Page 57

Vinny nods once, his expression softening for half a second as he says, “As I said, it’s my pleasure, Kira,” before it goes professional again.

I take Kira’s hand. Her fingers are cold, and she doesn’t squeeze back. We walk toward the elevator in silence, her shoulder brushing against my arm with each step, and I can feel the weight of everything she’s carrying in the way she moves. Like each footfall costs her something.

As we wordlessly leave the hospital, I check the text Gio sent me for where he parked my car after he picked up Carly hours ago. Once we find it, we slide inside and drive home.

Kira’s knees are pulled to her chest, her forehead pressed against the glass, and I can see her breath fogging the window in small, uneven clouds. The streets are wet, and the headlights cut through puddles that throw light across the dashboard in shifting patterns. I rest one hand on my wife’s knee, squeezing it every time her breathing stutters.

The penthouse is dark when we step out of the elevator. I hit the lights, and the place comes to life in warm layers. Kira stands in the middle of it all, her arms wrapped around herself.

“Do you want to—”

“I don’t want to go to bed,” she says, interrupting me. “If that’s what you were going to say.”

“What do you want?”

She shrugs. The gesture is small and defeated. “A drink.”

We move into the living room and I walk over to the bar cart and pull out two glasses. Instead of pouring the drinks, I grab the whiskey bottle and carry it to the couch where Kira’s already sitting.

She eyes me as I pour us both a drink and hand it to her. Taking the glass, she brings it to her lips without hesitation. The cough is immediate. Violent. She doubles over, whiskey sloshing over the rim of the glass onto her jeans.

“That’s awful,” she wheezes, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“It’s an acquired taste.” I take a sip of mine. It burns exactly the way it’s supposed to.

She tries again, slower this time. The second sip goes down with only a small grimace, the third goes down easier. By the fifth, she’s drinking it like water, and I’m starting to wonder if I should cut her off.

“Have you had enough?” I ask.

She sets her empty glass on the coffee table with a sharp click. “No. I want to get drunk.”

“Kira—”

“I did everything right.” The words come out flat, like she’s reading from a script she’s rehearsed too many times. “My entire life, I’ve done everything I was supposed to. I obeyed my dad even when I knew he was wrong. I agreed to marry Paolo because it would save my mom.”

While she talks, I refill the glasses and remove my suit jacket.

“I even married you when your son left me at the altar.” Letting out a humorless laugh, she reaches for her glass and drinks half before continuing. “I followed every rule, I was good, I did everything the way I was supposed to, and for what?” Her voice cracks. “Mom still had a seizure, and she… she might die. So tell me, please, what was the point of any of it?”

“I don’t—”

“Don’t tell me that you don’t know,” she snips. “You have to know.”

“Why?”

She knocks back the rest of the contents in her glass in one go and sets it down hard enough that I’m surprised it doesn’t crack.

“Because I don’t,” she murmurs. “And I can’t… I can’t stand all this not knowing, Domenico. It’s… it hurts.”

When I reach for her, she slides away from me and shakes her head. “I don’t want to be held right now.”

I move so fast she doesn’t have time to react. One moment, my hand’s resting on my thigh. The next it’s around her throat, squeezing until her eyes are as wide as saucers.

“What did you just say?” I ask, my tone low and dangerous. “It sounds a lot like you think you can deny me, Kira. Is that what you think?”

“I-I just need some space.”

“The last time you wanted space you ended up calling me Daddy.” My tone’s mocking now. “Is that what you want? To scream that again?”