CHAPTER 36
BLAKE
“Where are you flying to, Mrs. De Luca?”
I muster up a smile for the driver, who’s probably been watching me dab at my tears with my sleeve for the last thirty minutes. “San Francisco.”
“Beautiful city. You’re visiting family?”
“A friend.” With the Iron Raptors no longer a threat, I called Del last night and asked if I could stay with her for a bit.
“I hope you enjoy it. We’re just five minutes away from the airport.”
I wrap my arms around myself.
Yesterday, when I made my decision to leave, I thought it would bring some comfort, but I barely slept all night. I kept waiting for a gut feeling to hit, for something to reassure me that I’m doing the right thing.
It never came.
The car glides through the airport gates, and the private terminal comes into view. I should be relieved that by the end of today, I’ll be sitting in Del’s living room. Instead, there’s a gnawing sense of loss deep inside my belly.
I couldn’t stomach saying goodbye to Nero without crumbling. So I said nothing. I just left.
It’s been less than forty minutes, and I already miss him. I miss his touch. I miss his smell. I miss the way his skin feels beneath my hands. The whispered endearments. The kisses against my hair. The way his hands feel enveloping mine. I miss the burn of his scruff against my thighs. The silkiness of his hair as I run it through my fingers.
Most of all, I miss his eyes. The way they can say so much without him saying a word.
I did the right thing. So why doesn’t any part of it feel good?
The driver stops at the entrance, and I force myself to move, to get out of the car, to walk into the terminal. I barely register the sleek private waiting area or the woman who greets me with a polite smile and offers me a coffee.
I choke out, "No, thank you," and then sit down in the farthest chair in the corner, hoping she won’t try to start a conversation.
This is for the best.
That’s what I keep telling myself, but it’s not working. The truth is, I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave Nero, even though I know staying means losing more of who I used to be. Who I've always thought I should be. The person I’ve become in his world is someone I hardly recognize—a person who can kill without guilt, who can justify the unthinkable.
But I love him.
God, do I love him.
And maybe that’s why I have to go—because the love I have for him is too big, too consuming, and it’s turning me into someone I don’t want to be.
A soft chime echoes through the waiting area, and a woman in a uniform appears in the doorway. “Mrs. De Luca, we’re ready to board.”
I nod. The motion feels mechanical, like I’m watching someone else move my head. I wipe my clammy palms against my jeans and get to my feet.
The woman leads me through the terminal, the sound of our footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. We reach the door that opens out to the tarmac where the private jet is waiting. The stairs have been lowered, and there's a lone figure standing at the bottom, ready to escort me up.
We step outside.
This is it.
All I have to do is walk up those stairs, and I’ll be free. Free from the life that’s twisted me into something unrecognizable. Free from the love that’s somehow both the best thing and the worst thing that’s happened to me.
But my feet won’t move.
I bite down on my lips to stop them from quivering and stand there, staring at the steps.
