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She stares at me long and hard like she wants to keep arguing with me, like she has a thousand more reasons in her arsenal she hasn’t even used. I don’t blame her, its human nature. I’d probably do the same, but this is the decision I’ve made.
I grip her hand in mine and look toward her, knowing this will most likely be the last time we talk, the last time I hold my friend, the last crazy thing we say to each other. She knows it too.
Her arms wrap around my neck, and she squeezes tight. “I’ll always remember you just like this,” she says, “on the edge of danger, brave, fierce, and eternally horny.” A smile peeks through her tears and I can’t help but laugh.
“Good, that’s the way I want it,” I smile. “And I’ll always remember you as the bestie who lit the way for mobster relationships everywhere.”
She grins and grips her hand in mine as I open the bedroom door, then she looks toward me with that familiar‘Everleigh look’that I’ve seen a thousand times. The one that’s scared and strong all at once. The one that always chooses strength despite those fears.
“You okay?” Dante says, from beside the bedroom door.
I jump back when I hear his voice. I’d forgotten he was stationed to wait for us.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Saint asked me to stand here.”
“It’s okay,” I say, noting the sympathy in his eyes again. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me. I’m okay.”
He nods and leans up against the wall as Everleigh makes her way back to Viktor who’s standing within sight.
“I won’t talk about it if you don’t want to, but I’m here for you.” His face does this strange contortion thing that’s somehow more sympathetic now that he’s told me I don’t have to talk. It’s then that I remember the story he told me on the skiff, the one about his mom having cancer.
Fuck.
“What kind did your mom have?”
“Bone, but she had it before they’d made all these medical advancements. We have the money; we can get you help.”
“I know,” I say, “and I appreciate that, but I’ve made my decision.”
He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, wrapping me into his chest for a long squeeze that is seemingly lasting forever.
“Don’t get blinded by pussy, gangster. We’re all just messing around here. Nothing more. You’ll forget about me the second I’m gone.”
His grip loosens as he pulls away from my chest, but his hands stay locked on my biceps and his gaze has turned serious. “You’re kidding, right? This is you being sarcastic again?”
“About what, me not wanting medical help? That’s real.”
“No, about this not meaning anything. You, me, Saint.”
I close my eyes and run my hands over my temples. Feelings aren’t something I’m ready to comprehend at this moment. I have no idea how much time is left, and whatever I’m feeling for the guys is a mute topic that would only hurt them if I were to admit to it. “Was it the kidnapping that made you think that I had feelings, or the part where Saint barked out orders while we fucked?”
He looks away, his jaw clenched. “You’re going to pretend now like none of that mattered? Like you didn’t like that? Like we haven’t shared conversations, gazes, and—”
“Please don’t.”
“Don’t what?” he snarls. “I care about you.”
“You don’t even know me, gangster. This isn’t a movie or some terrible miniseries on HBO that I’ll inevitably stop watching halfway through. This is real life, and in real life people don’t fall in love in three days with their captors, get lifesaving surgeries, and live happily ever after. In real life… people die, people get hurt, and love is a broken fucking system.”
His shoulders curl forward and his hands grip into mine as though he’s not willing to take no for an answer. “So you’re really going to tell me you don’t feel this to, this thing happening between us?”
“No!” I blurt out the word, but my heart constricts as I say it. Of course, I feel something for him. I feel something for him, for Saint, and I’m feeling something for Luca too, if I’m being honest. How sick is that?
His stare holds on mine long and hard. He doesn’t need to speak for me to know what he’s thinking. He’s intuitive enough to know what’s brewing inside of me, but the hurdles he’s imagining jumping to break down my walls are impossible. I’m not one that’s easily broken.
“We’re having a meeting,” Saint barks, his voice disrupting the staring contest I’m having with Dante. “Both of you, move, now!”
I turn to walk away, but Dante grips my hand in his and looks toward me, his voice deep and brooding. “I know you better than you think. I know what you’re feeling.”
