"Never," he said quietly. The word landed hard. I hated him a little. "You know I'm right."
Unfortunately, he was. My gaze dropped back toward the photograph. Toward Angelo's stupid grin. Toward eighteen-year-old versions of ourselves who genuinely believed we'd live forever. Idiots. Complete idiots.
"You laughed. On the roof." Marco shrugged. "You laughed."
I stared at him. Then looked away. Because somehow that accusation felt worse. Much worse. Aurora had laughed too. God.
Aurora.
The thought arrived. Like it always did now. Unwanted. Uninvited. Persistent. Dark hair. Dark eyes. White heels. Motorcycle keys. Lemonade. Little troublemaker.
The room felt smaller. I drained the rest of my whiskey. Marco watched me. Then smirked. That annoyed me. "What?"
"Oh, nothing." I narrowed my eyes. Marco's smile widened. I hated him. Deeply.
"Say it."
He sighed dramatically. "You like her."
The room went silent. I stared. Then laughed. Actually laughed. Because the suggestion was ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. Insane. Absurd. "I don'tlikeher."
Marco crossed his arms. "What do you call it then?"
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Annoying. Extremely annoying. Because I genuinely didn't know. I wasn't in love. Not even close. Love wasn't this. Love was soft. Warm. Safe. This wasn't safe. This felt like standing too close to the edge of a building. This felt dangerous. Possessive.Wrong.
Instead I looked back at the photograph. At Angelo. At the room. At the life I'd spent four years preserving. Then I realized something. Something ugly. Something dangerous.
Aurora had walked into this room. Into my grief. Into the one place nobody but Marco was allowed. And somehow she hadn't broken it. She'd made it feel less empty. The realization terrified me. Because I wanted more.
Not sex. Not kisses. Not games. More. More conversations. More laughter. More midnight arguments. More of her. The need settled somewhere deep and ugly inside my chest. Possession. Not love. Not yet. Something darker. Something much more dangerous.
Marco looked at me for a long moment. Then sighed. "Oh, we're fucked."
I frowned. "We?"
"Unfortunately." He pointed at me. "Because whatever this is..."
His expression became genuinely concerned. "It's getting weird."
I looked away. Toward the photograph. Toward Angelo. Toward the girl currently asleep somewhere in my house. Then I smiled. Slowly. Dangerously.
I stood, set the photograph down, and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?"
I didn't stop walking. "The surveillance room."
"Santino." I kept walking. The warning in his voice made me grin. Because he already knew.
I smiled without turning around. Then walked faster. The surveillance room door slammed open before I could pull up the footage. Marco groaned as he shook his head. I didn't even look away from the monitors.
One of my soldiers stood in the doorway. Nervous. Never a good sign. "We caught one."
My jaw tightened. Caught. Not found. Caught. Different. "Who?"
The soldier swallowed. "He is working for your father."
The warmth from the rooftop disappeared. Aurora vanished. The whiskey vanished. The candles. The laughter. The photographs. Gone. Just like that.
