Searching. Measuring. Weighing something I can't see.
