Page 18 of No Greater Oblivion

He drags a hand down the length of his face. “You’re making a mistake.”

“My mistake was going back to Spain with you after Karina’s wedding,” I answer calmly.

His head snaps up and he takes a sharp intake of breath. His pupils expand until they nearly swallow the irises whole, turning his otherwise light eyes midnight black.

“Why are you here?” I ask him.

“Dahlia…don’t do this. We can fix⁠—”

“Fix what? Did you think coming here after a year was going to make me love you again?”

A moment passes. “I wasn’t aware you ever stopped.”

“You need to leave.”

“I’m not leaving until we fix this.”

“There’s nothing to fix. You show up here, wait in my bedroom in the dark, shoot Rian, make outrageous demands. You’re fucking crazy!”

“Yes!” he exclaims. “Yes, I am fucking crazy! And you’re even fucking crazier if you think I’m letting you go! Much less for the likes of Rian O’Neil, ese maldito traidor. Te conozco, Dahlia, y sé que esta vida te da asco. You thought living with me was bad?”

I clench my teeth, resisting the urge to scream from the top of my lungs, but curiosity gets the better of me. What does he know about Rian that I don’t?

“Barcelona is child’s play next to New York and Rian’s their ringleader. There are no twelve families here, no code of honor, no ethics. Rian won’t protect you from his world the way I protected you from mine. He’ll expect you to either assimilate or die trying.”

“Well…it’s my problem, isn’t it?” I extend my hand to him. “Key. Now.”

There’s no way he got in here without one. Doña Ana is asleep downstairs and Lyss is staying over her cousin’s house in Long Island which means neither one of them let him in. Lyss sure as Hell wouldn’t—I’d have gotten a phone call the second he showed up at our doorstep.

Realizing he doesn’t have another way out of this, Alejandro digs into his pocket and produces a silver key. He stretches out his hand, the key resting in the center of his palm, and when my fingertips brush against his skin, a bolt of electricity runs through us both. He stills and we look down, our gazes catching on the scars that formed and never quite healed.

Our eyes meet and in an instant, I know we’ve both been thrust back into the same memory.

The fire.

6

THE MERCY OF GOD

Alejandro

Barcelona, Spain

The Past

Ican’t hear anything over the roar of sirens in my ears.

Gravity sends me barreling toward the ground. One step back, another, then another, until my legs tangle around each other and my knees buckle. I land flat on the stone edge of the street with so much force my bones vibrate with the impact. Everything slips from my grasp save the wallet in my white-knuckled grip. The ID is nestled in a pocket right above the photo of us on my birthday in January. She’d been here less than two weeks and the house was in shambles but we sat on the floor in the main foyer surrounded by candlelight and battery-powered lamps Lettie bought from the discount store.

I can’t…I can’t think.

All the noise around me is muffled and at a distance, as if under water. The edges of my vision give way to darkness and my limbs lose sensation.

Alejandro

Someone says my name.

Where’s Dad? He was supposed to bring the cake.