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Not once.
Not until now.
Not until her.
I scanned the room and found her again. It seemed like she was hiding behind a potted plant. Trying to make herself invisible.
As if she could ever achieve that in a million years.
Some guy, one of Fausto’s men, approached her and I could see the panic in her wide eyes as she froze, her back pressed against the wall.
Every single muscle in my body tightened. Every single fiber screamed at me to protect her.
Fuck.
Cristo elbowed me in the side—hard.
I flipped around, ready to pounce on him. “What?”
He scowled, then leaned closer and whispered into my ear, “You’re staring at her again. Stop that shit if you don’t want to get us killed. Or her.”
I clenched my teeth. Closed my eyes for a second. Then exhaled. When I opened my eyes again, she was gone from her place.
Fuck.
I needed to stop.
Right the fuck now.
“I need some fresh air—be back in a sec,” I said to Cristo.
“I’m coming with you.”
“No. Give me five; I’ll be just outside.”
He narrowed his brows. He’d been almost comically protective of me all evening.
“I promise I won’t run away.”
He nodded, though he didn’t seem to like leaving me out of his sight.
Being outside alone was a risk but a risk I was willing to take just to get one fucking minute alone to center myself.
I needed a minute away from this fucked-up house, my fucked-up uncle, and his fucked-up slave.
Five fucking minutes alone to get my head back on straight.
I crossed the room, forced myself not to look for her, then stepped outside into the cool night air.
The sound of the cicadas was deafening and reminded me so much of the lazy summer evenings of my childhood; my throat tightened.
I’d missed this so much.
Italy.
My family.
Home.
