I can’t process anything else more. Can’t even thinkhisname without becoming overwhelmed by the immensity of my own emotions.
The humiliation, the anger, the pain, the longing are all vying for my attention all at once.
My tears finally, finally begin to subside and Mia, the constant rock tethering me to reality with her soothing words the entire time, begins to stretch out a little stiffly.
“Let me get us some water,” she says gently as she pries me off of her.
I roll over so I can bury my face in her pillow.
“Unless you’d like anything stronger?”
A sudden craving overwhelms me. “Do you have any breakfast tea?”
Mia gives me a bemused look. “I’m sorry, when did you turn into the Queen of England?”
The thought of Donatella twangs my already sensitive heart strings. My face immediately crumples into a new wave of tears.
“Shit,” Mia says in alarm. “I’m sorry, I’ll go get some tea, okay? Just wait here.”
Absently, I’m aware of the front door opening and closing as I try to get myself under control again. By the time she returns, I’ve managed to sit myself up, although I’m still clutching the pillow.
Mia appears a moment later, a steaming mug in her hand. “All they had was decaf, but…”
I take it from her gratefully, warming my hands on the porcelain.
“How are you feeling?” Mia says as she rejoins me on the bed.
“Like crap.”
“You have a bruise,” she says, pointing to my cheek.
I snort darkly. “I guess we match.”
“Who…”
“Claudio.”
Mia goes deathly still. “I will kill him.”
“I might have beaten you to it.”
She blinks at me, taking me in. No doubt she’s already noticed the blood splattered over my body.
“Explain.”
So I do. I tell her everything. About coming to Brooklyn, realizing that Claudio was an abusive asshole, how I had gone tohimfor help. The words keep pouring out as I tell her about the brownstone and how I’d been trying to help the Guild unearth the rat.
By the time I reach the events of the night before, Mia is clutching her own pillow. Her eyes are wide, but she refuses to interrupt as I tell her about being thrown in a trunk. I tell herabout what Claudio had revealed about my father and how I shot him.
When I finish, I’m met with her silence. The light of the afternoon slowly fades in the window behind her.
It’s a tiny apartment. The bed faces the only window and the TV stand. Behind the headboard is a compact kitchen without a freezer, and next to the front door is a small, half-concealed bathroom that somehow crams in both a shower and toilet.
But despite the size, it’s the only place in Brooklyn I want to be right now.
“I’m so sorry, Cas.”
I look over at my friend and shake my head. “It’s not your fault. You tried to warn me, for God’s sake.”
